New Shores: The Eden Chronicles - Book Three

by S. M. Anderson

  He nodded in the affirmative. “This is but a sidearm. We have other personal weapons such as your long guns that fire as this one does, much more powerfully. The Jema prefer those.”

  “Yet you allowed yourselves to be captured by our wall guards?” The young man’s tone implied less confusion than it did a low opinion of the Hatwa warriors on the wall.

  “We allowed it. We did not want our presence known.” Jake nodded towards A’tor with a smile and nod of respect. “Your father made a wise choice in not calling out our presence. Our enemy is the Kaerin, not the Hatwa.”

  The young warrior eyed his father and the weapon once more before putting it down and sliding it back to him. “I will do as my father bids. I will go with you.”

  Jake reseated the magazine and held the gun between them.

  “Just so you’re both clear, if we learn you are working on the Kaerin’s behalf, we’ll destroy the Hatwa, just like we did the Strema host.” He pulled back the slide on the Glock and released it so that it slammed forward with a mechanical pop that gave both the Hatwa a start. A part of him, just for some theatrical emphasis, wanted to yell, “This is my boom stick!” He figured the classical historical reference would have been wasted on them.

  He reseated the gun back into his belly holster and put on his best smile. “What now?”

  They ate the dinner that A’tor had called for, and it was well past midnight by the time they left the Gemendi’s home in the company of one caustically cynical Hatwa warrior. During dinner, they’d learned that Cal’as had been well on his way, in a career sense, among the Hatwa host. ‘Had been’ was the issue. The lad had been set on being a warrior. Loyalty to his father, though, took precedence. Cal’as wasn’t happy with the arrangement and didn’t try to hide the fact. Jake took that as a good sign.

  Cal’as had explained that he had three or perhaps four days before his absence would be noted. Jake decided he couldn’t worry about that. If Audy’s plan worked out, the young man was going to have more than his share of opportunity to soldier. That did worry him; wondering if they, the Jema and Eden alike, were consigning a whole planet to a war that wouldn’t end anytime soon. Then again, he couldn’t imagine a people not willing to jump at an opportunity to get out from under the yoke the Kaerin had around their necks.

  Cal’as walked a few steps ahead of them carrying the short swords they’d borrowed from Arsolis’s village. They moved through the near-empty streets, passing several establishments that looked and sounded like pubs doing a big business. Jake was struck by the common threads of culture or civilization that ran through Chandra and Earth, albeit centuries and a universe removed from each other. The whole city could have been picked up and dropped into the 1400s on Earth. Of course, the presence of steam engines and long rifles were a definite wrinkle. He found himself imagining Elisabeth, with her sociologist’s hat on. His stepsister would have had a field day in this place.

  They neared the closed city gates and the half dozen warriors standing guard just within. Several others were visible atop the wall on either side of the gate.

  “Audy is going to shit his pants.” He whispered in English.

  Lupe just looked back at him and shook his head. “Before or after he kills us?”

  He was about to refute that when he noticed the guards all come to attention, as Cal’as came into the light of the lanterns hanging on the city’s walls. They didn’t waste any time pulling open a small door adjacent to the gate that led to a short tunnel through the wall. Jake was almost impressed.

  “My father would see me escort these traders out of the city,” Cal’as announced as they stopped.

  “These the ones that dealt with the Strema?” The guard glanced past Cal’as at both of them. The short, fat furball with a sword didn’t seem in the least upset.

  “Those were some of our people,” Cal’as answered, “from Varsana. But these two are Jehavian, my mother’s people, and they were with them during the brawl. Best to get them out of the city before the Strema can make a complaint to the High Bloods.” The Hatwa guards shared a knowing chuckle among themselves. Jake noticed several of them nod to themselves in agreement.

  “Travel safe.” The captain of the guard clapped a meaty hand on his shoulder that smelled strongly of garlic as they went through the gate. “You’ll be welcome here on your return.” Jake gave the man a friendly nod and followed Cal’as out the gate.

  “That was easier than I thought it would be,” Lupe said in Chandrian, as the man-sized door slammed shut behind them and they turned right underneath the walls. The stone quays marched out into the harbor on their left.

  “The Strema have few friends,” Cal’as explained. “Nor do they need many. They are favored by the High Bloods.”

  Jake looked out to the harbor, where most of the ships had a lantern or two bobbing with the gentle action of wind and wave. “We aren’t going by water?”

  “I’m not a fisherman,” Cal’as answered. “The road to Jehavian lands is this way.” Cal’as took that moment to hand back their swords. “We must maintain our story.”

  Jake could understand that. They were no doubt being watched by the guards atop the wall.

  “Does this road approach the water of the bay? We can have a boat come and get us.”

  Cal’as looked at him in confusion. “Not directly, but we can reach the bay easily, a few kamarks beyond Lord Madral’s estate.”

  “Lord Madral?”

  “Our Kaerin lord,” Cal’as answered as if he shouldn’t have to be explaining the fact the sun would rise in the morning.

  “Lead the way.” Jake motioned with his chin as he hooked the short blade’s scabbard back onto his belt.

  They walked in silence for a few steps before Cal’as turned his head without slowing.

  “What will you do? Shout across the water to your boat?”

  Jake flipped a thumb at Lupe. “No, he will.” He figured Arsolis and Hyrika would have made contact with Audy’s RHIB by now. The big guy was not going to be happy, but he figured Cal’as’ presence might make it up to him. They certainly knew a lot more than they did a day ago.

  Cal’as regarded Lupe with a strange look. “You have some . . . magic?”

  “Sort of,” Lupe replied.

  “Sounds like a long walk,” Jake broke in. “Let’s get going. I want to be on the water before the sun comes up.”

  *

  “He did what?” Audrin’ochal didn’t raise his voice. Hyrika had finished explaining what had occurred in the city; the fact that she had killed a Strema, and what Jake had decided to do following their brief captivity.

  “He knew you would be angry. He said to tell you he was ‘calling an audible.’ Is this an Eden word? I did not understand. He said, ‘This dog had to hunt,’ and that you would understand. He is a very strange man.”

  Audrin’ochal gripped the bridge of his nose with one hand, mumbling something to himself as the small RHIB rocked in the waves. Arsolis’s cargo boat had dropped her off and already disappeared into the darkness. Hyrika, her duty done, decided it best to find an unoccupied seat.

  Chapter 16

  Wyoming, Earth

  The air traffic control trainee had been suspicious from the start and reluctant to assist anyone from Washington. In the end though, he’d been helpful. Starret now had a potential destination to check out. He’d been driving for just over an hour eastward towards the Nebraska border. He’d visited the Dakota Badlands years ago. He could remember thinking at the time that the place had been misnamed; it had been quite beautiful. In his opinion, eastern Wyoming deserved the name. Each successive road he turned down was a smaller, less maintained version of the previous one and took him further into a landscape that could only be called barren. As the sun went down, he found himself driving on an oiled gravel road that seemed to be leading him deeper into an uninhabited corner of the most rural state in the Union.

  He was forced to slow down to negotiate a narrow cattle guar
d laid into the road, the most recent of several he’d already driven over. He pulled over inside a cloud of dust that caught up to the truck and obscured his headlights as it drifted slowly past. He slapped at the overhead dome light and unfolded the map that had been designed for a wall or a big, flat table, not the cab of a pickup. Richie Trahn had indicated all of the rural landing strips in this area that he knew of. There had been four, all belonging to remote ranches. Only one, in Richie’s opinion was a good bet to have jet fuel.

  He peered through his windshield and could see the edges of the crossroad he’d been looking for in the glow of his headlights. The left turn looked a lot better maintained and well used than the other two options. He double-checked the map, and looked up at the digital compass on the top of the dash. That had to be the road to the ranch. If it was, this was his last turn. The ranch should be fewer than eight miles down that road.

  He punched the opened map to the floor in front of the passenger seat and started off. Glancing at the map, he knew he’d need it again to find his way back to blacktop roads and civilization. A mile later, he had to slow the vehicle through the bottom of a waterlogged draw. It was the first sign of water he’d seen since well before the sun had gone down. It gave him time to spot the animals gathered around the watering hole. They were the strangest-looking deer or antelope he’d ever seen; in fact, they sort of looked like what you’d expect to see in Africa. He went through the inches-deep pool covering the road and had started up the incline when a giraffe, followed by another passed through the beams of his headlights headed down to the water. What the hell kind of ranch is this?

  With a mental shrug, he figured if the rancher had a runway for his own private jets, why wouldn’t he have exotic animals? He followed the road upward until he came out on the upper rim of a large but shallow valley. If not for the ranch’s yard lights, he wouldn’t have been able to tell what lay ahead in the darkness. As it was, the ranch was lit up like an island of light in a vast dark ocean below him. It was still a couple of miles in the distance but he could easily make out the equipment yard in front of what looked like a pair of modern airplane hangars, small ones, nothing large enough to hide what he was looking for.

  He cursed to himself as he slid to a stop and killed his headlights. If he could see their lights . . . He dug around for the pair of binoculars that had come with the FAA truck and rolled down his window. The darkness made it difficult to focus in on his target. When he did, the first thing he spotted was an Osprey sitting in the middle of what he’d taken as the ranch’s equipment lot.

  “Shit.” They’d seen his headlights. They’d probably spotted their glow before he’d even popped out on the edge of the small valley. He could just make out figures of people as they ran through the pools of light. One of them was gesturing in his direction.

  What the hell? There were children down there, running along with everyone else. Somebody was moving a tractor or something away from the aircraft, pulling a tarp off the fuselage as it backed away.

  Why were there children? Nobody had briefed him on TF Chrome having kids. If this was a hostage situation, his options were going to be even more limited. He reached for his cell phone and then caught himself as he remembered where he was. A quick glance showed no signal. Of course, there’s no signal. Why would there be a signal on the back side of the moon?

  There was a walkie-talkie mounted to the dash, just above his right knee. The old Motorola radio had its frequency labeled and stuck to its shell on a file labeler strip. He turned it on, confirmed its setting, and tried to reach the Cheyenne ATC to which it belonged. There was nothing but a hiss of static.

  He didn’t hesitate; he pulled his gun and put the truck in gear. He couldn’t see shit, and it wasn’t as if they hadn’t already spotted him. He hit his headlights, mashed the gas pedal and fishtailed down the curving road towards the ranch compound at the bottom of the valley.

  “It’s coming on fast.” Tom was calm. He always got calm when things went sideways.

  Britt could see the bouncing headlights as well; she turned to watch as Grant started pulling one of the vehicles out from under the wing. His father, Pete, worked a lot more quickly; driving one of the heavy farm trucks, he slammed into a smaller Toyota truck, replete with naked Playboy bunnies on its mud flaps, and pushed it away from the other side of the aircraft.

  The aircraft was put back together, and fueled. They’d decided earlier to wait until dark and Sir Geoff had gone into the bunkhouse to rest for a bit, hours ago. Brittany knew he needed the rest, and she’d been willing to give him an extra hour before they’d spotted the headlights. Beth Ballard and Gramps had just exited the building and were making their way as quickly as they could back to the aircraft. Sir Geoff was moving slowly in the deep sea of pea gravel that surrounded the paved areas of the compound. They weren’t going to get off the ground by the time that vehicle got here.

  “Get them loaded. I got this.” Tom was already moving off in the direction of the main house and the ranch’s access road.

  Britt watched her husband run towards the empty ranch house and almost hoped that the approaching vehicle held a team of ISS goons rather than the returning ranch boss, “Big Mike.” No helos, though, she thought, at least not yet. That didn’t point towards this being official. Maybe they could get out of here without having to hurt anybody.

  Pete and Grant finished pulling the last of the ranch vehicles away from the fuselage by the time Beth and Geoffrey made it to the back ramp. “Belt in,” she yelled over the sound of one of the turbines spinning up. She ran up behind them on the ramp and grabbed a headset from its hook.

  “Denise, Tom is over at the ranch house; he’s going to stop them.”

  “Roger that. Everyone else aboard?”

  Britt looked through the hold of the craft, and focused on the three children, her own two boys and Caleb, Grant and Beth’s boy. Sharon Ballard, Pete’s wife, was sitting next to Geoffrey, trying to put on a brave face as she looked back at her. Beth, Grant’s wife, did the same and took a seat just as Grant and his father, Pete, came up the ramp.

  “Where was Tom going?” she could hear Pete yell into her ear. She pulled the headset off one ear just as several booming shots rang out.

  “Door gun?” Rich Bowden’s voice questioned through the headset.

  “Maybe,” she said as she reached out and slammed the hydraulic actuator that began bringing the aircraft’s ramp up.

  “I’ve got a better idea . . .” Jennifer’s voice came from the pilot’s seat.

  With the ranch house and its large wraparound lawn, illuminated by expensive- looking landscape lights a half mile away, Starret felt his steering go to shit just before he heard the shot. The truck jerked hard to the right in the soft dirt of the road’s shoulder on a blown-out tire. He thought he was controlling the slide until the truck drilled itself into the dirt hillside.

  The truck slammed to a stop. For a brief second, he was hanging in the air against the seat belt. He managed to keep a grip on his service-issued .40 caliber Sig and had the foresight to slam the weapon against the cab’s dome light before he opened the door, jumped out, and rolled away from the vehicle. More shots than he could count followed in quick succession as his truck’s remaining headlight was blown out.

  There was a slight pause before several more shots followed directly into the front of the truck. From where he lay in the dirt across the road, he could hear the steam escaping from the radiator. The rifle reports sounded like they came from a large caliber rifle. He wouldn’t be surprised if the truck’s engine block had a few holes in it as well.

  He raised his head to look out at the distant lights surrounding the estate house. They may have taken out his truck, but he was now hidden by the dark and could move in on them. A round impacted the road, six inches to the side of his head. For a split second, he was too stunned to move, and then training took over and he log-rolled at an angle back across the narrow dirt road to get back behind h
is truck. He’d just made it when another shot slammed into the rear bumper, a foot from where he huddled. Night vision . . . Shit.

  In a crouch behind the tailgate, he slowly raised his head to see if he could locate where the shots were coming from by looking through the windows of the cab. The windows were blown out almost immediately, and he felt something whiz by his head.

  OK . . . very good night vision. The realization that he was outgunned and pinned down struck him, as he also realized that had they wanted to, the shooter or shooters could have just as easily put those rounds through him.

  Any relief he felt was forgotten; the telltale whine of jet turbines grew echoing off the floor of the valley. He had a perfect view across the road at the paved apron surrounding the aircraft hangar and the Osprey that sat in front of it. He watched, helpless, as the craft lurched off the ground and rotated its nose in his direction with an almost derisive slowness. Climbing no higher than twenty or thirty feet in the air, it crawled towards him through the intervening space moving up the slopes below the edge of the road.

  The scream of the aircraft’s jets was deafening, and they blew up a massive cloud of dust that he could see in the dark because it almost totally obscured the lights from the ranch’s compound. All that was left was a glowing, backlit cloud that was coming right at him. He ducked out of instinct as the Osprey overflew his position, low enough that the truck was rocked back and forth from the down-blast that continued to throw up a tidal wave of dirt thick enough that he could barely breathe. Eyes slammed shut, he was cocooned in a roaring cloud tasting of desert. The Osprey passed slowly, taking its time and half burying him in the fine desert dirt before screaming off.

  The pressure on his ears relented, leaving him dizzy as he struggled to get to his feet and stand. He did his best to knock the cake of dry desert from his face and almost fell over. Forcing his eyes open, he didn’t even see the truck inside the viscous cloud until he took a step and slammed into it. Disoriented, he could hear that the Osprey had moved back towards the ranch house, no doubt picking up the shooters that had stopped him. He lurched forward down the road, with nothing but the road’s relatively smooth surface to let him know he was on it.