Star Cat: Exodus: A Science Fiction & Fantasy Adventure (The Star Cat Series - Book 5)

by Andrew Mackay

  Jelly wrapped the rope taut around her fists and launched it away from the Motary door.

  “Resetting the cutter,” Alex said. “Jaycee?”

  “Yes?”

  “Take the cut rope and throw one end over the Motary. Right over the top.”

  “Okay.”

  Jaycee did as instructed. He ran the length of fiber up his arm, swished it around his head and launched it over the ship.

  KER-CLANG.

  “Done,” Jaycee yanked the fiber back and over to the wolves.

  “Good. Give the end to one of those fluffy bad boys.”

  Jaycee spied the first wolf flinging its drool around, “Here, boy.”

  HOWL.

  Jaycee tossed the end towards the wolf. It stepped forward and caught it in its mouth.

  SNATCH.

  “Good boy,” he chuckled and turned to Jelly, “We ready?”

  “Yeah, we’re ready.”

  Jelly hulked the fiber taut in her arms once again, “Okay, Alex. Cut it.”

  “Standby, guys.”

  WHIIIRRRRRRR — SCHTANG.

  The edge of the door crunched down and split the fiber into another length.

  “Okay, resetting,” Alex said. “Come on, we need to be quick. Jaycee, you know what to do. Jelly, you get the next length.”

  Jelly stormed towards the Motary door as it lifted into position. Jaycee reached down and yanked the end of the freshly-cut carbon fiber and launched it over the ship.

  He turned around in an attempt to abate the next, hungry wolf, “Don’t worry, big boy. You’re next.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Angel City

  South Texas, USA

  (Just off Interstate-608)

  Maar drove the commandeered MagCycle to the one place he knew he shouldn’t go anywhere near - his home.

  Interstate 608 wasn’t busy, and neither were the MagStrips that led to his easterly destination.

  After twenty-five miles of riding he’d gotten used to operating the bike. The fact that he was several feet off the floor didn’t dilute his desire to get home.

  He’d been holed up in the bunker for as long as he could remember. It was his earnest wish that he didn’t suffer another episode as he rode the bike in the direction of where the sun had disappeared.

  He knew he was being followed.

  He knew that they knew he didn’t have anywhere else to go.

  He was incommunicado now that his Individimedia had been cut off.

  It was now or never.

  Kaoz twisted the accelerator on his MagCycle, bombing across the strip at full speed with Crain perched behind him.

  “Are you sure you know where he’s going?” Crain shouted over the noise of the magnetic force field.

  “I have an idea,” Kaoz said. “Don’t worry, he won’t get there in one piece.”

  “What makes you so sure of that?”

  Two USARIC mega-copters flew up over their heads and twisted their canons towards the ground.

  “Any sign of him yet?” Kaoz yelled into his forearm.

  “Negative,” came the response from the mega-copter via his arm, “Metal bird has no visual on MagCycle 451. Is this the stationed guard at the infirmary?”

  “Affirmative, Metal Bird One, “Kaoz said. “He’s gone rogue. Headed for the Sheck Estate. Push on further and report back to me.”

  “Understood,” the voice said before fizzing to static.

  The two mega-copters bolted across the sky and banked to the right.

  A dozen USARIC MagCycles zipped over the horizon and caught up to Kaoz’s bike. He waved them on to ride with him as the regular vehicles on the road whizzed past.

  “Report,” Kaoz said into his arm.

  “We have two units going to his location,” came the response from the adjacent biker, “They’re joining us at the next junction. All eyes peeled for MagCycle 451. Air assist en route to the Sheck Estate.”

  “Good,” Kaoz said. “Your orders are shoot to kill. We cannot let the rogue attack Maar’s family. No stone unturned.”

  Kaoz turned his MagCycle to the left and observed the junction meet the main road.

  VROOOOOM.

  A giant tank-like vehicle with USARIC written on the side of it sped up and joined the MagCycles bombing along the magnetic strip.

  “Good, good,” Kaoz waved at the tank and pointed dead ahead. “Next turning, Angel City.”

  WHIIIIRRRR.

  The tank’s turret rotated to the left.

  Ten MagCycles, two USARIC tanks, and two mega-copters zoomed into the horizon with just one mission on the agenda: murder.

  The Sheck Estate

  (Angel City)

  Maar hit the brake on his MagCycle outside his mansion. The strip ended a good fifty feet away from the gates which barricaded entry to the long and winding path that lead to the house itself.

  He stepped off the bike and planted his feet firmly on the ground. As he moved toward the gate, he clocked the side of the MagCycle he’d ridden. Unit 451.

  “Sons of bitches,” he whispered, knowing full well he had ridden a huge visual flare for USARIC to follow to the doorstep of his own house. It would only be a few minutes before they descended upon him.

  It had been a long, long time since he had been home.

  Somehow, the whole area seemed different.

  He lifted the visor up his face and took a step toward the gate. A slight chill hung in the air this evening, but Maar found it to be a welcome kiss of life.

  The welcome buzzer was still there and intact, shooting out from the ground like an antenna.

  He removed his helmet, tucked it under his arm and journeyed the fifty feet toward the buzzer.

  Before he pressed it, he wondered what might happen if his wife was home. She hadn’t heard from him since his Dmitri Vasilov’s assassination all that time ago.

  Months - maybe years - had flown by.

  He closed his eyes and moved his fingertip to the panel.

  BZZZZZ.

  He released his finger and exhaled, hoping someone would answer.

  Eventually, someone did.

  “Hello?”

  Maar opened his mouth, but no words came out.

  “Hello? Who’s there?” the irritated female voice came through the holes in the intercom. “I’m not expecting any visitors—”

  “—It’s me.”

  The intercom fell silent. Contrary to his expectation, she didn’t sound especially elated.

  “Who?”

  “It’s me, Elizabeth,” Maar said. “Your husband.”

  Silence fell through the intercom once again, much to Maar’s chagrin.

  “Don’t you recognize my voice?”

  Angered, he punched the gate with his palm.

  “Elizabeth?”

  “Maar?” she finally piped up. “What are you doing here?”

  “Let me in. Open the gate. Please.”

  “It’s, uh, a bit difficult right now—”

  “—Elizabeth, open the damn gates. Now.”

  KER-CHLUNK.

  The left side of the gate swung inward just enough to let him through.

  Crunch-crunch-crunch…

  Maar stormed up the gravel path in an exceptionally bad mood.

  The door to the mansion opened out to reveal a frail septuagenarian woman dressed in formal wear.

  She didn’t say a word as she watched the USARIC mercenary approach the house, desperate to get to her.

  “Maar?”

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  “But how—”

  “—Don’t ask any questions,” he snapped. “Whatever you heard, it’s not true.”

  “Sweetie, this isn’t a good time to—”

  “—Shut up,” he said and scanned the front of the mansion.

  The door had been changed. The last time he was home the door was made of solid oak. Now, it was a pastel blue color that made him want to vomit in the newly-installed fishpond running past his feet
on the driveway.

  The rectangular windows had bars attached to them.

  Something wasn’t right.

  Maar continued his trajectory towards the refitted porch, “I like what you’ve done to the place,”

  “Maar, listen. You have to—”

  “—I have to what?”

  A man the same age as Elizabeth peered from behind the door and blinked.

  “You don’t have to hide. I can see you, you know,” Maar yelled. “Elizabeth, who’s that?”

  “It’s, uh—”

  She turned to the man and affected a pathetic smile. The man stepped out and enacted the same thing to Maar.

  “Hello,” the strange man said.

  “Who are you?”

  Elizabeth stepped in front of the man and held out her hands, “I, uh, we thought you’d been killed.”

  “I nearly was, thanks for asking.”

  “I’m Philip Brown,” the man added. “I know all about you.”

  “Huh, really?” Maar ran up the steps and made a beeline for Philip.

  THWOCK.

  Maar socked Philip in the jaw and pushed him against the patio wall by his shirt collar, “Listen to me, you ancient asshole—”

  “—Maar, please,” Elizabeth begged.

  “You shut up,” Maar squealed at her with desperation in his eyes and turned back to the gentleman, “You think you can come to my house and interfere with my wife behind my back?”

  “Honestly, I’m n-not,” Philip begged. “It’s not wh-what you think.”

  Maar scanned the hall in his house and double-took when a horde of expensively-dressed dignitaries blinked back at him.

  “Who the hell are these people?”

  “Aww, damn,” one of the guests said. “He didn’t die.”

  “Maar,” Elizabeth explained, “You’re not welcome here, anymore.”

  “He’s alive,” one of the smartly-dressed men said from the horde.

  “Yes, look. He’s not dead, after all,” another women added.

  Maar let go of Philip’s collar and brushed the front of his shirt down. He turned to his wife in confusion, “What’s going on?”

  “We heard you’d died.”

  The crowd shuffled forward, curious as to the presence of Maar’s ghost announcing his arrival.

  The reality of the situation dawned on Maar completely. These important people were at his house under the impression that he was a goner.

  “Who are these people?”

  Another guest smashed his flute of champagne onto the floor. “The bastard’s still alive. I knew it was too good to be true.”

  “Hey,” Maar yelled at the stunned people milling around in his marble-laden hallway, “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?”

  An ocean of eyes blinked back at him. No one dared offer an answer.

  “Oh. I get it, now. You hear on a broadcast that I’m dead, right? Me? Au contraire my scum-sucking, money-hungry cronies. If you stay here you’ll die.”

  “What on Earth are you talking about?” asked another gentleman.

  “Tch,” Maar shook his head and stormed through the crowd, “Get out of my way. I advise you get the hell out of here. Now.”

  “Maar, sweetheart?” Elizabeth clutched her chest with worry. “Where are you going?”

  “I came back to see you, but since I’m not welcome, I’ll help myself to a few weapons to help me with the forthcoming war,” he barked over his shoulder as he ran into the pantry, “I suggest you all do the same, or tool up with me and help me fight these bastards off.”

  “Bastards? What bastards?”

  Maar turned around and pointed at the door, “Look at me, sweetheart. Back from the dead. Unless you want to join me, I’d seriously consider the following.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Run.”

  Maar snapped the light on in the dingy pantry - a small room that hadn’t changed at all since he was last at the house.

  He made his way past the hanging pots and pans and spun the lock on the door at the far end of the room.

  CLUNK.

  “Those sons of bitches think they can try to murder me and get away with it?” Maar muttered as the doors swung out from the wall. His face lit up with delight. “Come and get me.”

  An array of weapons lined the wall.

  Several machine guns lined the top of the cabinet, along with pistols, handguns, an RPG and dozens of grenades.

  A clitter-clatter of footsteps bounded toward the room, “Maar, what are you doing?”

  “I told you already. There’s a fight coming our way.”

  Maar unhooked the MP5 from the wall and inspected the grip. Elizabeth stepped inside the pantry and observed the useless wreck of a man she thought had long since passed away.

  “Maar?”

  “What?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  Maar swiped a full magazine from the cabinet and palmed it into the grip, “Sweetie, no time to explain. USARIC and I, we, uh, had a bit of a disagreement.”

  “Disagreement?”

  “Yeah, things went a bit belly-up recently,” Maar snapped as he scooped up a handful of grenades into his left hand. He tossed one at his wife, who caught it clumsily in her hands.

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “No time to explain—”

  TCH-CLUNK.

  Maar flicked the safety catch down and stormed out of the pantry with a thoroughly confused Elizabeth in tow.

  Maar aimed his MP5 at the guests and screamed, “Everybody out. Party’s over.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Philip stepped back and put his hands up. “Maar, have you gone out of your mind?”

  “I’ve already died once today, my friend. It’s no laughing matter, I can assure you. Now, leave.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  Philip waved the others towards the door.

  “I need to fetch my belongings from the drawing room,” said one of the female guests. She ran through the left-hand door along with the others.

  “What’s going on, Maar?” Philip asked.

  “USARIC is trying to kill me.”

  The news was a complete surprise to the man.

  “You what, now?”

  “Someone administered my cardiac arrest. When that didn’t work, two of my closest allies came to the infirmary to finish the job,” Maar indicated his USARIC mercenary gear. “You’re probably wondering why I’ve come to the party dressed like this?”

  “My God. Are they still after you?”

  Maar checked the sight of his MP5 and marched to the front door, “They’re going to be here any moment now. They want me out of the picture, don’t you get it? Majority shareholder of the company? Redistribute the wealth and decision-making? Who do they think they’re fooling.”

  “Right?” Philip said.

  “None of this was my fault,” Maar barked as he opened the front door and peered through the gap.

  The two helicopters lunged over the horizon and headed for the house.

  “Jesus Christ, they’re nothing if not determined.”

  WHUMP.

  Maar pressed the door closed and stood back with his gun in his arms.

  “Wanna leave, now?”

  “Uh, yes. I think we’ll be on our way,” Philip said.

  “Too late, my friend. They’re here.”

  “What—?”

  “This is United States and Russian Intergalactic Confederation,” the mega-copter speakers rocked from the sky amid the whirring blades, “Four-five-one, we know you’re in there. Just come out nice and quietly with your hands in the air.”

  Maar closed his eyes and banged the back of his head against the door, “Damn it.”

  “Maar?” Philip stammered, suddenly fearing for his life, “What are they doing? Who’s four-five-one?”

  “Protocol. Standard procedure for when we want someone taking down—”

  “Four-five-one, we will not ask again. We kn
ow you’re in there. Come out and surrender.”

  Kaoz stopped his MagCycle next to Maar’s on the strip at the front of the mansion.

  He and Crain stepped off the bike and looked up at the night sky. The two mega-copter’s lamps lit the mansion up ahead of them.

  “There they are,” Kaoz waved the approaching MagCycles to the house. “He’s inside.”

  Nine USARIC mercenaries made their way over to the gate with their heavy weapons drawn.

  “Listen up, people,” Kaoz shouted over the cacophony of helicopter blades. “No messing around. You go in, locate the bastard and take him out. Understood?”

  “Understood.”

  “What about me?” Crain asked.

  “What about you?”

  “You’re not expecting me to go in there, too, are you?”

  “Numb nuts,” Kaoz bopped him on the back of the head, “When we find his body we need you to verify its him and make a statement.”

  Kaoz gestured to the mercenaries to infiltrate the property. They led the way up the gravel path as the beams from their weapons flew around the front of the house.

  Kaoz walked as calmly as possible towards the front door, “Four-five-one. We know you’re in there. Come out.”

  The mega-copter’s blades whirred up a storm and kicked the dust from the path into the air.

  “Prepare to shred the estate, “Kaoz said into his forearm. “Metal Bird One, load up.”

  “This is Metal Bird One,” came the response as the first mega-copter lowered itself and spun its canons, “Preparing to open fire.”

  “Good,” Kaoz waved at the other mercenaries to take position behind the fountain and surrounding bushes.

  He turned to the door and held out his arms, “This is your last chance, four-five-one. Come out, now.”

  Maar placed his index finger on his mouth and urged his wife and Philip to remain perfectly still.

  The light from the mega-copters blasted around his shoulders, rendering him as black as charcoal.

  “Don’t move.”

  He turned around and pushed the door out ever-so-slightly.

  “That’s it, buddy. Come out and this will all get resolved quickly,” Kaoz said.

  “My ass it will, you backstabbing turd,” Maar said as he clapped eyes on a concerned Crain standing next to his foe. “I see you, you weasel.”