by Devin Hanson
Dennison Romaine stood with his arms folded and listened to the other ainlif argue. He was horrified by the thought that his strategy of patient surveillance may have led to the failure of their mission.
The Everard ainlif were all for immediate assault of the Basement. Edison and Bryson argued that the attack on their rooms didn’t mean their cover was blown, but Dennison could hear the plaintive, defensive note in their voices.
The Everards were right. As much as he hated to admit it, the careful, safe approach he had advocated hadn’t worked.
“For all we know,” Derek cried, “our mothers could be being held at gunpoint! They could have been killed!”
“Now, let’s not get carried away,” Ferguson said, making calming motions. “The well-being of our mothers is the only thing keeping this habitat from being shot out of the sky. They are sure to know that. Killing Cynthia and Alana will be the last, desperate step they take.”
“These men have not shown themselves to be overly logical,” Evan said grimly, “but it is likely you are correct.”
“Even if that is the case,” Derek continued angrily, “our element of surprise has been lost.”
Dennison pushed off the wall he had been leaning against and stepped forward, raising his hands. “Okay! We’ve been over this ground. All we do now is waste more time.”
“You don’t need to tell us that,” Derek snapped.
Dennison nodded and refrained from pointing out that Derek had just wasted more time with his useless comment. “Good. Now, it’s unfortunate that our plan of action didn’t bring about immediate success, but all we can do now if move forward and use the data that we have gathered to good effect. We know the layout of the Basement now. We know, at least partially, what kind of defenses they have set up. We know they are armed and willing to kill.”
“That’s not insignificant,” Ferguson added, backing up his brother. “Knowing your enemy is necessary before any battle can begin.”
“No offense, Dennison,” Derek ground out, “but you’ve had your chance. All the vaunted Romaine technology couldn’t help us. Now is time for action.”
“Your treatment was scheduled for a week ago, wasn’t it?” Bryson asked Derek pointedly.
“What of it?”
“You’re letting your desperation get in the way of your reason. Running into the Basement half-cocked will only result in the deaths of your mother—and mine.”
“Hey! Go to hell, you bastard!”
Derek leapt forward and was intercepted by Evan, and the two went crashing to the ground in a tangle of flailing limbs. Evan managed to lock out Derek’s arm and leaned his weight onto it, forcing Derek to go limp or risk it being broken.
“Settle the hell down,” Evan said breathlessly. Derek growled something and tried to get up, and Evan shifted his weight again, driving the fight out of his brother. “Fighting amongst ourselves solves nothing! Remember who we are fighting against. The extras are our enemies! Not the Romaines!”
There was a soft tone and Tabitha said, “Excuse me, ainlif. There is a broadcast being directed at the habitat, on all channels.”
“Put it on,” Dennison ordered.
Tabitha’s dulcet tones were replaced by a man’s voice, hard and commanding. “Citizens of Nueva Angela, this is the commander of the Horizon marines. There are those among you who have taken matriarchs prisoner. This is a violation of the Venusian Habitat Charter. You are commanded to immediately offer any and all information you may have as to the whereabouts and condition of the matriarchs. Any opposition will be met with lethal force. Failure to immediately comply will be treated as conspiracy against the Charter.”
There was a pause, then Tabitha added, “The message repeats.”
“They’re here?” Dennison asked, already knowing the answer. He frowned and tried to stir up some anger of his own to combat the sinking feeling in his stomach.
“Two dirigibles have just docked. Marine Commander Talbot has disembarked and set up a beachhead.”
“The game is up, then,” Dennison sighed.
“This is not the end!” Farrell shook his head. “We can’t just let the marines go in shooting!”
“You heard the commander,” Bryson said. “We have information regarding the whereabouts of the matriarchs. We have to go to them.”
“We’re not citizens of Nueva Angela,” Evan said. He scowled down at the floor, his brow furrowed. “Commander Talbot’s orders do not apply.”
“You think he’s willing to make that distinction?” Dennison shook his head. “They’re looking for blood, Evan.”
“Or,” Bryson said suddenly, “we could send someone to interface Tabitha with Commander Talbot and inform him that the rest of us are already operational and under communications blackout.”
“I’ll go,” Edison volunteered. He rolled his wounded shoulder and winced. “I’m no good to you in a firefight anyway. I’d just get in the way.”
“All in favor?” Dennison asked.
He needn’t have bothered. The tense confrontation had fallen apart and already the ainlif were hurrying to prepare themselves.
Dennison traded a handshake with Edison. “Thanks for stepping up,” Dennison said.
“Just make sure that idiot Derek doesn’t do something stupid,” Edison rolled his eyes. “Take one of Tabitha’s remote earpieces. Talbot will pick up on it eventually, but by then it should be too late. Get Alana back, Dennison.”
“I will. Or I’ll die trying,” Dennison promised. It wasn’t an exaggeration. If they failed to rescue Alana, then death, for all of them, would be inevitable.
“Through the door on your left,” Tabitha said softly in Dennison’s ear.
Dennison paused at the door and glanced behind him. The other ainlif were following on his heels, dressed in black with the bulk of ablative body armor under their clothing. Among the tan and green clothes of the cryogenic distillery staff, they stood out blatantly.
There were a dozen people staring in their direction, but nobody had yet moved to intercept them. In the short time it had taken the ainlif to get to Stack C and find a lift, word of the marines’ arrival had swept through the habitat.
Dennison tried the door and found it was locked. “What’s on the other side?” he asked Tabitha.
“Liquid nitrogen tanks and sulfur dioxide ballast tanks.”
“Incoming,” Evan muttered.
Dennison turned to find an older woman walking toward him hurriedly, a frown on her face and a lab coat on her back.
“What do you think you’re doing? That room is off limits.”
Before Dennison could say anything, Derek stepped forward to intercept the woman, one hand falling to the butt of his pistol. “Our business is of no concern to you. Return to your duties.”
“God damn ainlif,” one of the watching techs muttered.
The woman pulled up short. “You’re with the Horizon marines?” She kept her eyes on Derek’s gun, but wasn’t backing down either.
“You’re ordered to comply with all Horizon orders,” Derek growled. “Open this door immediately.”
The woman folded her arms. “What do you want me to do? Return to my duties or open the door?”
Dennison couldn’t help but grin at the woman’s gall. He turned to the side and covered his mouth with a hand. Derek’s approach wasn’t the one he would have taken, but they did need the door open. Besides, it was a little late to step in and try to smooth things over. Derek was all out of patience for more gentle approaches.
“As far as you’re concerned, your duty right now is to open this door.”
“Why? What use do the marines have for ballast? There’s nothing in there that isn’t toxic.”
“There isn’t time to explain,” Evan said, putting a hand on Derek’s shoulder and smiling at the woman, trying to de-escalate the situation. “Right now, we need to get through that door. We have no intention of harming you or anyone else with the contents of the room.”
Derek shrugged off Evan’s hand and glared at the woman. His hand tightened on his pistol, the knuckles growing white. “Open the door, woman. Now.”
Her face paled and she nodded abruptly. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
She stepped forward and Dennison made room for her with a muttered apology. She tapped in a code and the door lock disengaged.
“I’m reporting this to the marine commander,” she said acidly.
“Knock yourself out,” Derek sneered at her as he brushed by, making her stumble.
Dennison stood back while the other ainlif filed through after Derek. The mood among the technicians was brittle, with anger plain on more than one face. With a last nod at the woman, Dennison went through the door and closed it behind him. He heard the lock re-engage with a metallic snick.
“Would it kill you to be polite?” he demanded.
Derek spun to face him, his face red with anger. “Politeness got us in this position in the first place,” he snarled. “I’m done trying to ingratiate myself to these murderers.”
“One,” Dennison said firmly, “the people back there are just common folk trying to do their job and keep their habitat running smoothly. They have nothing to do with the capture and detention of our mothers. Two, none of the extras has committed murder. So far, we’re the only ones who have killed anyone.”
“Not through lack of trying,” Derek shouted. “And if they had their way, we’d all be dead!”
“I’m not going to argue the point with you,” Dennison shook his head. “Evan, keep an eye on your brother. If he flies off the handle at the wrong moment it could get us all killed, and then who will our mothers look to for their rescue?”
“Damn you, Dennison,” Derek snarled. He started to walk forward and Evan caught him with an arm across the chest.
“Derek, settle down, or I will bench you.”
“You have no right to—”
“You’re wrong, brother,” Farrell said, adding his own glare to Evan’s. “It is our absolute right to act to preserve the safety of our matriarch. You’ve proven yourself to be unreliable, reckless, and a danger to all of us. Control yourself, or we will vote to have your treatments canceled, regardless of the outcome.”
Derek turned desperate eyes to Chase, but the pilot only averted his gaze and nodded. Derek cursed bitterly and he shook himself free of Evan. “Fine. If you want it that way, that’s the way it will be. But damn you for a bunch of weak-willed sheep.”
Dennison eyed Evan. The hard planes of the ainlif’s face and the iron glint of murderous calm in Evan’s eyes was distinctly un-sheep-like. “I’m glad we’ve got that sorted out,” he said. “From here on, we’re in territory controlled by the extras. I’d like to remind everyone that there are probably close to three hundred extras below us. Three hundred men and women, armed and desperate. It only takes one of them to pull a trigger and kill our mothers.
“We know where they’re being held. We know the route and probable points of resistance. Once we are discovered and shots are fired, we make a beeline for their cell. Derek, from this point on, the men and women we run into will be our enemies.” He nodded at the raw hunger on the man’s face. “Kill as needed. But we must remain silent for as long as possible.”
“Enough pep talk,” Derek growled. “We know all this.”
“God go with us, then,” Chase muttered fervently.
Dennison crossed the room to the vent cover that Tabitha had described to him. There was no lock this time, just a cotter pin holding the cover in place. He pulled the pin and rotated the cover out of the way. “Alright, Evan. You first.”
The last levels of Stack C were abandoned to the enormous ballast tanks. When they exited the cramped vents, the ainlif found themselves on a narrow catwalk that hugged a carbon dioxide tank the size of a dirigible. Two of the tanks took up most of the open space, with the remaining space filled with suspended spherical sulfuric acid tanks.
Plumbing snaked everywhere, with guy wires and suspension cables crisscrossing every which way. In the dim gloom, the space looked like a colossal spider’s nest hung with bulging egg sacks.
Dennison emerged from the air vent last and straightened, stretching the cramp from his back with a grimace. It had been a tight fit. If he had brought any more gear with him, Dennison was certain he would have gotten stuck.
In the open air between the tanks, the slightest sounds echoed alarmingly. Down the catwalk, the Everard ainlif were far ahead, already at the head of the ladder epoxied to the side of the tank.
“They wouldn’t wait,” Bryson said darkly.
“Derek again?”
“Who else?” Ferguson scoffed. “The man’s unhinged.”
“He’s a week overdue on his treatment,” Dennison shook his head. “To be honest, I can hardly blame him.”
Ferguson grunted and spat over the rail. “Yeah. Right.”
“Come on,” Bryson said. He had a hard look in his eyes, and an almost longing glower toward the distant door on the ground floor. “I’ve trained my whole life for this. Let’s not let the Everards have all the fun.”
Dennison clapped Bryson on the shoulder. “There will be more than enough for all of us. You have enough ammunition to kill everyone in the Basement?”
Bryson eyed Dennison irritably. “These are not soldiers, brother. They will not stand their ground when their friends die about them. I have enough to send the survivors screaming in fear.”
“I hope you’re right.”
They reached the ladder and Dennison let Bryson go first before following. The ladder was held only a few inches off the face of the tank and he could feel the cold emanating from it. Mist gathered and slid down the sides of the tank and left clammy dampness on his hands and face.
The Everard ainlif had gathered at the door when Dennison made it to the bottom of the ladder. Mist from the tanks eddied about his feet as he jumped the last few rungs to the ground. Nervous tension gathered in a knot in his stomach. This was it. Once they passed through that door, they would be in a life or death fight with the extras of Nueva Angela.
“Give me a vector, Tabitha,” he requested.
“The door directly ahead of you leads to the back rooms of the restaurant. In the video surveillance prior to the feed shutdown, there were no defenses in place.” There was a pause. “I should inform you that Edison has made contact with Commander Talbot. Edison has predicted that the commander will take less than ten minutes to integrate my systems.”
“Understood. If you can do so discretely, forward my acknowledgement to Edison.” Dennison stepped up to join the Everards at the door. “We’re on course. Down the hallway and the third left. The stairs will bring us to the second level where our mothers are being kept. From the second level, we take the last door on the right, and that will bring us to the hallway outside the prison.”
Derek nodded, his eyes fixed hungrily on the door. “We know the route, Romaine.”
Evan stepped up behind Derek and placed his left hand on Derek’s shoulder, his pistol held in his free hand. “On my count,” Evan muttered.
Derek reached for the door handle and eased it down. There was a click as the mechanism disengaged. “Set.”
“Three, two, and mark.”
On Evan’s mark, Derek pulled the door open and darted through with Evan hard on his heels. Dennison heard the suppressed tap, tap of the ainlifs’ pistols and the louder, meaty crunch of monomol rounds ripping through flesh and bone. There were no cries of surprise or alarm.
Bryson and Ferrell went through the door next, and they moved forward to take up position at the hallway, stepping over the twisted bodies on the ground. Dennison followed, and he paused, taking in the room.
There had been three people in the room, two men and a woman, presumably doing some kind of food prep work. There was a tub holding a jelly-like block of yeast, now spattered with blood and lung tissue. The cooks had been killed without warning, without time to surrender or flee.
Dennison waited for the expected remorse but found nothing. “Farrell, Bryson, secure our rear,” he said in a harsh whisper. “Evan, Derek, take point. Ferguson, Chase, you’re with me on support. Remember, silence is our best weapon right now.”
Evan and Derek ghosted forward into the hallway. The rest of the ainlif followed, with Farrell and Bryson taking up the rear. Dennison had a moment of relief that they were following his orders without bickering about it.
Ahead, the two at point had reached the hallway junction when a burst of laughter from behind a closed door snapped Dennison around. The heavy weight of the pistol in his hand seemed like a feather as he centered the front sights on the door. Adrenaline pounded in his chest and he took a slow breath.
The door slid open and a man wearing a net cap stared at Dennison, shock making his eyes wide. The gun in Dennison’s hand coughed and the man spun backwards. From a distance of six feet, the monomol round would have turned everything in the man’s chest cavity to soup.
Leave nothing to chance. The thought pounded in Dennison’s head and he leapt into the open doorway, scanning the room beyond. Three people were only just now starting to turn, starting to realize they weren’t alone. Mechanically, Dennison swept the sights from target to target, firing rapidly. He had practiced the sweep and clear hundreds of times on paper targets and his reflexes lined up the shots automatically without him having to think about it.
The last woman went down, her gasping intake of breath cut off short before she could scream. One last time, Dennison swept the room, stepping far enough inside to make sure there were no corners someone could have been hiding in. The assorted yeast processing machinery for pressing and forming yeast paste went by without him really taking any of it in.
“Clear,” he said softly and jerked a nod at Ferguson looking in the doorway.
Taking care to avoid stepping in the spreading pools of blood, Dennison hopped the body in the doorway and slid the door closed again.
“Didn’t think you had it in you,” Derek said with a tight grin when Dennison reached the hallway junction.
