Wild Sun

by Ehsan Ahmad

  “And tell Governor Urdiss to keep his men inside the mine for now. This isn’t over.”

  Vellerik closed in on the enemy shell at half-speed. He saw two alternatives. Either one of the natives had somehow commandeered the vehicle or a Vitaari had lost his mind and turned on his compatriots. Such things did occasionally happen. But when he saw the shell descending slowly with no apparent concern for his approach, he realized the former was far more likely. What he needed to know was whether the pilot had another seeker missile. The auto-evade system only worked half the time and evidently hadn’t been enough to save Zarrinda. With no deflector shield, Vellerik was vulnerable.

  But so was the enemy pilot. Because he probably didn’t know that seeker missiles had a proximity limiter of thirty meters. If Vellerik stayed close, he was safe.

  All the displays were now flashing on and off. A small fire had started inside the cockpit but had been rapidly extinguished by some sort of foam. When he saw another enemy shell pop up on the tactical display, Sonus accelerated and headed for the ground. The vehicle was shuddering with every movement. He wasn’t sure how long it would stay in the air. He flew toward the fallen shuttle. The smoking wreck offered cover.

  Vellerik tried to ignore the traffic coming through coms. It seemed there was also some sort of incident unfolding at Mine Three.

  He was now certain the pilot didn’t have a missile, which made things a lot easier. And judging by the awkward motion of the shell, he wouldn’t need to do much to bring it down.

  Vellerik waited until he was close to the optimum firing distance, then activated both cannons.

  As the shell neared the shuttle, bullets tore into it.

  Every thump rocked the vehicle. Half of the displays were now black, and Sonus could hear a loud hissing noise in his right ear. He had already tried to engage the auto-pilot, but it wouldn’t work.

  He threw the shell to the right, and the impacts stopped. Ahead were two columns of smoke rising from the wreck of the shuttle. As he flew through one, the shell suddenly dropped.

  -severe damage/multiple systems-

  -structural failure-

  -auto-eject inoperable-

  Another impact, louder this time.

  He flew past the wreck, then saw nothing but yellow earth. He tried to check his altitude, but the display was off. He moved his fingers, but the shell wasn’t answering. The vehicle dipped again, then rolled over onto its back.

  The shell bounced once, then came down hard. Metal screeched. Sonus pulled his arms in just as one of the shell’s hands was torn off.

  Above him was blue sky.

  He saw his mother and father. He saw Karas and Qari.

  I did it. I hurt them.

  I did it.

  Vellerik landed halfway between the Tarikan and the downed shell. Once the cockpit was open, he jumped straight out and drew his sidearm. He looked first toward the shell, which was about thirty meters away. Though it was largely intact and had come down on its back, there was no sign of movement.

  He selected an all channels broadcast. “This is Captain Vellerik. Can anyone in the Tarikan hear me? Is anyone still alive?”

  No response.

  The front section of the Viceroy’s ship was so smashed he couldn’t make out a single feature, not even a window. The body behind it was basically intact but disfigured by a long, jagged wound. Scattered across the sand were several bodies. It was as if a child’s toy had been shaken, releasing dolls from within.

  Vellerik first spied the Viceroy’s guards, bodies covered by dust and blood. Then he saw Triantaa. The loyal lieutenant had landed on his side, both arms twisted and limp. He had been thrown clear with such force that his safety straps had broken—one section of material lay across his chest. Triantaa stared up at the sky, eyes and mouth open. The effect was grotesquely comic, and Vellerik knelt beside him to close them: give him some dignity.

  Hearing a weak cough, he hurried over to the next body—the smallest of them all. Viceroy Mennander was lying on his back, blood leaking from ears, nose, and mouth. Only his eyes were moving, and they suddenly fixed on Vellerik, who saw shock and anger and outrage. Mennander’s hand moved to the circular imperial clasp over his chest, fingers trembling as he gripped the metal disc. It was the last thing he ever did.

  Hearing the groan of metal, Vellerik looked up to see another segment of the fin come away from the hull and hang there, suspended by multicolored cables.

  Other than the pilots, who were surely dead, only Talazeer and Marl were not accounted for. As he looked around for some sign of them, Vellerik spied a figure pull itself out of the fallen shell. He raised his gun and ran toward it.

  Sonus drank in the fresh air. His back ached, and something sharp had sliced across his thigh—leaving a thin gash—but, other than that, he seemed to be all right. Narrowing his eyes against the glare, he stepped over the battered arm of the shell, then realized he had forgotten the rifle.

  As he turned back to retrieve it, he heard a Vitaari voice.

  “Don’t move.”

  Sonus couldn’t see much and didn’t dare shade his eyes.

  The figure advanced. It was the soldier, the older Vitaari officer who had been with Talazeer the day Tanus was killed. In his hand was a small weapon with a triangular barrel. It was aimed directly at Sonus’s chest.

  “Who are you?” asked the Vitaari, again in his own language.

  “My name is Sonus.”

  “From Mine Fourteen?”

  He nodded.

  “You have caused a lot of damage—killed four of my men and many others.”

  “If it matters—only because they got in my way. I came to kill the Viceroy.”

  “It would appear you have succeeded.” The Vitaari moved aside and nodded toward one of the bodies. “I do not remember the last time a Viceroy was assassinated.”

  An assassin, thought Sonus as he looked at the lifeless body of the Vitaari leader. Is that what I am?

  Sonus noticed something move upon the damaged shuttle. Two figures were climbing out of a hatch just below the fin. Even from that distance, one of them was easily recognizable. Sonus knew he could do nothing for the other rebels now, but he did not want to die like Tanus.

  “You are Captain Vellerik, correct?”

  “I am.”

  “You once showed mercy to a man like me. I beg you—kill me now.”

  Vellerik backed away and turned so he could see whatever the rebel had noticed while keeping him in his peripheral vision.

  Count Talazeer—the remains of his cloak hanging from his back like a rag—was being helped down the side of the shuttle by Marl.

  Vellerik glanced back at the rebel. The man seemed unexceptional: average build, pale and haggard, even for one of the laborers. And yet, there was an undeniable spark in those eyes, something more than anger or determination.

  It seemed almost beyond comprehension that he had been able to steal a shell, escape Fourteen, and bring down the shuttle. Vellerik told himself he should hate this man. He should, and yet he did not. He was long past telling himself what he should think.

  He was sorry for Triantaa, Zarrinda, and the others; and he wished he’d been killed instead of them. But this man in front of him? He had shown tenacity and courage almost beyond belief.

  The truth was, Vellerik admired him.

  31

  Cerrin was last into the tunnel.

  She had no idea how long she had stood guard while the others made their way down. The wait seemed agonizing, but she hadn’t dared leave her position. Standing there in the darkness, fingers gripping the spear, she had half-expected the Vitaari to appear at any moment.

  Yet it was not difficult to see why they might be occupied. There was clearly plenty of flammable material within the base of the tower because the fire had taken hold. Despite the efforts of the drones dropping water and foam, wreaths of flame were now shooting fifty yards into the air.
Every level of the structure was belching smoke. Two separate alarms were blaring across the compound. She had seen more guards running out of the mine but little indication they were concerned about the inhabitants of Block A.

  For the briefest moment, she considered going in search of some of the night shift. It was maddening to offer one half of the workers freedom without the other half even knowing, but it was simply too risky. She also thought it possible that if the night shift genuinely knew nothing of the plot, the Vitaari might not take reprisals against them.

  Left without a light, she simply kept scrabbling forward until she caught up with someone.

  “Cerrin?”

  Sadi had her head flashlight on. Lying next to her was the young Palanian boy, Maxis.

  “What is it?”

  Sadi adopted a tone of voice Cerrin had never heard from her before. “Maxis is a little scared, but he’s feeling better now. He’ll come along with me in a moment.”

  “We don’t have—”

  Cerrin stopped; she had to trust Sadi to handle this.

  “I sent his parents and everyone else ahead. Cerrin, some are already across the river.”

  Thank the gods and ancients.

  She placed her hand on the Palanian’s arm as she passed her, then crawled on as fast as she could. Once out and down the rope, she found a small group gathered there. Among them were Serras—who was holding a flashlight—plus Kannalin and Maxis’s parents.

  “What are they doing?” implored his mother.

  “They’re coming now.”

  Cerrin took Kannalin’s arm and led him away from the others. She looked along the shaft and into the mine. There was no sign of activity. On the other side of the machine, a single light illuminated huddled bodies.

  “How many left to go?”

  “Around a third.”

  From above came the boom of another explosion.

  “Sounds like they’ve got some problems up there,” said Kannalin with a grin.

  “One of them will notice what’s going on sooner or later. If they come around from the gate, we can at least try to hold them off while the rest get across.”

  “I’ll go and help Erras.”

  Just as Kannalin hurried away toward the second tunnel, another—much more powerful—explosion shook the mine. Cerrin staggered and covered her head as dust fell from above. Wiping her face, she heard one of the others cry out.

  She arrived in time to see Maxis’s father snatch the flashlight from Serras. He ran to the wall and aimed it upward.

  The tunnel had collapsed. In fact, it looked almost as if there had never been a tunnel. All that remained was the rope.

  “Maxis!” shrieked the mother.

  “Keep her quiet,” snapped Cerrin as she gripped the rope and hauled herself upward. Where so many people had climbed down, there were indentations in the wall. She kicked her feet in to make more of a hold, held the rope with one hand, and began to scoop away earth.

  “Serras, find a trowel if you can. Sadi? Sadi?”

  She could hear the mother sobbing as her fingers clawed away. Once again, she lost track of time, ignoring the pain in her feet and hands as she worked. Serras returned and passed up the trowel. Cerrin swapped hands and hacked at the earth. Once she had clear-ed a couple of feet, she was able to lean into the space and do more.

  “Give me the light.”

  She put the flashlight by her side.

  Images of the two lying just yards away, mouths and eye sockets filled with earth came to her. She increased the pace, digging with both the trowel and her spare hand.

  “Do you see them?” asked the mother, voice wracked with pain.

  Cerrin was about to drive the trowel in again when she noticed something to the left. Two fingers. Sadi’s fingers.

  She was almost afraid to touch them. But she did. She scrabbled away more earth until she could hold the whole hand. It was cold. Lifeless.

  “Do you see them?”

  Cerrin felt numb. She let go, then grabbed the hand and shook it, as if she could somehow wake Sadi. But her friend and ally was not asleep. She was dead. The boy, too.

  May the gods welcome you.

  With that, Cerrin put the matter aside. She would mourn them later. She took the flashlight and let herself down the rope. The mother grabbed her by the arm. “Where’s my boy?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  The mother gazed into her eyes and saw the truth of it. She let go of her and backed away. The father tried to take her in his arms, but she pushed him off. She was breathing even harder than Cerrin.

  “You’re bleeding,” said Serras. She lifted Cerrin’s hands. The nails and fingers of both were streaked with red.

  “No.” The mother fell to her knees. “No, no, no.” With every repetition, the words grew louder until they were almost a scream.

  Cerrin knelt in front of the woman and held her by the shoulders. “He’s gone. Sadi, too. They would want us to live. And that’s exactly what you’re going to do. Can you be quiet for me?”

  The woman’s eyes seemed to pass through several different states before she finally nodded and removed Cerrin’s hands. Her head dropped. Cerrin brought her husband forward.

  “We don’t have much time.”

  He put an arm over his wife’s shoulder and led her away.

  Cerrin passed the flashlight back to Serras. “Go.”

  She snatched a last glance at what remained of the tunnel, then followed.

  Vellerik watched them. Showing a strength that belied his slender frame, Marl lifted Count Talazeer off the crushed hull and lowered him to the ground.

  Talazeer sat there for a few moments. Half of his face was covered with blood, and patches of his hair had been burned away. Much of his clothing was blackened and torn, and he appeared to be missing a boot. He looked up, saw the bodies scattered across the sand.

  As he struggled to his feet, Marl had to hold him up. The Count staggered toward the Viceroy’s body. Once there, he gazed downward, head lolling, face twitching, as if he could not believe what he saw. Suddenly pushing his bodyguard off, he lurched away, took a few steps and then fell. Marl rushed to him, but the Count got to his knees once more. Pointing toward the native, he bellowed something.

  The Drellen—whose cloak still covered him—hesitated for a moment, then walked across the sand with that peculiarly smooth gait that always suggested a predator approaching its prey.

  “Please—kill me now,” said Sonus.

  Vellerik pointed at the ground. “Face down, hands behind your head.”

  “I beg you. Please.”

  “Do not talk.”

  The rebel lay down.

  Vellerik turned toward Marl. The clawed feet moved quickly, cloak flicking up in the breeze behind him. The Drellen ran his long, clawed fingers over his head as he came to a halt.

  “It appears you have failed yet again, Captain. The Viceroy is dead. That quiet retirement of yours now seems rather unlikely.”

  “The Count?”

  “Burning fuel dripped onto his face while he was trapped inside. He’ll need a lot of work. But he still has enough strength in him to seek retribution.”

  Marl reached inside the cloak and pulled out his sword. He walked up to the rebel and placed the square tip of the blade on his head. When the native looked up, Marl gestured at him to rise.

  “You’ll leave him there,” said Vellerik.

  The Drellen spoke without turning around. “I don’t think the Count currently has the presence of mind to be interested in what this rebel knows, Captain. He gave me specific instructions to slice him up slowly. Piece by piece.”

  “Leave him.”

  This time, Marl did turn. The triangular teeth flashed when he saw the sidearm was now aimed at him. It took Vellerik a moment to realize the narrow white barrel of the Drellen’s disruptor was poking out of the sleeve of his cloak.

  “I had a feeling
you’d do something like this,” said Marl, yellow eyes gleaming. “You must know it’s over for you now. Shame and humiliation are all that awaits.”

  Vellerik actually hadn’t given it much thought. It all came down to one simple fact: he’d rather see the Viceroy, the Count, and this skinner piece of shit dead than the rebel. It was the only thing that made sense to him anymore.

  “For you, maybe.”

  Sun glinted off the Drellen’s blade, which was still pointing at the ground. “Come now, Captain. My disruptor’s firing mechanism is far more sensitive than that antique, and a beam travels faster than a bullet. Not to mention the fact that you are an old man.”

  Vellerik kept his eyes on the Drellen and moved his finger onto the trigger.

  Sonus knew his best chance was for them to occupy each other. From the looks of things, the alien creature held an advantage. He decided to try and remove it.

  The rebel’s kick struck Marl just above his foot.

  Vellerik fired as he spun around, hitting his shoulder. The impact slammed the Drellen backwards, but he remained on his feet. Vellerik knew the caliber of the bullets was small, but he’d expected to at least knock him down.

  The disruptor barrel twitched, but no beam appeared. Marl’s face twisted; he couldn’t use the wounded arm. But that didn’t stop him from moving the other one.

  As Vellerik squeezed the trigger, the Drellen leaped forward and swung the sword. The tip of blade cut across Vellerik’s hand and into the weapon. Pain pulsed through him. The sidearm fell.

  Marl leaped high into the air, cloak streaming out behind him.

  Vellerik tried to follow the arc, half-blinded by the sun.

  As the shadow bore down on him, he lashed out with his good hand and hit something hard. He heard a grunt as Marl landed some distance away.

  Vellerik’s eyes cleared. The Drellen leaped to his feet and advanced, teeth bared, sword out in front of him.