Wings of Pegasus

by Jay Allan

  The Union party had run into something far, far deadlier. An imperial security bot.

  Andi moved toward the corridor, knowing it was a bit reckless, but doing it anyway. She knelt down and picked up a chunk of metal, knowing immediately what it was.

  Imperial alloy.

  The strange metal found in so many artifacts and imperial ruins was remarkable in a number of ways. Strength, durability…but Andi had always considered the most amazing thing to be the way the material defied aging. No rust, no tarnishing, nothing at all to suggest that it hadn’t just rolled out of the foundry, freshly polished. Even the piece she held was more or less intact, a section of the bot’s outer casing, she guessed, detached from its mounting, but otherwise undamaged. She wiped her hand across it, and the blackened soot from the explosion that had destroyed the bot came away, revealing a shiny silver surface. It was so smooth, she could see her reflection in it.

  “It took more than a frag grenade to take this thing out.” Her words were grim, but she didn’t voice her true concern. She didn’t know for sure what they were facing, and she wasn’t going to jump to conclusion. Sector Nine operatives were brutal enough, but she’d put her crew up against them in anything close to an even fight.

  Foudre Rouge were a different matter entirely. The clone soldiers were deadly fighters, but the real difference would be the ordnance they carried. She had an assault rifle and a belt full of light grenades, no light armament. But Foudre Rouge were combat soldiers. If there were any of them loose in the facility, they’d be armed to the teeth. Sector Nine operatives could be there to explore, to research imperial artifacts, just as her people were. But if the feared Union regulars were present, they were there for only one purpose.

  “I want everybody alert, ready for anything.” It was a stupid thing to say, she realized immediately. They were prowling around an imperial ruin after fighting off three enemy ships. Anyone who wasn’t wide awake and alert was probably already dead.

  “So, what are you worried about, Andi? More imperial bots? Or Foudre Rouge?” Vig hadn’t hesitated to speak the name she had kept to herself. His question was the one she knew was on everyone’s mind, and there was only one reply, single word to answer them both.

  “Yes.”

  They were both deadly threats…but there was some advantage, she supposed, to having the Union personnel ahead of her people. They would flush out the imperial defenses, as they clearly had the bot she was staring at even then. If she followed them, maybe her people could avoid running into any imperial defenses themselves.

  And, if we’re really lucky, the bots will take out some more of these Union bastards…

  She imagined finding the last Sector Nine operative, lying wounded on the ground as she relieved him of a large sack of imperial artifacts…and put a bullet between his eyes. It was an unlikely occurrence, she knew, but a pleasant thought, nevertheless.

  Andi had a strong sense of fair play, and in most cases, she wasn’t the sort to murder a wounded man. But as far as she was concerned, anyone at Sector Nine was fair game. They all deserved to die, at least in her book.

  “Okay, there are a number of doors leading off from here, but it looks like…whoever…was here went this way. I’m all for someone flushing out any residual imperial defenses for us, so let’s follow.” That was one of her reasons for choosing to follow the apparent course of the Union personnel. The other was just as tactical. She’d rather run into her enemy head on than push forward along a different route and risk having them come around behind her. Most of her missions had involved snooping around, and even dealing with the occasional imperial security response or a rival expedition. But she’d never seen a ruin so well-preserved as the one she stood in then. The thought of what Union forces she might run into paled in comparison to nightmare of what fully operational imperial bots could do.

  Not even Foudre Rouge could move the needle on that comparison.

  “Okay, let’s not jump to any conclusions…but let’s be ready for whatever we find. We’re here to grab some imperial artifacts, and from the look of this place, there should be some to be had. We’ll press on and see what we can find.” The mission was going to be a score, that much was clear. Assuming, of course, her people somehow managed to get out…and make it past the Union ship waiting for them.

  The half million Durango had offered her seemed paltry as she looked around, imagining the value of the electronics and other components to be had. She fully intended to keep her word…but she was still tempted to grab a few pieces for her own people’s account.

  Who would miss a box or two of the swag most likely tucked away in this place?

  “I left the others explicit instructions to stay with the ship. That leaves the five of us, and we’re all here. So, anything we see or hear, even the slightest draft we feel, is an enemy. Imperial bot, Sector Nine killer, Foudre Rouge soldier…” She finally acknowledged what they were all thinking, and what she’d already come to believe…that there were Union clone soldiers loose in the facility. “…it doesn’t matter. Anything is an enemy. We kill them before they kill us. Understood?”

  She looked back as her people responded with a series of grunts and nods. Then, she turned back toward the corridor and moved out, her rifle in front of her, and her eyes darting around, almost wildly, looking for threats.

  Looking for anything.

  * * *

  “Corporal Palloux-7364 calling Lieutenant Javais. Please acknowledge.” The Foudre Rouge shook his head as he listened on his headset, hearing nothing but static. He’d been briefed on the jamming effect of the imperial materials in the facility’s structure, but he was agitated by his absolute inability to reach the lieutenant. He’d been ordered to report in every half hour, and obedience was hardwired into his psyche. He’d been bred for his role, his DNA cultivated and engineered to produce the perfect soldier, as it had been for all his comrades, and he’d been conditioned almost since birth. He felt something very much like frustration at the deviation from normal procedure.

  “I cannot reach the lieutenant. One of us will have to go back on foot to report if we find anything of importance.” He turned toward the other Foudre Rouge present. Ellian-3041 had been his squad mate since he’d begun active service at age nineteen six years before. Foudre Rouge policy was to keep units together as long as possible, though casualties and other factors often made that difficult. “We will proceed for now.” He turned and continued down the corridor. He was alert, watchful, and his weapon was at the ready. He wasn’t sure he expected to find anything, but he was certain that didn’t matter. Procedure called for maximum readiness in any potential combat situation. It wasn’t for him to analyze the chances of encountering hostiles. His duty was to be ready for any he found.

  He moved down the hallway, stopping every ten meters to listen. Utilize all senses in combat situations. He could still hear the words echoing in his mind, doctrine that had been driven into the very neurons of his brain. Many people thought Foudre Rouge were almost robots, automatons devoid of emotion, soulless creatures not quite human. That wasn’t true. The reality was far more complex. Palloux-7364 was a slave to his programming, to a great extent at least. That was true. But he was a man as well. He felt fear at danger, anger at the loss of a comrade. Jealousy as well, at times, an envy of those free to choose their own paths…though he didn’t entirely understand what such free will was like. He was also unable to imagine any purpose in life beyond soldiering.

  He was about to resume his movement when his body froze, his instincts reacting faster than his conscious mind. He’d heard something.

  He held his breath, extending his arm in a signal to his companion to remain still and silent. His hearing was excellent, as were his vision, reflexes, stamina. The Foudre Rouge genetic lines had long since had physical weaknesses bred out and strengths enhanced.

  There was silence, and he almost decided he’d just convinced himself he’d heard something. But Foudre Rouge weren
’t subject to such distractions. He had heard something, and he remained in place, his head turned to direct his ear in the relevant direction.

  Then he heard it again, clearer, more recognizable. A boot on the deck. He was confident, almost certain that was what he’d heard. Then, again, closer.

  He turned his head and looked at his comrade, mouthing a warning without speaking. Foudre Rouge combat language was a vocal form of communication, but it also had its silent forms. He saw the private’s arms tense, his hands tighten around his rifle, and he knew his message had been received.

  He glanced around, analyzing every bit of data his eyes could collect, confirming what he already knew. There was no cover, not really, nothing close enough to reach before whoever was approaching turned the corner and came into view. He crouched down, pushing into a small indent along the wall, the best protection he could find, and he extended his rifle, and taking aim, waiting for someone to move into his field of view.

  He only had to wait a few seconds. A figure moved cautiously around the corner, looking down the corridor. A woman. She spotted him almost immediately, and she started to pull back, ducking quickly as she slipped around the corner. But there was someone else, a larger, shadowy figure. A massive man, two meters tall and built like a house. He was less careful than the woman, slower to look down the corridor, to spot the threat.

  And slower to respond.

  The Foudre Rouge acted on instinct, firing one shot at the woman, realizing as he did, he was too late. He fired again, at the man. And again, even as his comrade opened up as well.

  The target was moving back, as the woman had, but he was slower, more cumbersome…and the spray of red mist he left behind as he vanished from view told Palloux he had scored a hit.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Unidentified Imperial Ruin

  Somewhere Under the Endless Sea

  Planet Aquellus, Olystra III

  Year 302 AC

  Andi dove back, in a move that started as an elegant combat roll and ended rather more clumsily, as she fell hard to her knees, wincing at the pain of impact. Her mind raced, combat instincts racing through her mind and body, evaluating any damage that would interfere with her ability to fight. She hadn’t broken anything, she was pretty sure of that, and she didn’t seem to have any sprains or major pulls. Just some hard bruises on her legs…and confirmation that there were indeed Union personnel loose in the facility.

  She jumped back to her feet, bringing her weapon back around, even as the view she’d had down the corridor replayed in her mind. Two…there were two of them. And they were in the open. The tactical situation was a mixed one. The enemy troopers didn’t have any real cover. They were caught in an open hallway, while her people had the corner for cover. But any attempt to take a reasonable shot at the Union soldiers would require exposing some part of herself…and from what she’d seen, the two were crack shots.

  They’d appeared to be dressed in civilian garb, looking very much like a prospecting crew. But even the brief second’s glance she’d gotten had exposed their tells. Posture, aiming, discipline.

  They were Foudre Rouge. She’d have bet on it.

  She was trying to decide how to come around, how to best get off a shot with the least risk to herself, when she heard Gregor’s breathing. Heavy—heavier than his usual grunting. Then she saw the blood.

  “Gregor…you’re hit. Where?”

  He looked at her and waved his arm, a wordless answer that it was nothing.

  But Andi could see it was much more than nothing. He’d taken a hit somewhere between the shoulder and the chest. She couldn’t place exactly where, but the rattling sound accompanying his breaths suggested the bullet had at least clipped a lung.

  “Jackal, Vig…cover the corner. There are two of them, about twenty meters down. In the open, or close to it, but be careful. They’re crack shots.” That last part was mostly supposition, but Andi felt sure enough about it.

  She knelt down next to Gregor, cursing under her breath at her decision to leave Doc on the ship. Her hand slipped into the first aid kit slung across her back, and she pulled out a pressure bandage, laying it on the deck next to Gregor. She pulled the combat knife from the sheath. The blade was a nasty-looking thing, long and razor sharp, with a series of notches cut along the back. It seemed out of place as a medical implement, but she had neither time to worry about it, nor more suitable tools. She sliced through Gregor’s shirt, exposing the wound. It was an ugly puncture, irregularly shaped and spurting out blood with each of the big man’s heartbeats. She glanced around his back, looking for blood. None. No exit wound. The bullet was still inside. Ideally, she’d have removed it, but that was beyond her meager medical skill and better left to Doc. She’d as likely do more damage trying to get the thing out than leaving it would causes.

  She grabbed the pressure bandage, wincing as she heard the continuing fire. Most of it was close, Vig’s rifle, the tone of the shots told her. A second later, she heard Jackal’s too.

  Return fire as well, but unless her perception was off, only one weapon. Had Vig or Jackal taken out one of the Union troops?

  She pressed hard on the bandage, pushing the adhesive sides onto Gregor’s exposed skin, and then activating the tiny mechanism that tightened the dressing. The giant liked to think he had a high tolerance for pain, but Andi could hear him wincing and struggling to hold back a series of grunts. “Sit tight, old friend. There’s only two of them…” Maybe one now. “…we can handle them. Give that pressure bandage a chance to stop the bleeding.”

  Gregor started to shake his head, but Andi stared at him fiercely, practically daring him to defy her. He wasn’t the type to sit out a fight, especially when his friends were threatened…but for all his herculean strength and unstoppable drive, he’d never quite had what it took to stand up to Andi Lafarge.

  She leapt up to her feet. Vig and Jackal were at the corner, exchanging fire with the enemy. She was almost sure now there was only one trooper returning fire. Anna was standing behind them, her rifle in her hands. There was no place for her to engage, not without leaping out into the open space of the corridor.

  There was nowhere for Andi to go, either. She shifted back and forth on her feet, edgy, tense at standing around and just watching the fight. Jackal was lying on his stomach, his rifle extended around the corner, firing repeated three-round bursts. Vig was standing, leaning over his comrade and jerking out around the corner every few seconds to fire fully automatic blasts. It was a good amount of fire, especially since the enemy had poor cover, and she knew it was tactically correct. What she didn’t know was how many Foudre Rouge were crawling around the facility…or how long it would be before enemy reinforcements heard the gunfire and responded.

  She told herself to be patient, to wait, to allow her side’s superior position and cover to prevail. The enemy trooper had no escape. If he tried to run, he’d be a sitting duck. If he remained where he was, Vig and Jackal would eventually take him down.

  Then she ignored all of that, and she lunged out into the corridor, executing a perfect combat roll and coming up prone, her rifle aimed toward the target, firing on full auto. It was audacious—stupid, perhaps, or at least reckless—but it caught her enemy completely by surprise. She had a far better vantage point on the Foudre Rouge than her two comrades did, and her fire ripped into his body, six or seven shots taking him before he could react, almost tearing him apart.

  She knew it had been a gamble. If the Foudre Rouge had reacted just a bit faster, her own body would have been riddled with bullets as well. But Andi had always had a good sense of when to roll the dice, and she stared down the corridor, watching as her victim lay motionless, right next to his comrade.

  She could hear the chatter behind her, all manner of admonishment and complaint from her four companions. She didn’t listen, not really. She just put her hand up, silencing them all. Then she said, “There was no choice. We don’t have time to waste. We don’t know how man
y Foudre Rouge are loose in this place, but it’s a fair bet someone heard all this gunfire. Now, let’s get moving.” She slung the rifle over her shoulder, and she turned back to help Gregor up. But Anna Fasarus had already assisted the giant back to his feet. He looked wobbly, but he was staying up on his own power.

  “I’m good to go, Andi.”

  “I’d never doubt that, not for a minute. You’re too big a hunk of meat for one shot to take you down.” Still, Andi found herself surprised at the giant’s amazing constitution. The wound wasn’t desperately critical, but it was bad. The rasping sound in his breath told her the bullet had hit his lung. By all rights, he should have been headed back to Doc’s infirmary, not pushing forward, looking very much like he was spoiling for a fight.

  But he was who he was, and Andi needed him. So, she brushed aside the guilt, the sense that she really should send him back, and she reached out and put her hand gently on his arm. “Just be careful. You’re pretty close, I know, but you’re not actually indestructible.”

  Gregor nodded and smiled, wincing a little at the pain he was so clearly trying to hide. “I’ll get the job done, Andi. You can count on me.”

  “There are few things I know better than that, old friend.” She turned toward the others. “Alright, let’s get going. The sooner we can find what we’re here for, the faster we can get the hell out of this dump.”

  And into space…into the battle that’s waiting for us up there.

  * * *

  “Lieutenant, we have reports of gunfire from one of the corridors.” The Foudre Rouge was clearly tired and out of breath. Javais knew the soldier had run back with the report. It seemed almost absurd for a modern fighting force like the Foudre Rouge to rely on runners, but the imperial alloy walls of the facility interfered tremendously with comm signals. The effect was somewhat variable, the intensity of the interference varying on different occasions for reasons no one could adequately explain, but at that moment, Javais and his troopers were having trouble getting a signal more than twenty or thirty meters, leaving no real way to communicate except running back and forth from place to place.