Savage Fugitive

by Patrick G Cox

  “You mean these structures are not intended for occupants?”

  The scientist looked uncomfortable. “The responses suggest it, but there may be some technology that would do it as well. We just need to figure out how to get it to drop its defences.”

  “I think you’ll need to work on that as a priority. The next time a team is trapped in one of these buildings, they might not be so lucky.” The Brigadier drummed her fingers on her desk. “And none of those it caught last time can recall a damned thing after the walls closed in on them, as they described it.”

  “At least we got them back, more or less unharmed.”

  “True, but they were stripped of our very expensive weapons and equipment, and the Chairman wasn’t too pleased about that.” His tirade was practically ringing in her ears still. She sighed. “Besides, we only found them because of the search for the survivors from the Fleet ship.”

  “Yes, but at least we have one of the lab rats from Pangaea now.”

  “A good catch indeed. What have you learned from examining him so far?”

  “A little, although we can’t start the real work until Doctor Wan’s team get here. O’Connor’s healing properties are remarkable. And we were absolutely right to put him into the remote unit, install the virtual screen, and isolate it from the Base.”

  “Just remember he’s a Commissioned Officer in the Fleet, and a range of protections must be observed with him. We don’t want to do anything outside of international law, as that will cause prying eyes to take a closer look at everything else we’ve got going on.”

  “Exactly,” said the Colonel. “These tests have to stay within the range of what’s permissible. Otherwise, we could all face severe penalties, and besides, pushing the boundaries would open the door to a range of prisoner abuses that I don’t even want to consider, especially not with O’Connor being a commissioned officer of the Fleet.”

  The scientist shifted in his seat. “Well, those restrictions make it very difficult for us to find out how the work on Pangaea could have caused this. You do realise that, I hope.”

  “That is your problem,” said the Colonel. “As it is, our use of non-commissioned Rates to build and establish this base and to operate the equipment to manufacture the kit for our structures and finance our operation here is barely legal under the treaties. We can’t afford to be accused of allowing unethical research — look at what happened when the Pangaea lab was exposed.”

  “I am fully aware of the constraints,” the scientist snapped. “And Doctor Wan is too. I remind you that O’Connor’s abilities are a direct result of the experiments we did on him at Pangaea. In one sense, he is the product of our work. We have a right to the result.”

  Brigadier Newton leveled a gaze at the scientist. “His rights don’t seem to have counted for much on Pangaea. Surely, as a citizen, he has a right to benefit from the use of his DNA, or am I simply being naive?”

  “In our view, his rights as a citizen of the Confederation are debatable. The manner of his arrival in our society is questionable, and the original grant of protection and citizenship given to O’Connor and Heron was challenged by the Department of Science and Technology itself.”

  “Yes — and the challenge was dismissed by the Confederate Supreme Court. I will not permit any test or examination that infringes his rights. Is that clear?” The edge in the Brigadier’s voice was unmistakable.

  “Abundantly. But Doctor Wan has the authority of the Board to undertake all necessary procedures to discover why O’Connor and Heron — if we had that one in our lab — are able to communicate with any available AI network through their thoughts alone. That may involve surgery. You will have to take it up with the Board.”

  Restless and bored, Ferghal paced the small chamber that was now his home. His leg was a little stiff, but it had healed, as had his elbow. He had worked his way into the network in this building, and through it, he had learned how the security screen worked. He had also learned that the connection that normally existed between the laboratory and the rest of the Base had been deliberately disconnected, and the lab isolated.

  He prowled the room. Sparsely furnished, it offered very little by way of comfort. The only chair was utilitarian and fixed to the floor, and the entertainment console had a limited store of games, which he considered useless child’s play, and movies, boring in the extreme. Some even made a laughable attempt at capturing Britain in the 1800s, and a few did a plausible job of portraying life on a sailing ship during the Napoleonic Wars. Having lived through the reality of that experience, he’d toyed with the idea of accessing the network to have a go at tweaking the movies, but then he realised this was possibly one of the ways his captors planned to study him, so he left them untouched.

  And so he used his active mind to entertain himself, and constantly worked out how to escape this imprisonment. He’d learned what was planned, and it worried him, but that made him even more determined to have his own revenge as soon as the opportunity arose. Listening to the AI, he became aware of a new voice in his head. He paused to listen more intently.

  Slowly a smile spread across his face. Then, remembering he was under surveillance, he suppressed the smile and resumed his pacing — but he was working out a plan furiously in his thoughts. Someone had brought into the lab a portable interface to the main Base network. He made full use of the opportunity it gave him.

  Chapter 9 — Hunted

  Harry faced his group. “We need to make a decision. I do not intend to surrender to the Consortium. Some of you may understand why. But I cannot ask the rest of you to follow me on a path that, for all I know, will lead to a lonely and unpleasant death. The facts are these.”

  He held up a hand as the Coxswain made to interrupt. “Let me finish please, Swain. We have very little food and must soon experiment with eating what we can hunt, catch or gather. That has certain risks, as I am sure you are aware. We have few weapons and can do little to defend ourselves until we can manufacture something to meet the need, or capture some weapons from our enemies. We are being hunted — you’ve all seen the search teams and aerial sweeps. Those are the facts. You must decide for yourselves whether you are prepared to stay with me and attempt to disrupt their operations or give yourselves up and become prisoners of war.” He let his eyes sweep the group before he stood up. “I shall leave you to discuss it among yourselves. You may call me when you’ve decided.”

  “I’ll join you.” Rasmus stood up. “I am not a soldier or a cosmonaut, so I am not under your orders, Harry. I will go with you.” Taking Harry’s arm, he steered him out of the firelight.

  Once they could no longer hear the men at the campfire, Harry and Rasmus found places to sit. Above them, the blaze of stars cast a ghostly light on the harsh landscape.

  “Thanks for that, Rasmus. I appreciate your offer, but I really must tell you I do not know what to do or how we will survive. I remember reading that the winters on this planet are extreme, and I have no idea how long we may be able to keep ourselves alive and free — or even if.”

  “Harry, you have done very well for us so far, and I think you will continue to do so. Do not let fear creep in and rob your intelligent mind of possible solutions. There is always a way. We must simply find it.” Rasmus grinned in the gloom. “Besides, I have a fancy to see what it is like to live off the land.” He broke off as the youngest TechRate, Rahman Watson, joined them.

  “Mr. Winstanley’s compliments, Mr. Heron. Would you please come back to the campfire? You too, Mr. Schulte-Lubeck.”

  “Certainly, Rahman.” Harry stood up. “I’ll come immediately.”

  “Thanks, sir.” The TechRate threw up a salute, a broad grin on his face. “We’ve decided — we’re with you all the way.”

  And with that, the future seemed much less bleak. It would be tough, and Harry worried that this decision placed his people in danger, and could even get them killed. Sabotaging any of the Consortium systems would int
ensify the hunt, and evading their patrols would prove difficult and dangerous. On the other hand, they had little with which to do any damage anyway. His best course of action was to stay free and keep as many of the enemy’s troops occupied in searching for them as possible.

  Admiral James Heron listened to the scant information the briefing officer shared with him.

  “Daring’s locator beacon was recovered in System DGS673, sir — twenty light years from her patrol and reconnaissance routing. There’s no other wreckage — no bodies, no debris, nothing that shows she was destroyed there. The conclusion is that the beacon was planted deliberately.”

  James was visibly angry. “So we still have nothing to tell us what happened to her or where?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Well that’s no damned help at all. What’s been put in hand to find her? I understand at least one other ship has vanished like this in the past.”

  “Yes, sir. There’ve been five. The Argus disappeared in very similar circumstances five months ago. Her beacon was also recovered in a remote system with no other wreckage.” The Lieutenant Commander felt he was on safer ground here. “The Argus was also on a patrol and reconnaissance mission. The Daring may have been caught in a similar trap.”

  His fingers drumming the desk, the Admiral frowned. “These ambushes are far too frequent and too convenient to be coincidence.” He stood up. “Thank you for your time. I’m on my way to my flagship. Keep me informed of any developments.”

  “Yes, sir.” The Lieutenant Commander sounded as relieved as she felt. She stood thinking a moment longer after the Admiral departed. She knew the Daring carried two of the men the Admiral regarded as his sons, and in the absence of any news, it seemed likely they were dead. Her link buzzed and she answered it. When she read the message, her eyes widened, and she hurried after the Admiral.

  She caught up with him at his transport module. “Sir! I think we have something. Intelligence sources report that the Consortium’s research teams say they have one of the men they call the lab rats. A specialist team is on their way to examine him.”

  The Admiral’s face turned stony. “Thank you. See if they can find out where and who.”

  Watching the Admiral’s expression, his Flag Lieutenant bit his lip. God, he thought, someone is going to pay dearly if anything happens to Harry or Ferghal. And then another thought hit him. If only one had been captured, where the hell was the other?

  “We have a problem, sir.” The Coxswain studied the Canids blocking their way to what looked like a series of very alien buildings. “They don’t look friendly,” he said in a low voice, and in truth, they looked ferocious. “Shall we arm our weapons?”

  “No.” Harry was quiet but firm. “We don’t want to provoke them. I’ll try to parlay. We need the shelter of those buildings they’re guarding for a few days at least.”

  Rasmus shook his head. “They do not look as if they want to talk, mein freund. Be careful you are not on their menu.”

  “I shall.” Harry unbuckled his belt and dropped his weapons. “Be ready to defend yourselves. If I fall, do not try to rescue me — save yourselves.”

  Moving forward step by gradual step, he held up his hands with his palms facing the Canids.

  The leader of the pack immediately made an aggressive display of charging forward and gesturing with what Harry realised was a pair of vicious looking knives. The bared fangs were alarming, and so was the deep rumbling snarl that accompanied the charge.

  He stopped. “We intend you no harm. We seek only food and shelter.” Pointing to the nearest building, he made the motions of putting food in his mouth and laying his head on his folded hands to indicate sleeping. Other members of the group were moving to encircle them. That they didn’t trust humans was obvious — probably, he thought with disdain, because of some action by the Consortium troops. I don’t blame you, he said inwardly, remembering all too well what the Consortium-backed Johnstone Group had done to him. You have every right to be wary of humans.

  Harry waited to see what response he would get to his pantomime of eating and sleeping. The leader seemed unfazed and repeated his aggressive display.

  Harry had an inspiration. Taking a freshly caught fish and his fire-making tools from his backpack, he bent to the ground and laid the fish on a flat stone, one of many that littered the ground in this region. He gathered a few twigs within reach, and set about making a small fire. This caused the leader to withdraw, his weapons raised and ready. The Canids focused on the smoke rising from Harry’s kindling as he blew gently on the tinder and slowly fed it twigs and chips until the flame grew into a blazing campfire.

  As he worked, something seemed to be tugging at his subconscious, a sensation he couldn’t identify, but it felt like when another person you know really well says the same thing you’re thinking. He didn’t have time to mull over it, so he pushed the thought out of his mind and busied himself skewering the fish to set about cooking it.

  The leader edged closer, nostrils scenting toward the fire and the humans. Then, he turned, barked sharply and withdrew, taking his people with him.

  Rasmus and the others joined Harry.

  “That was interesting,” remarked Rasmus.

  “I don’t know about interesting,” said the Coxswain. He gazed across the empty landscape. “What made them go like that?”

  “Must be the Lieutenant’s cooking,” joked Maddie Hodges, relief making them all a little crazy.

  “Well then,” Harry said with a chuckle. “You’d better take over the cooking. I’d not wish to be accused of poisoning you all as well.” Privately he wondered what tried to access his mind. It felt like his link was being tested. He dismissed the thought and made the conscious choice to focus on the fact that at least they now had shelter in the empty structures for a few days, a welcome relief.

  The Consortium’s searches intensified, forcing Harry and his crew from their comfortable refuge in the empty city. The weeks since then had taken them deep into wild and broken country. They watched and avoided Consortium vehicles and ground patrols that seemed to be conducting a systematic search of the area. For protection at night and shelter from the wind, they slept in caves or hollowed out notches in rocky outcrops. Once they came close to being caught by one of the violent storms that swept this land. A number of times they had to take shelter as aircraft swept the area.

  They came across another of the apparently empty cities, an eerie place, completely deserted but in perfect condition, as if the inhabitants had simply packed everything and left minutes before.

  “Damned spooky, these places, sir. Don’t the natives live in them?”

  “I have no idea. Maybe they do in the winter.” Harry hesitated. “That’s a good question though. Where do the Canids actually live? We’ve encountered no other habitations, and they certainly don’t live in the caves we’ve used, but why? Has the Consortium attacked them? If so, why would they do that?”

  “They need a reason, sir?” The Coxswain saw Harry’s expression and knew what it meant. “You think we’re being watched, don’t you, sir, as if we’re not alone here.”

  Harry had the feeling something was trying to hack into his cyberlink. He nodded. “Tell the others not to damage or touch anything unusual. We’ll move on as soon as we’re rested.”

  It was the Coxswain’s turn to prepare a meal for the group. “Damned if I know how the natives cook,” he complained, waving smoke from his eyes. “We’ve seen ‘em eating, and it doesn’t look like raw stuff. More like ration packs.”

  “I’ve noticed that too, Swain. I wish we could actually talk to them. I’ve seen tools that would make Ferghal envious, but never any sign that they live in these seemingly perfect towns and cities.”

  “And their weapons are odd, sir. Look like some sort of crossbow and those nasty knives they can switch into play. Bad news at close range, but not if someone’s got something with longer range.”

  Har
ry nodded in silent agreement, lost in thought. He was concerned about the condition of his crew. With their uniforms and boots showing the effects of hard wear, he wondered where they might get replacements. The Canids wore something that looked like the sort of rubbery suit divers wore, and their boots looked like they could withstand just about any terrain and weather condition imaginable.

  Harry grimaced. Thoughts of uniforms and boots reminded him of his painful feet. “How are the men’s feet, Swain? Mine are not used to this terrain.”

  “The lads are struggling, sir, make no mistake. Our boots weren’t made for this.” The Swain laughed. “We don’t normally wander around planet-side, and what’s good on the ship doesn’t hold up to this sort of use. Good thing we grabbed the boots that go with the EVA suits.”

  “And they aren’t really up to this either, Swain. Mine chafe badly.”

  “I can’t feel what I’m walking on anymore, sir.” The Coxswain grimaced. “It’s like my feet are on fire most of the time.”

  “I know the feeling.” Harry sighed. “My boots are all but destroyed. We’ll have to find some replacements.”

  “Mr. Heron.” The lookout’s voice cut across their conversation. “I think you had better see this, sir.”

  Harry hobbled to where the Rate was crouched in a sheltered spot observing something in the distance.

  “What is it, Will?”

  “An armoured transport vehicle is coming this way, sir, some sort of patrol.”

  Harry focused his ranging lens on the transport. The crew didn’t seem to be paying much attention as their vehicle skimmed towards Harry’s position. “Damn,” he said. “Warn the others to get into hiding. They’ll be on us in ten minutes. No one’s to move unless I give the order — but be ready to defend yourselves.”

  “Got you, sir.” Will slipped down from his perch and joined the Coxswain who moved the others into hiding after dowsing the fire and covering it.