by J. J. Green
She only had to make it to the farmhouse, or, failing that, if she was hit, she could cover Kayla with her body. Maybe the resistance fighters would find her later. Patrin would make it on his own. He was nearly in the lead, despite his young years. He would make it. He had to make it.
The resistance was forking into groups and swinging out, probably intending to attack the EAC from each side to avoid catching the villagers in crossfire. A handful continued to run directly ahead.
The recording continued another half a minute as she’d run on, dashing through the long, wet grass, fearful of tripping—a misstep could be the death of her and her daughter.
One of the fighters had reached Patrin! The woman spurred the exhausted boy on and called out to the other villagers to run, that there were transports at the farmhouse ready to take them somewhere safe.
Then the heavens seemed to open and what had been an annoying drizzle became a downpour. The recording at this point was nothing more than a blur of moving colors, the sound of the pelting rain mixed with the shouting and yells of pain. She remembered the water blinding her and turning the hillside into a river.
Though she’d barely been able to see, she hadn’t slackened her pace. She knew where the house sat. All she had to do was get there. So it was that she blindly ran directly into a fighter coming from the other direction. They bounced off each other, then both hit the ground and tumbled down the slope. Clutching her screaming daughter, she protected Kayla’s head with one hand until she came to a stop.
When she stood up, she was nearly at the refuge. The low stone wall marking the boundary of the farmyard was only meters away. When she couldn’t see Patrin, she assumed he was already inside and hopefully being loaded onto one of the trucks to make an escape. Behind, up on the hill, the villagers were streaming down like the rain pelting from the heavens, and the fighters were engaging with the EAC troops.
The man she’d collided with was rising to his feet, but as he did so, he cried out and collapsed.
Taylan ran over to him. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
The fighter couldn’t answer. He only gripped his knee and gasped and grimaced in pain.
He must have dislocated his knee or broken a bone.
“Can you get up? Let me help you inside.”
The man still didn’t answer, but he lifted his arm, and she helped him to his feet. Her child on one hip, and the resistance member’s arm over her shoulder, she slowly walked to the farmhouse entrance.
An old woman was waiting there. The minute she saw Kayla, she beckoned. “We have a transport ready to go. We’re taking all the mothers and children first.”
“Is that where my son has gone?” asked Taylan, helping the fighter hobble through the doorway.
“The little boy, about seven years old?”
“He’s six, but, yes.”
“He’s already on board. Hurry, there isn’t much time.”
The resistance fighter slid onto a nearby chair. He was pale and sweaty, and blood was seeping through his pants leg. Her neighbors were arriving at the farmhouse and flooding into it. Out on the hillside, the fighting had begun in earnest.
Taylan looked at the man she’d accidentally injured. The West BI Resistance was one person down, and it was her fault.
“Do you know where the children are going?” she asked the woman.
“A safe house. From there, they’ll travel to Anglesey and then sail to Dublin.”
She clenched her jaw, indecision hounding her.
“Mummy,” said Kayla, patting her face.
Suddenly, Taylan held out her daughter to the old woman. “Take her to the truck. You go with her.”
Kayla cried and struggled, trying to get back onto Taylan’s hip.
“What?” the woman said. “No, I can’t do that. You must go with your child.”
“Please. I’m able-bodied and fit. I should fight. I want to help stop the EAC reaching the transports. I can make a difference. I know I can. Please take her.”
With a look of reluctance, the woman took Kayla into her arms.
The little girl screamed.
Taylan stooped down and slid the injured man’s weapon from his shoulder. He was in too much pain to protest.
The old woman hadn’t moved.
“Please, go,” Taylan repeated loudly over the sound of her daughter’s wailing. “Look after my kids. Their names are Kayla and Patrin. I’ll follow later.”
The woman nodded and carried Kayla away, only holding on to the yelling, struggling child with some difficulty.
Taylan forced her way against the tide of incoming people and out into the rain.
“Little chick.”
The screen blacked out. The recording ended. Her interface had been hit by a stray pulse round, saving her life. The device had been a total loss, but its automatic upload to her cloud meant the recording had survived.
“Little chick.”
Taylan looked up, dragged away from the farmhouse in West BI and the green hillside and the pouring rain, and returned to the Valiant, her new life, and the silent, dark cabin.
“You shouldn’t watch those vids,” said Abacha. “They only make you sad.”
He was leaning down from his bunk, though she could only just make him out. She wiped the wetness from her face. Without replying to her friend, she turned off the interface and slid it between her mattress and bed frame.
“And no more picking fights with the knuckle-draggers, okay?” he said. “I don’t like lying for you, especially not to a good guy like Wright. And my head’s not so hard that it can take all the punishment it gets trying to defend you.”
“I don’t need your help.”
Abacha sighed and lay down, making the bed springs creak.
Chapter Eighteen
The Caribbean island of Antigua was an emerald in a sapphire sea, heaving into view as the shuttle banked. According to Dwyr Orr, while fighting on Barbados continued, Antigua was safely in the hands of the combined EAC and AP forces. The island had been the first to fall, succumbing to EAC landing forces in an operation that incurred little damage.
Lorcan was glad. With its infrastructure intact, harvesting Antigua’s resources would be all the easier. But he doubted he would have time to pay the place a visit. He had more important business to attend to, and he didn’t like spending more than twenty-four hours away from his shipbuilding sites. He simply couldn’t trust the nincompoops working for him not to cock something up in his absence.
The shuttle evened out as it dipped lower. White caps on the waves below became visible under the brilliant blue sky. Lorcan lowered the arm rests on each side of his seat. His private space/air vessel held four passenger seats, but, as usual, the rest were empty. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d had company on a trip, for business or the rare recreational jaunt he allowed himself. He’d preferred things that way for a long time, though he couldn’t deny that a woman like Dwyr Orr might be a pleasant occasional ornament.
“Prepare to submerge, sir,” said the pilot over the intercom.
He fastened his seat belt.
The shuttle slowed and its nose dipped. The moment of passing from air to water was a critical one. The speed and angle had to be such that the vessel’s buoyancy was counteracted, allowing it to plunge into the ocean without damaging its structural integrity. The ship’s computer would do the hard work, but the pilot was trained to perform the maneuver manually if necessary. The man was one of the very few people Lorcan trusted with his life, and he was well compensated for it. Additionally, when the day of departure came, the pilot and his family’s sleep capsules on the Bres would be guaranteed.
It was the main motivator of every one of his vast team, he guessed. Each had their own motivation, but they all wanted to come along.
The stomach-lurching impact hit, forcing him sharply forward. Outside his window, water appeared to boil. The cabin darkened, and echoes of churning sea infiltrated it. Internal and external lights
came on simultaneously.
The shuttle leveled, and he relaxed and unclipped his seat belt. The journey to the seabed would take another half an hour.
Boredom was already nagging at him. He opened a slot on his arm rest and pulled out an ear bud, which he popped into his right ear before selecting a report from Kekoa on the screen in the opposite arm rest.
Closing his eyes, he relaxed in his seat and listened. The report began with a summary of Kekoa’s latest work on Bres’s habitats, specifically mentioning the installation of wind machines at West Lake. He smiled. She was trying to find favor, but she still wouldn’t receive her docked credits. He couldn’t afford to allow any of them to get sloppy.
As Kekoa’s voice droned on, drowsiness crept up on him. The monotonous rendition of the report seemed to fade while the drone of the shuttle’s engine grew louder, and he felt himself slipping away into slumber. He didn’t fight it. A nap would pass the time.
He was in his private suite, sipping champagne with Dwyr Orr. She didn’t speak as she sat facing him, her glass in her hand, only watching him with her dark eyes, an amused expression on her face. He wasn’t sure what she found amusing, but he was not offended.
She put down her glass, and, without a word, began to untie the laced cords at her bosom.
He choked in surprise.
Then he tried to speak, to protest, but his tongue and lips would not obey him. He tried to stand and move away, but he couldn’t. It was as if an invisible, heavy blanket was weighing his body down.
The Dwyr slipped her gown from her shoulders, exposing her naked flesh. Lorcan didn’t want to look, but he couldn’t help himself. Animal desire welled up in him, mixed with outrage and shame. His lungs labored as he desperately sought an exit from the situation.
She moved closer.
He caught her scent—it was a strange odor, reminding him of wood smoke mixed with roses. The odd perfume only increased his hunger for her.
She leaned in, turning her head so their lips—
Lorcan jerked awake, panting and wet with sweat.
His dream receded, and the audio of Kekoa’s report surged louder. Somehow, the cabin looked unfamiliar and otherworldly though it was identical to how it had been before he’d fallen asleep. He roughly pulled out the ear bud and sat up. Uncomfortable prickles ran across his skin.
Was someone watching him?
It was impossible. Apart from the pilot in his separate cabin, he was alone. Outside, the water was empty and, beyond the range of the shuttle’s beams, dark.
Why did he feel he was being observed?
“Five minutes to arrival, sir,” said the pilot.
Lorcan wiped his face, and then pressed the button to retract the ear bud into its slot. He needed to compose himself. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled, focusing his mind on his visit.
Why had he dreamed that scenario? It had felt so real.
The shuttle’s speed had slowed almost to a stop. Beyond the window sat the opening to an underwater bay. The pilot eased the vessel another few meters forward, into the bay, before shutting off the engines.
Lorcan waited for the small impact as the shuttle hit the buffer. After the bounce, the bay’s pumps started up, and the water drained out. Gradually, the vessel dropped lower until it rested on the bay floor. He got out of his seat and went to the hatch. The pilot was there before him and already opening it.
Outside, the site’s chief engineer and coordinator, Khanh, was already waiting, standing at the other end of the ramp that led out of the bay. “It’s good to see you, sir.”
He nodded and stepped onto ridged metal plate. Small sea creatures flopped and crawled on the floor as he walked up the ramp to the exit. The scent of the ocean was strong.
“All operations are ready for your inspection,” said Khanh. “The workers are keen to show you the results of their hard work.”
Lorcan grunted a non-committal reply. He didn’t want to waste time touring the station itself—he’d seen enough living quarters and admin departments to last a lifetime, so he told her he wanted to go to the mine site, directly and immediately.
“Oh, yes, of course,” she replied, looking surprised. “Well, we’re in the right place. We can take a submersible from the next bay over.”
She led him to the adjacent hatch and thumbed a security code into the panel. There was the sound of metal locks releasing, and Khanh turned the wheel. Swinging the hatch open, she stooped and stepped through onto a second ramp before walking down to a small submersible.
The walls and floor in here were dry and the ocean wildlife that had made its way inside was long dead. A horrible, rotting smell pervaded the place. Lorcan lifted his upper lip.
“How often is the site visually inspected?” he asked.
“Twice-daily. We don’t usually use this submersible. It’s a reserve as it’s only a two-seater.”
Lorcan acknowledged her explanation with a second grunt.
THE BARRACUDA RIDGE Mine spanned fifteen kilometers of seabed, and it was the Antarctic Project’s most productive source of gold, copper, and cobalt. Up until the successful EAC/AP attack on the Britannic Alliance’s Caribbean Territory, the site had been forced to perform its operations in secrecy, and Lorcan had resented the additional expense this entailed. Now, there was no need for subterfuge. The BA had its hands full defending the islands it continued to hold—for the time being.
As Khanh piloted the narrow craft through the dark water, she didn’t speak, apparently quick to catch onto his dislike of unnecessary chatter. He liked that the woman was a fast learner. The hum of the engine was the only sound.
Above the transparent submersible’s hull, the black ocean passed by. At this depth, no light penetrated from the surface. Below, a sandy seabed was dimly revealed by the vessel’s lights. Lorcan saw crabs and a dead fish being devoured by worms. Many-fronded plants or animals sprouted in patches, colorless and gently moving in the current.
He stole a sidelong glance at Khanh. For her level of seniority, she seemed young. She was attractive, mahogany-skinned, and black-haired. His mind began traveling along a certain line of thought, but he caught himself, sickened. He deliberately diverted his attention to the view ahead.
It was Dwyr Orr’s fault. Firstly, her overly flirtatious behavior when she’d come to see him, and, secondly, the dream he’d had. Though it seemed unfair to blame her for the wanderings of his subconscious, he couldn’t help but feel she was somehow responsible.
“We’re getting close,” said Khanh. “Can you see? Just over there.” She indicated with her gaze, keeping her hands on the submersible’s controls.
He picked out the lights in the darkness, fuzzy and shifting, as if beyond the heat shimmer above a road on a hot day.
“Why do the extractors’ lights look like that?” he asked. “Is it the ocean currents?”
“No, some hydrothermal vents stand between us and the main operation.”
“Ah, I see.” He’d known about the vents. Seawater, superheated through contact with tectonic subduction zones, spurted from them but didn’t boil due to the pressure at that depth. They were rich with minerals and the entire reason for the mining operation, but he’d never set eyes on them before.
The submersible drew closer to the natural undersea structures, and he began to make out their tall, columnar forms, the funnels for the intensely hot water. The submersible’s lights brought out their vivid colors, garish and artificial-looking in the seascape.
“They’re quite spectacular, aren’t they?” commented Khanh. “I would take us in to give you a better look, but it’s dangerous to get too close.”
“No, this is close enough.” Lorcan gazed at the strange phenomena. They looked like something he might expect to see on an alien planet one day, yet here they were on Earth.
“In a way,” Khanh said, “it’s a pity we have to destroy them to extract the ore.”
“A pity?” He turned to her in annoyance. “It isn’t a pity
at all. I concede they may be rather pretty, but they’re a resource, and resources are there to be exploited. What’s the point of them sitting there for hundreds of thousands of years, no use to anyone? Eventually, at the encroachment of our bloated sun, even these vents will crumble and disperse to dust. What’ll be the point of them then? Much better to put them to a practical purpose for the furtherment of humanity, and move on. The galaxy is there for us, and us alone, Khanh. Remember that. I don’t like my staff getting sentimental.”
Looking suitably abashed at his admonishment, the chief engineer piloted their machine onward in silence, taking a route that avoided the vents.
Throughout his inspection of the mining site and the rest of his visit, her mood remained subdued, but Lorcan didn’t pay her any mind.
Overall, he was pleased with what he saw, and before he left to return to the Bres, he asked Khanh to formulate plans to double the Barracuda’s production, and to liaise with his prospecting team to seek out new potential deep sea mining sites. His regular mines in China were costing him more and more to run each year, yet producing less and less ore. If he could recreate Barracuda’s success elsewhere, he might be able to bring forward the completion of the Project by several months.
Chapter Nineteen
“He has to come off sedation immediately,” said Colbourn. “He must be ambulatory in case we’re attacked. I can’t have my medics wasting their time moving a perfectly fit and healthy man.”
“But—”
“Are you questioning my order, major?”
“Of course not.” Wright inwardly sighed. Colbourn hadn’t been around when the man he’d rescued had woken up; she hadn’t seen him go berserk or the effort it had taken to subdue him. Knowing the brigadier, she would also most likely refuse to view the security vid. She was the kind of officer who knew no middle ground, which made her very good and very bad at her job.
