Red Star Sheriff

by Timothy Purvis

  Of course, Earth wasn’t exactly free of problems either. Overpopulation, severe pollution, and aggressive commercialism had turned wide swaths of the home world into uninhabitable wastelands, forcing civilians into the larger metropolises. It was because of that he had to relent and accept the logic Lee had shared with him: Earth was living on borrowed time. The Union was strong, but it was also still being opposed from within. It had theoretical control of the planet. But the Afrikaan Hegemony had secured an alliance with the Aussie-Zealandic League, threatening a southern world brick wall on Union troop movements. And the First Nations Remnant was a constant thorn in efforts to push westward. He wanted to use the fleet to finally overthrow those stubborn nations at last. But Lee was right, they could no longer afford to do nothing about Hinon (Mars! Those fucks!) and the Continuum.

  It helped him to consider it finally gave him an opportunity to search for Caitlyn. Though those efforts had lately proven fruitless. Sam crossed his arms over his chest, feeling the tightening protests of his duster. His gaze was fixed out of the viewport of the war room and he listened to the continued prattling of Nielson coming from behind him. Dozens of starships and shuttles were going about their business beyond, glistening in the Martian orbit. Hinon’s Defense Force wasn’t something to take lightly. He was confident his dreadnought, Invicta, could handle any threat against them, but he knew there was no way to wage a campaign against the surface AND hold the HDF back simultaneously.

  He turned and looked at the holographic form of Nielson hovering over the strategy table in the center of the round room. The viewport stretched all the way around and was only broken by two emergency lifts to the docking bays and the rampwell between them leading down to the bridge. The ceiling above was really little more than a thick circlet surrounding another viewport looking up into the void of deep space.

  “No.” Sam said with a low, deep voice. “I want you to stay put. If they’re holed up in there, that might actually work to our advantage. They’ll find that damned thing and bring it to us.”

  “What about the journal, sir?” the bespectacled Nielson inquired.

  Sam thought for a moment. “They may still have it on them, so ensure they can’t leave by any exit. Right now, our priority is the device, if it actually is in that vehicle. Your man is certain he captured them discussing it?”

  “After our inability to access the hangar-bay yesterday, Thompson accessed the surveillance system of the labs. The discussion was… quite enlightening.”

  “It’s a good thing you didn’t leave there. Lynch was right,” Sam growled.

  “She was right after two days, sir,” Nielson reminded him. “But, yes, your suggestion to wait was… appropriate.”

  “Glad you approve,” Sam grumbled staring at him then proceeded to walk around the table. “Give them another day. If they haven’t verified it’s the core by then, bring the whole complex down. Don’t leave a thing standing.”

  “Sir, I was under the impression we were supposed to be claiming the gravitic core for ourselves? Is that not still the plan?”

  “I’m tired of dithering about in pursuit of this thing. It may be real. It may not. Manipulating gravity is tricky business. As far as I know, no one has successfully discovered how to affect objects over distance with any generated gravitational field we’ve produced. The likelihood is low.” Sam stopped and stared at him. “Without verification, we have to assume it’s meaningless. But I don’t want them escaping there with that journal. Professor Wilson may or may not have made a prototype, but we know where they are now and I have other matters to attend to.”

  “And if they do verify it’s the core, general?”

  “Then infiltrate and take the labs by force. Do not let them escape. Cover any potential exit. Bring it back to the Invicta.”

  “Understood, general.”

  Sam opened his mouth to say something else when a messenger rushed into the room and approached him speaking rapidly.

  “Sir. A communique,” she said handing him a tablet.

  Sam took it and nodded at her. She hurried off immediately, eyes downcast. He tapped the screen and frowned as he read. Shaking his head in irritation, Sam turned towards the patiently waiting Nielson and ran a finger through the air.

  “On second thought, have Thompson take charge of the operation. You can trust him to accomplish it, yes?”

  “Absolutely, general.”

  “Good. I have something else for you to deal with. That sonuvabitch Sonoros just reached out to me. Wants to arrange a meeting. Seems to think he has something to offer us in our renewed implementation of ‘his plan’.” He growled the last two words.

  “You mean Senator Sonoros, sir?”

  “Yeah. Get over to Aquila Mons and deal with him. Last thing I need is him ruining everything again. He fancies himself this master manipulator. But he’s an idiot. Got enough of them running around as is.”

  “Of course, sir. What would you have me do about Lynch?”

  Sam tossed the pad on the table, where the thing skidded underneath Nielson’s hologram, making Nielson look like he was standing on it. Sam braced his hands on his hips.

  “Dealer’s choice. I told you she’d lead you to your prey, and she has. Now, she’s about as useful to me as a bleeding hemorrhoid.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Nielson logged off leaving Sam standing in the war room alone. He looked back out the viewport where Hinon spun slowly beyond the hull of the Invicta. Specks of busy spacecraft continued their endless to-and-fro dance amongst the stars. He turned to the rampwell to the bridge and paused staring at the pad on the table.

  That message came from Jackson. Still runnin’ dirty deals for Sonoros, huhn? He shook his head and started once more then stopped. Wasn’t he supposed to be some sort of tracker? What if… What if he can find Caitlyn? He went back to pick up the pad, then continued onward to the bridge.

  NIELSON STEPPED AWAY from the holo-projector and turned towards the exit of the shuttle. Ever since the general sustained his life-threatening wound, Nielson had been extremely busy keeping their mission focused. Though the plan of open insurrection had been ongoing, and despite two domains’ governors being murdered, the Chuhukon Council had so far refused to act without a vote on the matter of dispensing Confederate troops. Apparently, most of the regional governors were extremely reluctant to bring the matter up in session and, regardless of senate calls for just the such, the Council had been too nervous to initiate martial law. Nielson figured the Civil War was still raw in their heads and were worried about stirring up public unrest. Exactly the point of the mission, of course.

  Stubborn bastards. Well, then the Union will just have to do things the hard way. Nielson frowned as he stepped outside to take in the view. He stood at the apex of the shuttle-ramp breathing in the clean, oxygenated air. For four-days, they’d been camped out on this mesa overlooking the edge of the Wastelands valley.

  At the furthest western point, where the valley met the Crags, there was a great gateway into the train station. Two high raised rails ran out of its gaping maw, which was encircled by a half-ring of curved metal not unlike the antlerlike mandibles of some pinching beetle. Its summit thinner at the top and, as it flowed down towards the base, the ring flared out into a concave fan. On the side closest their new base, the base of that ring curved outward like an ancient insect eye that had fallen onto its side to make up the Wastelands platform into the interior station.

  Above the station, thousands of feet further up in fact, was a massive circular portal shuttered by two massive docking doors that was the shuttle thoroughfare. It shot straight through the craggy walls and came out into the Turin Crevasse beyond.

  The Crags themselves rose up to meet where plasma shielding connected into the framework that completely enclosed the Wastelands domain. A wall of sheer stone flowing all the way from the north where it connected to the Spine, and down and around to the south where it collided with the mesa that current
ly served as home to Nielson and his soldiers. The only feature arguing for dominance of the scene, the railway leading deep into the Wastelands proper. Speeding along the which was a long, pill-like ten car train racing off into the distance with hardly a sound.

  Nielson ignored it and cast his gaze upward, towards the pale blue skies that—artificial though they were—were so much like Earth’s once upon a time. Such a clear view he had that he could see the faint silhouette of the Crags Labs far off in the distance just at the summit line of the Plasmic Shielding Network. Easily missed were one not aware of its existence.

  He sighed and braced his hands on his hips. President Lee admires General Berricks, that’s for sure. Just a shame the general is so distracted with finding his daughter. I only wish that the president felt comfortable telling Mr. Berricks about the fleet buildup. It has to be because the general only accepted this assignment in his ongoing hopes.

  And then there was the journal. A side gamble that General Berricks didn’t trust, obviously. Mostly because it was Senator Sonoros who contacted the president about it. Apparently, the good professor had been foolish enough to discuss his work on the gravitic core with a colleague in Aquila Mons looking for funding to build the engine. Either the colleague or someone close to them had mentioned it to Sonoros. Mentioned how there was a journal with the designs in it he’d shown to that colleague. They thought Sonoros might help them secure that funding. Only, the senator went straight to President Lee about the journal instead. And now I’ve got to clean up the senator’s mess instead of focusing on the mission. Don’t worry, though, Sonoros. I’m going to take great pleasure cleaning you out of the works. It was a shame, really, Nielson thought. Had Sonoros just done his job and secured funding, that technology might be benefiting everyone right about now. Instead, knowing Lee wanted to retake the colonies, he handed the president a golden ticket. Ah, well. So much the better.

  Nielson looked down into the camp. Two shuttles were parked at opposite ends of the mesa. The one he stood on the ramp of, and the other almost directly opposite. Spread out between them both, were a myriad of tents. He’d been forced to go back for the second shuttle after picking up Lynch and Polk, and divided his twenty-man regiment in half to make more room for camping equipment. This after the initial assault plan went south. The bay doors to the labs were magnetically sealed and only accessible via internal activation. His second-in-command, Lieutenant Harold Thompson, was a cyber war specialist and therefore was sent in via the metro station below to find a way into the labs. It hadn’t even taken him a day to discover an electrical power station deep within the premises and hack into the security system to gain them access to the labs.

  Regrettably, though they could have entered at any time, they didn’t see hide nor hair of Wilson and Weiss. Lynch, of course, was certain this was where they’d come.

  Nielson wanted to be finished with them then. But the general insisted he give it a few more days. After all, Wilson would be coming the slow way while they had shuttles. And, sure enough, Lynch and the general had both been right. He glared down at a tent in the center of the camp. In there, and under guard, were Lynch and her man. He had yet to see them this fine morning, but was certain they were plotting their escape. He only hoped Thompson could handle them while he was away.

  Movement caught the corner of his eye and he turned to see Lieutenant Thompson marching towards him. The man stopped a few feet from the ramp bottom and saluted as Nielson walked down to meet him. Nielson saluted him back.

  “Sir! You requested my presence, sir?”

  “At ease, lieutenant.” Thompson clasped his hands behind his straight back adopting an at ease stance. Nielson continued, “Our marching orders have been altered. I’ll be leaving you in charge of the regiment. I have… obligations to attend to in Aquila Mons. Wait twenty-four hours. If they haven’t discovered if the engine is in that waverider, bring down the complex.”

  Lieutenant Thompson frowned, “Sir, all due respect, sir. Won’t that damage the PSN, sir?”

  Nielson smiled pushing his glasses up his nose. At first he himself had thought the Plasmic Shielding Network might be damaged in the assault. However, if General Berricks wasn’t concerned about it, he wouldn’t be either.

  “Your concern is admirable, lieutenant. However, unnecessary. First, the network is designed to hold under the impact of up to a fifty-megaton asteroid. Second, the network contains a redundant network built into the base of the domain. Should the cliffsides collapse, the shielding will engage in that zone. Besides, this is a localized detonation which will result in only the towers falling in, sealing behind it.” Thompson looked relieved and Nielson continued, “Let us hope that won’t be necessary and they’ll find the core inside. In that event, you will infiltrate the labs and recover the device. Wilson and Weiss are irrelevant. Eliminate them. Recover the journal, if at all possible, in the process. If that proves impossible, destroy the labs behind you. You’ll have this next day to set up explosives as you monitor the labs.”

  “Yes, sir. And if we recover both the vehicle and the journal, sir?”

  “If you’ve neutralized the targets and recovered both, disarm the explosives and rendezvous back at Willard’s Peak basecamp.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  “And, as far as Ms. Lynch and Mr. Polk go, well, they’ve outlived their usefulness. Leave them with the rest of the rubble.”

  Thompson briefly hesitated, then saluted. “Yes, sir.”

  “Dismissed.” Nielson saluted back and Thompson turned on his heel and marched away.

  Nielson waited until he had gone, then made for his own tent to grab the materials he would need to deal with Sonoros. He’d have to go by train, he knew. Otherwise, he might draw too much attention. Fortunately, carved out onto the bluff of the mesa was a walkway leading down into the valley and curving towards the platform at the base of the Crags wall beyond. It would take no more than an hour’s walk, he figured, to reach it. He let a small smile cross his face as he walked.

  ASTA LAY STARING up at the canopy contemplating every rage fueled moment she’d suffered over the last several weeks. Her scowl had found a permanent place on her face and it hurt. They couldn’t find a way out of their predicament and it bugged her, Drevan knew. He sat nearby, legs crossed in the indigenous way, hands on his knees as if he were waiting for a powwow to start and no one had remembered to arrive.

  “We can’t sit here mopin’ all day,” he said.

  “Ah ain’ mopin’.”

  “Right’n we ain’t prisoners neither.”

  “What d’ya want me ta do?” Asta grumbled. “Wander out there pokin’ ‘round as they plot their means ta storm the labs? Case ya ain’ noticed, two heavily armed soldiers are waitin’ jus’ outside the tent flaps. Oh! And the whole camp is nothing’ but one big hive o’troops lookin’ ta shoot somebody! Ain’ got nothin’ ta do save fer stare at the gawddamned tent!”

  Asta went back to staring at the canopy, and he sighed. She was right. Until Nielson set them loose, they were stuck. However, Drevan suspected Nielson had no intention of letting them live. Surely, Berricks would have left him instructions to rid of them permanently. The question was, how much time did they have left to escape? And how would they accomplish it?

  “Ah ain’ sayin’ it’s a simple matter,” Drevan said returning his gaze to her. “Ah’m jus’ sayin’ our prospects o’walkin’ outta here are slim at best. Yer right, it don’ look good. But we ain’ servin’ the kids none by sittin’ back’n jus’ takin’ it. We gotta seize any advantage we ken take. They got us all at the knife’s edge’n the very moment they breach those labs, our usefulness is done. If’n it ain’ already. Curt and Amelia are relyin’ on us, even if they don’ know it, ta keep our eyes open, see what’s what. An’ take advantage o’any opportunity that might benefit us. An’ we kent do that staring at a tent.”

  Asta sighed and sat up. She wrapped her arms around her legs, pulling her knees to her chest to bra
ce her chin on her kneecaps. She was silent for a minute focusing on some distance beyond the tent flaps. When she spoke, it was with the gravity of a woman who knew the score. Knew that the only hope of survival was to keep shooting and hope she took more of them out before they put her down for good.

  “We always find ourselves in these messes, Drevan. Always fightin’ ta survive cuz we ain’ never had the good sense ta put down’n stay down.” A solitary tear ran down her cheek. “But, yer right. Gotta stay on top o’it. Look fer a way out. Way we always do. …It’s no wonder, though. No wonder why they tore off fer some other domain. What did they have here ‘cept fightin’ ta survive? Ah shoulda done betta by them…”

  Drevan unfolded his legs and pulled himself over to her. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her in towards his chest. He rubbed her left arm as she buried her face into his neck and tried not to cry.

  “We did what we had ta, ta git by. The kids did what was right by them’n ah won’ fault ‘em fer it,” Drevan said leaning his cheek to the top of her head. “But dontchu go blamin’ yerself fer life. It’s a buckin’ mare’n we’re all jus’ hangin’ on wit’ all we got. You did good’n the kids know it too.”

  “You always were so sweet. No matta what they all said ‘bout ya,” she half-cried, half-laughed.

  “Well, don’ go advertisin’ it.”

  She chuckled and leaned forward to stand up. She brushed off her pants with her hands as he watched her absently. He leaned back onto his hands and stretched his legs out. An eat-shit smile crossed his face as she braced her hands on her hips.

  “Awright, then,” she said. “Let’s go see what trouble we ken git ourselves inta.”