by R J Johnson
“And all that means,” the professor replied. He took his wife’s hand and pulled her chin toward him. “You’re with me? All the way?”
She tilted her head, throwing her arms around him. Her dazzling blue eyes never failed to make him weak in the knees.
“Every last step,” she replied, kissing him.
Chapter One
Trouble Man
Chaos sure loved to screw with him.
Gunfire echoed inside the cargo hold of the Coalition supply ship, heat from the energy weapon’s pulse coming entirely too close for comfort for Jim Meade, a man who had tried to make peace with chaos a long time ago.
Today it seemed as if that peace was on hold, as he struggled to free himself from the tight little nook where he stowed away in the Coalition supply ship. The plan to detour the supply ship filled with food and medicine to his friends in the Martian Independence Movement had seemed straightforward enough. But, as things always turned out with him, the mission didn’t quite go to plan.
“Chaos is really starting to piss me off,” Meade grumbled as he fell out of the storage container. He scrambled to his feet and stayed low, looking for cover from the Coalition guards who were still firing on him.
The shouts grew closer, making it clear he didn’t have much time. If he didn’t move now, his goose was as good as cooked.
He pulled his grandfather’s FN-97 handgun out and moved through the cargo bay, trying to get a bead on his attackers. Most folks confronted by the Coalition’s impressive weaponry usually ran the other direction. But he was never one for backing down once he started a mission. After all, Rule 12 of The Code warned him about days like these:
Rule number 12: Plan for Chaos because Chaos loves to screw with plans.
Two things kept Jim Meade safe: The handgun he inherited as child after his father died and a list of rules cobbled together over a lifetime of experience and advice from people he trusted. It was his moral code, a way to stay sane in a world that proved it was anything but. And while his gun was considered anachronistic by modern standards, it got the job done.
So did The Code.
The gun was especially handy when freshly promoted, wet-behind-the-ears Coalition officers were firing on him with powerful energy weapons that could dissolve his body into a glowing goop.
“Come on gents!” he shouted over the din. He laid down on his belly and inched his way over to the other side of the cargo container. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit hostile over one little ol’ stowaway?”
“Put down your weapon!” the junior lieutenant shouted, his voice cracking with obvious fright. The poor, pale, redhead kid couldn’t have been more than 22-years-old. “You are in violation of federal law and…”
“Yeah, yeah…” he said, and poked his gun over the containers, firing several times in the general direction of the security team.
They ducked behind a cargo container as his bullets ricocheted around the cargo ship’s hold. The two MPs alternated fire, working together to keep him pinned down while the other one advanced on his position.
By the time the MPs reached his cubby hole, he was long gone, the distraction having served its purpose.
He ducked through the thin passageway between two large cargo containers, squeezing through to get away from the two guards, wondering more than once if he was going to fit and vowing to get back to the gym if he didn’t. A few tense moments later, he was at the rear of the ship where cargo was spaced out more evenly and easier for him to get through.
Meade rushed over to one particularly large cargo container and began pulling at the drop cloths on it.
The plan he had pitched had been a lot simpler than the situation he currently found himself in. He was supposed to wake up, exit the cargo container he had stowed away in and get to the cockpit where he could hijack the navigation computer.
Except, unlike previous missions where were no guards posted on board and automation ran the show, this supply ship was stocked with two Coalition MPs guarding the cargo.
Meade cursed the bad luck, but if he was being honest with himself, he should have expected it by now. The Martian Independence Movement had been intercepting monthly shipments over the last year or so. They’d take what they needed, adjust the cargo manifest and make it look like nothing had even gone missing with no one the wiser.
This shipment had been destined for the mega-estates located on the far reaches of Mars that had been settled by some of the richest ‘Elite’ in the Coalition. Dozens of billionaires had built enormous estates on the outskirts of New Plymouth, all of whom needed regular supply runs.
This was also why Meade didn’t feel particularly bad about stealing from this ship. The Elite these supplies were destined for could afford to miss a meal or two.
On the other hand, his friends in the Martian Independence Movement would die if he didn’t get this supply ship on the ground and fast. Unfortunately, now that he knew there were guards on-board, he wasn’t sure how much time he had left before the automated ship was met by a dozen Coalition troops and a fast attack itching to blast him out of the sky.
He’d need to work fast if they were going to get these supplies home.
Moving through the tightly packed cargo hold, he ducked under drop cloth covers, and pushed a button. The cargo box began floating a few feet off the ground and he pushed it aside, trying to reach a panel located on the back of the ship’s wall.
He squeezed through another tightly packed and pushing a few of the now floating containers aside until he spotted the panel blinking innocently on the port side of the ship.
“Jackpot,” he celebrated.
An energy blast nearly took his head off and he ducked out of the way, neatly avoiding two more blasts that exploded one of the floating containers next to his head.
He grabbed another one of the food containers and threw it as hard as he could. The cargo container rocketed down the aisle and slammed into the MP’s chest, knocking him and his companion back.
Meade turned back to the panel and pulled a lever, opening it. He rotated his left arm, activating the slim computer fashioned to his forearm. He began typing quickly on the keyboard that appeared.
His armbar connected with the ship’s navigation computer and he deployed the virus, hoping it would finish its work before the MPs started shooting at him again.
A short display popped up and he briefly celebrated as the virus announced it had taken control of the ship’s navigation and was successful in locking out all other officers on-board.
He looked through the instructions trying to figure out how he could reprogram the ship for its new destination.
An alarm sounded and a readout popped up on his display that informed him that the Coalition MPs had activated the emergency alert system on-board the supply ship.
He grumbled. If their virus had done its job right, then they shouldn’t have to worry about the emergency signal getting out. But that wasn’t the only problem the emergency alert meant.
A series of drones had deployed from the supply ship and began escorting it until a Fast Attack could catch up and check out the emergency signal. Those drones would cut his friends to shreds if they got within ten klicks of the ship. That would make off-loading the cargo problematic.
He made a mental note, knowing he’d have to deal with those drones sooner rather than later. He needed to concentrate on his more immediate problem – the two guards currently making his life miserable.
Sparks flew off the container next to him as energy blasts from the Coalition MPs forced him to duck away from the console. He tucked himself into a corner, trying to become a smaller target.
His armbar chimed and he glanced at the display, grunting in dissatisfaction. The virus’ status bar was flashing an error. It had lost the connection and with it, his control of the ship.
Another a blast of energy from the Coalition MP’s weapon caught the edge of his duster, electrifying it briefly, and forcing him to move aw
ay from the panel. He tucked and rolled, trying to get away from the two Coalition guards who were still hot on his tail.
Squeezing through the tightly packed cargo hold, he looked at his armbar, trying to will the computer virus to figure out its way through whatever error it had stumbled on. Unfortunately, there was no such luck. He needed someone smarter than he was to figure out what was going wrong.
He pressed a button on his armbar and saw a 3D image of an Asian woman pop up over his forearm.
“Emeline, honey, these command codes we got seem to have gone bunk.”
“What’s the issue?” she shouted. He could barely hear her over the din of her aerocycle. He realized she and the rest of her team must be chasing after him and the ship.
“No joy on the virus getting us into the navigation computer,” he said, glancing at the readout on his armbar. “The computer’s gone into a lockdown mode of sorts.”
An energy beam melted part of the console in front of him and he swore. Withdrawing he handgun he returned fire in the general direction of the Coalition MPs.
“You gotta switch the main nav console’s wiring so that it’s sending the new code to engineering instead of through the bridge controls,” she shouted back to him over the comm. “We went over that.”
He grumbled and slapped his head. She had told him to do that.
“Right, right,” he said, reloading the clip. Two more shots from the Coalition MPs ricocheted near his head and he swore in frustration.
“Just so we’re clear, you know you hafta come home in one piece, right?” Emeline shouted over the connection. “You’ve got chores to do.”
“I know it,” he said with a grin. “But, you know, work’s been such a bear…”
“Would you two cut it out?” Kansas, his friend and mentor roared over the channel. “Meade, I swear to God, if you’re not already rewiring that nav console…”
“All right, all right, relax, I’m on it,” he said, sounding exasperated. “Emmy, I’m afraid I’ve got to go. My boss is riding my ass here.”
He peered back over the console and took two shots, forcing the Coalition lieutenant and his team to take cover. “Keep those drones off me. I need two minutes.”
“Drones? What drones?” Emeline called back, sounding alarmed.
He wiped away her image, knowing she was more than capable of handling it.
He moved through the cargo hold, making his way back to the front of the ship where he had first stumbled on the two guards. He figured if they were trying to flank him, he would need to work fast if he was going to avoid being shot today.
Meade ran to the cockpit door and tried opening it with no luck. He cursed, looking for a solution to his problem.
Rule #10: No situation is so bad you can’t think your way out of it.
He was looking at the readout on his armbar of the ship’s systems, when inspiration struck. The Coalition MPs may have been able to lock out the command codes to important systems like navigation, they probably didn’t think about the ship’s lower priority systems.
Typing quickly on his armbar, he used the virus to call up the system he wanted access to and crossed his fingers, hoping he was right about the inexperienced guards on-board.
This time, the virus worked like a champ. The door to the cockpit opened and he slipped inside, closing it behind him.
“Kansas!” he shouted over the connection. “Get ahead of the ship and send the team down to the deck.” He dialed up a location on the map and sent it over to his friends chasing the supply ship. “Get everyone in position at the coordinates I sent and be ready. I’ll be coming in hot. And tell Emeline she doesn’t have to worry about the drones anymore. I’ve got those covered.”
“Drones?” Kansas’ voice sounded even more alarmed than Emeline’s did. “Goddammit Meade what the hell are you up to? Abort the mission!”
“We can’t,” he replied, still tying on his armbar, programming the ship to do what he wanted. “People will die if we don’t get them this food.”
A pause, and then he heard Emeline’s voice over the channel again.
“We’ll be there,” she confirmed. “What do you have in mind?”
He grinned. “A total shitstorm.”
Chapter Two
Running Short
The screen winked off and Meade’s image disappeared from her armbar.
Emeline Hunan looked up from the display on her aerocycle and searched the skies for the Coalition supply ship that was currently hurtling itself to the ground at 300 km/s.
She spotted a thin line of smoke high in the atmosphere and grimaced, watching it plunge down to the Martian regolith on a dangerously steep trajectory.
“What the hell is he doing?” a gravelly voice demanded over her receiver.
Kansas Grayborn, leader of the Martian Independence Movement, pulled up next to her and shook his head as they watched the supply ship angle itself into what could only be charitably called a ‘controlled crash landing.’
“He says he’s got things under control,” she said, shrugging.
“Bullshit. When’s the last time that damn fool had anything under control?” Grayborn grumbled.
She ignored him. Kansas always got grumpy when a mission required him to put on a rebreather suit.
“There!” She pointed to a glowing orb flying through the atmosphere.
“Perfect,” he said, watching the supply ship plummet toward the ground. “The supplies will be a lot easier to distribute if they’re in tiny pieces.”
Emeline put on a brave face for her friend. “Relax old man, he’s showing off. Meade knows I’m watching.”
Kansas didn’t respond, watching the ship as he worried the side of his lip.
“I hope,” she whispered.
Despite her bravado, she was a bit concerned about Meade herself. He’d proven to be nearly indestructible time and again, but right now he was all alone on a ship that seemed determined to crash.
“The airfoils aren’t deployed,” Kansas said, pulling the binoculars away from his face. “Whatever he’s doing, I hope he has it in mind to do it quick.”
She felt her stomach drop and grabbed the binoculars from Kansas. She looked through them and saw he was right. Without the airfoils to help guide the ship through the thin Martian atmosphere, the ship was sure to crash.
“It’s getting worse,” he said, pointing to the horizon. “Coalition drones are tracking the ship.”
She swore.
“He mentioned drones, didn’t he?” Grayborn asked, his face becoming even more sour.
“He may have alluded to something like that,” she admitted.
He activated his aerocycle. “Well then, we best get off our ass and go help pull that boy’s ass out of the fire.”
“I’m not sure he needs us.”
She pointed up to the ship which had appeared to grow larger as it drew closer to the rendezvous point Meade had sent them. The cargo door was open, and what looked like dirt was pouring out the rear.
“What…?” she whispered.
“…is that?” Kansas finished.
Whatever it was, the substance was being ignited by the ship’s engines, creating a huge explosion and trail of fire. Unfortunately for the Coalition drones escorting the ship, they were being eliminated one-by-one by the fiery maelstrom.
“That’s Meade,” she said smiling. “Come on, we’d better move if we want to keep up.”
Kansas shook his head and gunned the aerocycle to follow the falling supply ship. Their drone problem was taken care of, but they still needed to get the big beast on the ground.
“Meade!” she shouted into her armbar. “You did it. No more drones. Time to get that thing on the ground. You need to deploy the airfoils!”
“What?” she heard him call out through the din. “They are deployed!”
She aimed her armbar at the falling ship and sent him a live feed of the exterior.
“Oh, so they’re not deployed,” he said
weakly over the connection. “I’ll get on that.”
“You do that!” she said, gunning the engine to her aerocycle to give chase after the Coalition ship.
Their aerocycles were fast, but they weren’t fast enough to keep up with the de-orbiting ship. By Emeline’s calculations, the supply ship’s trajectory would take them toward the south pole of the planet. Far enough away from any prying eyes – but still dangerous.
“You ok up there Meade?”
“Just peachy,” he shouted back to her over the intercom. “Well, ohhh shit, hang on there a moment.”
“Is that gunfire?” she shouted back to him.
“There’s been a change in staffing by the Coalition on this bird,” Meade said. “I’ll have to call you back.”
The comm on her armbar went dark as the ship passed overhead. She opened the engine’s throttle all the way, giving chase after the falling supply ship.
She only hoped there was something left of him when she caught up with him.
Chapter Three
Breakout
Meade was pissed.
Here he thought he was being clever by using the virus to reprogram the ship’s waste system to destroy the pursuing Coalition drones which would leave him free to land the ship manually.
Except reprogramming the virus was having some unexpected effects on the rest of the ship’s systems and that was making his job far harder than it should be.
“That’s what I get for being clever,” he muttered.
Adding to his problems were the two Coalition guards who were attempting to blast their way into the cockpit. They hadn’t managed to break in yet, but it was only a matter of time. He wasn’t here to kill anyone – especially two boys who didn’t know how badly the Coalition had screwed them over.
But those boys were also trying to kill him, and he wasn’t exactly happy about that.
Typing on his armbar, Meade tried reprogramming the virus one more time, sending it after the central computer. His only hope now was to try and brute force the command codes to reset the system and take control.
