Farther down the poorly-lit corridor, a couple of cadets stepped out of the smelter in their bulky heat suits. One of them suddenly stopped in her tracks and saluted. The other, still fumbling with his helmet, ran into the first.
“What did you do that for, you c—Colonel!” The distracted cadet snapped a hurried salute.
Hiller returned a half-hearted salute as he quickly passed them. “I’m surrounded by idiots,” he muttered.
“Yeah,” I said as I hurried to keep up with his long strides. “Idiots. Now, if they just had the right lieutenant . . . ”
But Hiller just kept moving. After a minute of awkward silence, we finally reached the air lock. We each grabbed a faded silver surface suit, stepped into them, and double-checked the seals and our plasma pistol holsters without saying a word.
It was hard to tell where the airlock ended and the landscape began—both were dull, gray, and covered in dirt. We bent to activate our anti-grav boots before stepping outside and I gripped my yellow testing rod tightly to make sure it didn’t drift out into space. If there was ever a time I needed to look competent, it was now.
After another quick check of our suits, we hurried along a dusty trail that led away from the station. We navigated the path as it wound around and between large rocky outcroppings, and after a few minutes of silence, I swallowed hard and tapped my comm to open a private channel.
“Colonel Hiller?” I asked.
He kept marching. So I tapped my comm again. “Colonel?”
I heard an exhausted sigh, then, “Yes, Private?”
“It’s an honor to be out here with you, sir. I—I always thought we’d get along. You, know, with you staring at me in my room every day growing up. I mean—”
Dammit. Why did I sound like such an idiot?
“I know what you mean, soldier,” he said. “Damned advertising campaign was the worst thing that could have happened to me.”
“Why can’t everyone just let me finish my contract out here in peace?” He muttered to himself. “Two years—that’s all I asked for. Two years of peace.”
Yikes. Maybe this wasn’t the best time to chat. But when would I get another chance to speak with him one-on-one? So I went for it.
“Sir, I know that a processing station isn’t the most glamorous outpost, but I know it’s important to the cause. And I’m the best maintenance crewman this rock’s ever seen. I can be its best junior officer, too. If you’ll approve my application for rank advancement, I promise you’ll get your peace.”
We hurried along the zig-zagging path for a few minutes in agonizing silence. When I found myself starting to hold the testing rod upside-down like a sword, I tightened my grip on its neck and used it as a walking stick, instead.
After another long minute or two, we came to a fork in the path and headed toward Gamma Sector. Finally, Hiller spoke.
“Son, I don’t know you very well. But I know enough to say you should really consider other options.”
Another stab to the gut.
“And besides,” he continued. “Becoming an officer won’t give you what you’re looking for. You’ve got to find yourself, first.”
Great. All I wanted was a promotion. Now I was about to get a life lesson—and a lame one at that.
“When you’re true to yourself, everything in the universe will bow to you,” Hiller said.
Being “true to yourself” as the grand secret to anything was just the sort of frozen space trash those fantasy stories tried to pass off as wisdom. Which is why nobody in their right mind read, watched, or listened to fantasy anymore. Humanity had grown up. I’d grown up, too.
But here was Colonel Hiller—military legend and face of the USF Peacekeepers for a decade or so. Did he not get it? Climbing the ranks got you battle action and awesome scars and gave you a shot at getting noticed by the Peacekeepers’ top brass and the public. More publicity meant more respect, which led to . . . other benefits. But if I could just get a little more respect from my crew mates alone, I’d be happy. Was that too much to ask?
The terrain became smoother as the path began to rise toward a ridge. “That’s about where we lost contact with the patrol,” Hiller said. “Let’s go.”
Hiller picked up his pace so that we were practically jogging now. I wanted to tell him how wrong he was, about why I was the best choice for an officer, and what I’d do with my new rank.
As we neared the top of the ridge, I opened my mouth to respond. But whatever I was about to say immediately sucked back into my lungs when I looked down.
4
OVER THE RIDGE was a mass of off-white armor, dark T-shaped visors, and patches of red. There must have been fifty or more. That alone would have been enough to steal my breath, but behind the armored troop was a space miracle.
The shimmering circle of swirling colors was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. It was like a giant cosmic eye. As I stared into it, I thought I heard—or maybe felt—a strange music coming from inside. Sort of like a pre-synthetic orchestra tuning its instruments. This colorful, musical thing was calling to me. And I wanted to follow.
The armored figures began forming lines, breaking my trance. All of them carried small shields on their arms. Most of them held what looked like crossbows. And a few of them held swords. Yes, swords.
I was confused—the only people I’d ever seen who actually used this type of medieval weaponry were little groups of losers who got together to pretend that Earth had never left the days of castles and princesses and outdoor toilets. They were total idiots. Maybe the heavily-armored troop was part of a convention that had gotten lost?
But lost on Pluto’s third-largest moon? That would take some serious miscalculation.
On the other hand, the way they cradled their crossbows and held their fingers just off of the trigger made me think they weren’t all that stupid. And their swords looked like they were glowing—a bright red that hurt your eyes, like when you look at a star too long. They each had a small shield attached to one of their arms, too. And were they wearing capes?
I would have kept standing there, staring like an idiot, but Hiller pulled me down. I almost lost the testing rod, but my cat-like reflexes kicked in and I grabbed it at the last moment.
Crouching, Hiller adjusted the vision enhancement controls on his helmet.
“Colonel,” I whispered. “What the hell is going on?”
Hiller quickly brought a gloved finger to his visor and waited for a few moments. When nothing happened, he relaxed a bit and pointed to something just to the side of the cream-colored troopers. I adjusted my own vision controls and gasped.
The body of a UFS Peacekeeper lay on the ground, his body covered in small spikes. Peacekeeper suits don’t come with spikes.
“Arrows,” Hiller said. “They’re using goddamn arrows.”
A little ways off was another Peacekeeper suit. Well, part of one, anyway. His center had been blasted away.
“Sir,” I said, motioning to the other body.
Hiller shook his head. He quickly tapped the comm unit on his wrist. “Code Red! I repeat, Code Red! Nix station—confirm!”
Nothing but static answered. I tapped my own comm, but it was no use. Our long-range communication was down.
I looked back at the off-white troopers and the glowing circle behind them. Colors continued to dance on its surface. Once again, I heard the beautifully chaotic music and felt myself leaning toward it. But then, suddenly, a large reddish-orange shape came into focus within the circle and stepped forward.
It was massive—even bigger than Kovac.
I used my vision controls to zoom in. I wished I hadn’t. The creature’s colorful armor was covered in wavy lines that looked like hair, and there were nasty spikes on its shoulders and biceps. A golden chain hung around its thick, almost non-existent, neck and a brightly-glowing orange crystal hung from the chain. Its head—or helmet, or whatever was on top of the giant body—had sharp fangs and a wicked snarl.
&n
bsp; And if all that wasn’t bad enough, the monster held something long and writhing in its clawed hand—a whip that glowed with the same intense red as the swords the other armored figures wielded. I mean held. Nobody says “wielded.”
But worst of all, this thing looked vaguely familiar, and I had no idea why.
So there I was—a UFS Peacekeeper facility maintenance guy, crouching next to a decorated colonel just a ridge away from a well-armed battalion of wackos. So I did what any soldier looking to be a hero would do—I whipped out my standard-issue plasma pistol and fired.
The pale blue plasma slug sliced through the air . . . and exploded in a shower of dirt just in front of the invaders.
A row of crossbows snapped up and immediately fired glowing red projectiles in our direction.
“Dammit, Walker!”
Hiller drew his own plasma pistol faster than I could see and fired a few shots at the ranks of armored troopers. Their small shields glowed a faint purple, but when Hiller’s plasma slugs hit them, they flared a deeper purple and easily deflected the shots elsewhere.
Maybe my shooting at a mysterious troop with superior weaponry hadn’t been such a good idea, after all.
“Run!” Hiller shouted.
Now, I may not have a great reputation for following orders quickly, but this time, I had managed to start running even before Hiller gave his command. Sprinting was a little awkward with anti-grav boots and a full-sized testing rod, but I wasn’t posing for a motivational poster. I just wanted to survive.
I came to the fork in the path and started down the well-worn trail back toward base, but a second later, Hiller’s voice blared through my comm’s speaker.
“No! Delta sector! Now!”
My clumsy boots sputtered to a stop and I almost lost my balance. I spun on my heels just in time to see Hiller turn the corner toward Delta Sector, so I pushed off and ran after him.
Hiller may have been twenty or thirty years my senior, he was still just as fast as any new recruit. Every time I went a few seconds without seeing him in front of me, I panicked. But I kept going and, soon enough, I caught a glimpse of dull-gray surface suit and knew he was still in front of me.
“Walker, you still there?” Hiller’s voice sounded in my helmet.
“Yes . . . right . . . behind you,” I said between ragged breaths.
“There’s a small trail on the left that loops back to base,” he said.
I stopped in my tracks. Had I already passed it? I looked around, but saw nothing.
“Sir, I don’t see—”
There was a bright flash to my right and chunks of rock pelted my visor. I fired my plasma gun blindly behind me and took off down the path. My eyes darted around for the barest hint of another trail, but couldn’t find one.
Another flash, this time to my left.
“Colonel!” I yelled into my helmet’s receiver so loudly that it hurt my own ears.
I rounded a sharp bend and almost tripped over myself to avoid Hiller, who was pressed against a large rock, his gun drawn. He fired a couple of shots over my shoulder before pushing me between two very close outcroppings. I squeezed through and saw a faint trail in the dirt before me.
“Move!” Hiller yelled inside my helmet.
So I moved as fast as I could along the winding trail with Hiller on my heels. We ran for what felt like days, but it was probably only half an hour. I expected more explosions as I ran, but they never came.
“I think we’ve lost them, sir,” I finally said. “Can we stop for a second?”
“Keep moving, soldier,” Hiller said. “We’re almost there.”
The ground leveled out and I stopped. Nix base was straight ahead. I’d never been so happy to see that hunk of space trash. But even more welcome was the outline of a maintenance door on its side.
“Go, go, go!” Hiller yelled as he sprinted past me.
I ran after him and made it to the door just as he punched a code into its access panel. The moment the door opened wide enough, we leapt inside and Hiller immediately slammed the button to close it behind us.
As soon as the door slid shut, the room began to pressurize. We both tore off our helmets. Hiller peeled off his suit’s glove as he rushed to the other end of the airlock and slammed his command glove onto the access panel next to the door.
Nothing happened.
He cursed, punched a code into the panel instead, and yelled, “This is Colonel Hiller! Code Red. I repeat: Code Red! And airlock fourteen is jammed—get someone down here, now!”
Static crackled back at him.
“Dammit!” Hiller slammed his gloved fist against the wall.
The door’s small window was covered in a film of dust. I tried wiping it off, and somehow just created a thick gray smudge, instead. But when I pressed my face up against it, I could just make out two figures approaching down the hallway.
I pounded on the door and yelled. “Hey! Hey! We’re in here!!!”
They stopped for a moment, then ran toward us.
“Thank God,” Hiller said over my shoulder.
There was a hiss of pressurized air as the door finally opened. But, almost immediately, I wished it had stayed shut.
Two off-white armored troopers stared back at us, weapons drawn.
5
ONE OF THE troopers in the doorway held a crossbow and the other held a glowing red sword. And we were half-dressed in run-down space suits. It’d be like shooting orcs in a barrel. I mean, like shooting synthetic meat in a barrel.
But once again, Colonel Hiller’s reflexes were faster than I could catch. His plasma slug caught the one with the crossbow in the head before he could raise his shield. He instantly fell backward and his crossbow clattered to the ground.
My reflexes were pretty fast, too. But instead of firing my plasma pistol, I instinctively swung my testing rod up at the other armored trooper with all my might and met his glowing sword with a loud sizzling sound. The surprised trooper lost his grip on the sword and it spun out of his hands, clanging to the floor behind him.
A fraction of a second later, another plasma slug slammed into the trooper’s helmet and he immediately joined his companion on the ground.
It was all over so quickly. My heart was still pounding as I looked down at the two fallen troopers. Their light armor was striking against the backdrop of their splayed capes—black, red, and twisted. And for the first time, I noticed an insignia on their breastplates: a stylized yellow sun the size of a child’s fist, with a small thumbnail-sized blue circle above, and below it, a thin black vertical line with eight short horizontal lines crossing it.
“Good work, soldier,” Hiller said as he examined the crossbow that lay on the ground.
I set my testing rod against the wall and stepped over the trooper I’d disarmed to take a closer look at the now dull blade. I looked down to the cracked hilt, where a bright red stone in its center glowed above three decorative crosses. As my eyes lingered on the stone, I could faintly hear music inside my head, but it wasn’t the beautifully chaotic music that came from the colored port. Instead, I thought I heard the sinister music that would sound whenever Darth Vader would appear on one of the vids I watched so many times as a kid.
I felt a familiar pull as I stared into the jewel, so I peeled off my suit’s glove and touched it with my bare finger. The instant I made contact, the deep sound of trumpets and trombones swelled and then—BOOM! Something like a canon from an old pirate ship went off inside my skull.
Suddenly, the stone flared up and bathed the narrow hallway in red light. I kicked my legs out and skidded away from the fallen sword and its trooper. Just as quickly, the light faded, as did the sound of music in my head.
Hiller was already standing with a crossbow aimed at the motionless troopers on the floor. “What in the hell was that?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
Then I felt something tingling in my fist. Wait—I was making a fist? I slowly extended my fingers and saw the sword�
�s red jewel shining up at me.
“Walker . . . put that down. Nice and slow.”
But the stone didn’t feel dangerous. It felt alive. And as I held it, I felt alive, too. It was like I’d been asleep and had just now woken up.
“It’s okay,” I said as I rolled it between my thumb and forefinger. “I think it’s stable.”
Then, I looked up at Hiller and said, “I’ve got to get this back to Rand. Maybe he can figure out how we can use this thing.”
“Well, for your sake, I hope he’s at command,” Hiller said. “Because that’s where we’re going. And we’ll get there a lot faster if we’re out of these damned suits.”
Hiller and I stripped off our suits, left them on the dust-covered floor, and collected our belongings. Hiller held his trusty plasma pistol in one hand and the crossbow in the other as we crept down the hallway. I had slipped the little red prize into one of the cargo pockets on my pants and grabbed my testing rod before hurrying after him.
But I wasn’t prepared for what I saw when we turned the corner. There must have been a dozen or more dead Peacekeepers strewn along the hallway. Most of them had arrows sticking out of them at odd angles, and the rest had missing limbs—or missing heads.
When I was hit by the sight and smell of all this death, I couldn’t help but collapse against the wall and dry heave.
“No time for that, soldier,” Hiller said.
I shuddered and picked my way over the bodies after him. We had almost reached the intersection that would lead us to command when several armored troopers appeared and began firing at us.
We both fired our plasma pistols in response, but the troopers easily deflected our slugs with their glowing shields. We fell back and ducked into a deep doorway. Hiller holstered his pistol, got down on one knee, raised the crossbow he’d confiscated, and fired it around the corner.
I peeked to see how big the explosion was going to be. A thin, plain metal arrow shot out of the crossbow, flew down the hallway, and bounced harmlessly off a piece of leg armor.
Rebel Sword Page 3