Elite

by Allen Stroud

  ‘I found this. Any use?’ Gebrial said. She handed him a metal cannister. Pietro unscrewed the top and sniffed, then smiled and drank cool water. ‘Well done, any more?’

  Gebrial pointed. ‘Five or six.’

  ‘We’ll take all of them,’ Pietro said. ‘Easy to carry too.’

  Gebrial went back for them and Pietro got up. He hobbled over to an outcrop of rocks and struggled painfully to the top to get a better view. The wreckage stretched out a long way. A little further, he saw a larger piece of the fuselage, vaguely like part of the cockpit, reminding him of their missing passenger. If anyone was going to die, it would be Renner, he thought. The old pilot had been floating in the cabin without magboots. Any sudden manoeuvres would have thrown him against the metal walls and floor.

  ‘Gebrial!’ Pietro shouted and pointed at the mangled section. She followed his prompt and started walking. It took her a few minutes to get there and she disappeared inside, then reappeared, shaking her head.

  The sun had begun to dip by the time they were ready. They’d gathered up everything edible, some sleeping blankets that might do for a wind break and a variety of other items. Pietro improvised straps and carry pouches out of anything he could and found a hull strut to use as a crutch. ‘We need to find somewhere dry and sheltered, and something to make a fire with,’ Pietro said. ‘We won’t go far from the wreck for now as someone will have seen us come down and it gives Renner another chance.’

  ‘How do we start a fire?’ Gebrial asked.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Pietro replied, ‘but I’ll think of something.’

  * * *

  ‘You are aware of the details?’ Walden said.

  ‘Yes Doctor,’ Bertrum replied. ‘The ship was identified before it hit atmosphere, the same one we’ve been tracking from Solati.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘LaveSec dropships located the crash site in a remote part of the north. We will secure the area and any survivors will be executed.’

  Walden blinked twice, but his expression didn’t change. ‘A satisfactory plan, ensure your contact team takes biochemical precautions.’

  Bertrum frowned. ‘I read the file, nothing implies the need.’

  ‘Inform them anyway,’ Walden said. ‘Torch everything, no organic residue; should be straightforward out in that wasteland.’

  ‘As you wish Doctor.’

  * * *

  A small broken wall, all that remained of a house, made for a windbreak and the clear cement floor a good place to put down what they’d gathered.

  Engine coolant, a solar cell and a live cable proved to be enough to start a small fire before sunset. Pietro sat huddled in a blanket, feeding the flames with broken wood. As he’d feared, night’s were cold on Lave and the fire a necessary risk. ‘This place has been picked clean,’ he said, ‘like someone’s harvested the trees and plants for everything.’

  ‘You think anyone still lives here?’ Gebrial asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Pietro said, ‘but if they do, we may have a hard time finding them.’ He poked the meagre bundle of sticks with the end of his metal crutch. ‘Probably best to turn on the slate and work out where we are.’

  Gebrial nodded and pressed the power button on the side. The device flared into life, took a few moments to calibrate then awaited her instructions. ‘What do we want to know?’

  ‘Our location for a start.’

  The girl’s fingers flicked across the screen, the planet appeared, bathed in an orange glow. The image zoomed towards a landmass in the northern hemisphere. ‘This region’s called Highland,’ she said. ‘Carbon farming and wildlife preserve, according to the tourist guide.’

  Pietro frowned. ‘Not anymore,’ he said. ‘How old is the information?’

  ‘Should be accurate,’ Gebrial said. ‘I found guides were always the best place to— Oh ... that’s odd, 3172.’

  ‘Nothing up to date?’

  ‘Not for tourists.’

  ‘Pass it here,’ Pietro sat down and Gebrial handed over the device. He keyed through the screens, but access was limited. ‘How odd, they definitely have a datanet, but I can’t find anything.’ A man’s face flashed up, mid-fifties and making a speech. The man had a full head of hair, but the eyebrows, rudder blade nose and easy smile were unmistakable. Pietro recognised him immediately and burst out laughing. ‘Finch?’

  ‘I told you, his name’s not Finch.’

  Pietro looked up. Renner stood over them holding the small carbine Pietro had taken from Heldaban Kel. ‘Welcome to my world,’ he said.

  * * *

  ‘What happened to you?’ Pietro asked.

  Renner sat staring into the flickering light of the fire, his feverish face an inscrutable mask of shadows. ‘Got thrown out just like you I guess,’ he said. ‘Don’t remember much else.’

  ‘You weren’t strapped in or anything,’ Gebrial said. ‘How did you—’

  Renner held up his hand. ‘Don’t know and don’t care to dwell,’ he said and stared at Pietro. ‘You lost a good ship, but the job now is to deal with what’s in front of us.’

  ‘What is that, exactly?’

  ‘You already guessed some,’ Renner said. ‘People want you dead for what you learned.’

  Pietro’s eyes flicked over the carbine held loosely in Renner’s hand. ‘That include you?’

  Renner smiled. ‘Only if you cause me trouble; the body you brought here, your friend Finch? On this planet, his name’s Hans Walden. They call him, “The Good Doctor”. Ain’t much good about him, but he was a fresh and intelligent face in the right place when he took over in the 3100s.’

  Pietro frowned. That explained the cloning tags found by Miranda’s people on the DNA sample he’d sent them, but the same man in charge of a planet one hundred years ago? ‘Were you alive back then?’ he asked Renner.

  Renner laughed. ‘No, but my father was, he saw it coming. The end of things he said and the day we started livin’ a lie. The fact you’ve never heard of Lave, says everything.’

  A cry echoed through the night, keening, loud and alien. Pietro shivered and Renner frowned. ‘Bordercats; territorial and smarter than your average wildlife; not many of ‘em left, but those that are, won’t take kindly to us. Likely they smelled blood or something.’

  ‘Finch’s body’s still out there,’ Pietro said.

  ‘Still cold too,’ Renner replied. ‘I found it when I woke. Was too late to be draggin’ it here, but we’ll go back tomorrow.’

  ‘Why?’ said Gebrial.

  ‘Because your friend Finch is special; not every day you bag a clone of the man who ruined your planet.’ Renner said. ‘We must get him to my people. There’s a base, a day or two’s walk from here. We need to be there before they find us.’

  ‘Who’ll find us?’

  ‘The authorities; Walden’s security forces. As soon as they work out who we are and what we have, they’ll send soldiers.’

  ‘Where are we going then?’ Gebrial asked.

  ‘North,’ Renner said, ‘should be a resistance base in the mountains.’

  Pietro frowned. ‘So far, I’ve only your word and what’s happened to suggest these people are involved. Maybe we turn ourselves in. On any other planet, they’d take us to a medical centre and let us go. Might be a while before I get funds for a new ship, but we’d be out of all this.’

  Renner’s smile became dangerous. ‘You’re forgetting, I’m holding the gun.’

  ‘You’re forgetting, I used to hunt people down for a living,’ Pietro said fixing him with a hard look. ‘The minute they get out here, they’ll establish a perimeter around the crash site and look for tracks. A Federal team would find us in less than an hour. As these people aren’t trained like ours, I reckon two hours at best.’ He got to his feet. ‘If you say they’re coming for us, we can’t stay here.’

  * * *

  The bridge of the Furnace was quiet. The ship’s main activity, monitoring the Wreaken resource exploration ven
tures in Quator, proceeded as planned and most of the crew were on rest shift. Admiral Jander’s mind wandered as he stared into the void.

  ‘Latest on the transponder, Lieutenant?’

  ‘Signal is still there sir, but constant,’ Cassom replied. ‘We’re getting some access interference as well; the datanet link is down and doesn’t appear to be coming back.’

  ‘Did you verify their position in-system?’

  ‘Yes sir, they’re planetside.’

  Jander nodded. ‘Analysis?’

  ‘We decrypted the telemetry from earlier,’ Cassom said. ‘Seemed to be prearranged; the manoeuvring jets activated soon after, suggesting an ambush somewhere out at the asteroid field. The data we got when they started to head in-system suggests they were running. Now, I’d say a landing or a crash.’

  ‘Either our friend met his trade and things went wrong,’ Jander said, ‘or he met someone else and things still went wrong. We getting any chatter from Lave authorities?’

  ‘Not much, their planetary broadcast system is pretty secure,’ Cassom said. ‘They appear to restrict comms to the surface from outside and encrypt the datastreams; may take time to get anything useful.’

  Jander shrugged. ‘Keep checking, but not a priority for now. If we’ve lost our bird, we move on.’

  * * *

  Ashoria’s forum hummed with conversation. The building was a low circular dome amidst the sprawling metropolis of corporate scrapers, a pulse for the city’s mood, its ceiling a marvel of curved glass, unsupported or framed, displaying the industrial panorama all around. Representatives from each Interstellar lineage living in the central hub lined the raked benches, sharing the talk of the day.

  The talk of weakness.

  Bertrum had never been to the forum building, but he was intimately familiar with its workings. The views were wasted on his office viewscreens, but the chattering whispers around the chamber were not. The auditorium speakers picked up and transmitted everything. Powerful data filters removed all irrelevant comments, picking up key words and themes as the privileged class of Lave preened pontificated and speculated. No Colonial citizens could enter the building, leaving the Interstellar houses to unburden themselves, leaving the lies of their society at the door.

  However, it wasn’t a place for free speech. Everyone knew their words would be recorded and analysed. They welcomed it. The charade had to be maintained; the merest sign of someone breaking ranks had to be addressed.

  In the centre dais, a woman of middle years stood and waited for quiet. Seryel Kallis, matriarch of an Interstellar line from a planet long forgotten to anyone but her and her relatives. In her hands, she held the speaker’s stave and when people caught sight of it, they quieted and sat down.

  ‘We all saw the reports,’ she said, her voice measured and calm. ‘The accident above our skies bears questioning. The power rationing requires answers. Where is the prefect to provide them?’

  A murmur ran through the chamber, approval and disapproval mixed in equal measure. Several figures stood up, the ritual gesture to take the floor. Her point made, Kallis ceded, walking to an old man with the stave, Leffel Gans, a factor from the suburbs. He replaced her in the centre and held it high.

  ‘The Good Doctor has preserved our way of life for nearly one hundred years,’ he said in a reedy voice. ‘Do you question his plan for us? To do so undermines our society.’

  Seryel got up again smiling. ‘I do not question the Doctor, I question his prefect. When have we seen him here, explaining his decisions and the work of his office? Other prefects spend time in the forum, why doesn’t ours?’

  Another factor took the stave. ‘Prefect Kowl is not answerable to this gathering,’ he said.

  ‘Perhaps he should be?’ said another.

  ‘To question the prefect is to question the plan!’ said another.

  Arguments broke out and Bertrum switched off the feed. ‘Niamh, collate and organise the broadcast. Retain sedition flags and anything with unusual keywords.’

  ‘Acknowledged Prefect, running scan,’ said the soft voice.

  Bertrum stared at the progress bar. The planetary society of Lave remained rigidly divided. Usually, the Interstellar minority, sucked from the teat and caused no trouble. Yet, his suspicions of insurrection voiced to the Prefect Council lingered. Someone had to be organising something to cause the account discrepancies.

  His eyes flicked to the murmuring image of Walden on the wall. More secrets you’re not talking about? Such a project existed, but whether it was drawing the resources coming up as anomalies, Bertrum wasn’t sure. If Walden needed things, he wouldn’t hide it.

  Bertrum called up the rest of the day’s business; a missive from President Isner of Diso asking for clarification of when they could expect the arrival of the Orange Star freighter fleet. The organisation, a huge, state-owned haulage and trade company, run by a factor who reported directly to Walden. The purchase of Diso’s grain exports, always an annual economic milestone. Whilst the tone stayed cordial, Bertrum knew he’d been included in the conversation by Isner to put pressure on the haulage factor, a woman named Verice. It was clear Isner had no idea just how powerless the prefect of Ashoria actually was.

  ‘New communication request,’ Niamh announced. ‘Direct feed from authorised crash sight recovery team.’

  ‘Connect and transmit,’ Berturm said. ‘Commander, status?’

  * * *

  [Edit: Here follows a transcript of the comms chatter from the interception team sent to the Northern Territorial Reserve (NTR). In 3265, according to the filed reports, this land had been cleared for resettlement, but all applications for land grants had been refused. The reasons for this are still classified and require special dispensation from the President.]

  Voice 1

  ‘Status is green, we are over crash site, prepared to drop.’

  Identified voice: Prefect Bertrum Kowl

  ‘Proceed with drop. All force authorised. Bio containment protocols should be observed.’

  Voice 1

  ‘Understood.’

  There is some sound of orders being issued and information relayed.

  Voice 1

  ‘Drop underway.’

  The soldiers can be heard disembarking.

  Voice 2

  ‘Entry secure, switching to IR. Second team deployed to secure the landing, first team moving into crashzone.’

  For several minutes we hear the buzz of comms chatter between the soldiers. Gradually the conversations settle into a pattern.

  Voice 1

  ‘Site is secure. No survivors found. Life-sign sweep underway ...’

  Chapter 20: The Chase

  Pietro winced as he hobbled over the uneven ground. His right knee felt wrong every time he put weight on it.

  Next to him, Renner dragged the Gallant’s loading cart with the freight capsule, containing Finch’s corpse. The cart was in good shape, but the capsule had deep scores and gouges along the sides. The low temperature regulation system couldn’t be repaired, so the body slowly thawed. Soon it would begin to decompose. Pietro wasn’t looking forward to that.

  ‘You worked for the Federation a long time?’ Renner asked.

  ‘All my life,’ Pietro said through gritted teeth.

  ‘What interest do the Feds have in a backwater like this?’

  ‘None,’ Pietro said. ‘We got word of something being done and set to find out who was behind it. The trail leading here wasn’t what I expected.’

  Renner grunted. ‘Or being turned on by your people I’d guess?’

  Pietro shrugged. ‘No, you don’t plan for that.’

  Renner smiled. ‘Well, lucky for me. I get a Fed to babysit.’

  A shadow in the darkness, Pietro clenched his fists, but saw it wasn’t moving; a finger-like rock with others piled around the base. He stumbled over and sat down, breathing heavily. ‘Leave me here,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t leave people,’ Renner said.

 
‘How far is the base?’ Gebrial asked.

  ‘Not sure, thirty klicks, maybe more.’

  ‘More? Do you know where we are?’

  ‘Roughly, it’s been ten years since I was last on planet,’ Renner said.

  ‘You know the way?’

  ‘In the dark, no,’ Renner said, ‘but we’ve no option.’

  Pietro got to his feet and they went on in silence for a while, until, in the distance, he heard the whine of jet engines. ‘That’ll be the pursuit,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah.’

  Pietro clenched his teeth. The promise of reprisal in the rising whine pushed his pain threshold up a notch. No words were spoken, but they all knew.

  ‘How far at this pace?’ Gebrial’s voice sounded shaky.

  ‘At least a day,’ Renner said.

  ‘We won’t make it.’

  ‘Don’t mean we don’t try.’

  Pietro glanced back. Small lights winked and swirled around the crash site. He remembered the training, secure the landing area, ground search and look for signs of a trail. Darkness remained an ally, but easily removed with the right technology. ‘We didn’t cover our tracks,’ he said, ‘so I reckon we’ve less than an hour before they catch up.’

  ‘What will they do with us?’ Gebrial asked.

  ‘No reason for us to live,’ Renner said, ‘and a perfect excuse for us to be dead.’

  ‘You had your run-ins with these people,’ Pietro said. ‘How good are they?’

  ‘Good enough,’ Renner replied. ‘There’s a reason I stayed off planet.’

  ‘Fine,’ Pietro said. ‘Give me the gun.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Give me the gun, we needn’t all die here.’

  ‘Just you?’

  ‘No intention of dying,’ Pietro said, ‘but we’re out of easy choices. I’m slowing you both. Makes sense and you get a chance.’

  Renner shrugged and handed over the weapon. ‘You got a plan?’

  ‘I’ve a few ideas.’

  ‘You’re injured, how you going to find us when you’re done?’

  ‘No idea,’ Pietro said, ‘but I’ll think of something.’

  * * *