“Best news ah’ve heard all mornin’.”
He got to his feet and followed her out of the tent. The two guards out front turned to her.
“If’n it’s all the same ta you two, we’d like ta stretch our legs a bit.” Asta glared at them in turn.
“Okay. But… don’t try nothing,” one of them replied.
“Like what? There’s only twenty o’ya’ll.”
The guards only grunted and followed a short distance behind them as they walked between the tents. The sun was bright, the sky clear. A wind blew up out of the chasm feeling cool to the skin. A few warblers chirped their pleasure at flying and the clicking sounds of desert crawlers sporadically broke across the wind. Drevan followed Asta to the edge of the mesa where it overlooked the valley. Their two guards had their rifles slung over their shoulders but decided to hang back and hold a conversation between themselves, their eyes never truly leaving them. The other soldiers in camp were just milling about or lounging in foldable chairs awaiting whatever directives they were supposed to be carrying out.
Drevan could feel that something was about to happen. Any plan of escape would have to come soon. The sooner the better, he thought. First, however, they needed to figure out who was watching the kids and find a way to send a message of warning. They came to a stop atop a formation of stone and looked out over the valley. It was an impressive view. Much wider and deeper than one would expect. With cliffs rising up nearly four miles. He looked back over the camp seeing the troop compliment and a clear view of both boxy looking shuttles with their angular faces and dual windows looking like rectangular eyes keeping watch. What it told him then was that whatever action they were to take, couldn’t be done here. They’d be gunned down before they had gotten ten-feet.
There were only two ways off the mesa. One was via shuttle. And both were heavily guarded. Even at night, there were constantly at least five soldiers patrolling the area. The only other way was the sloping trail leading down and around towards the metro station below. There was a reasonable expectation of sneaking that way at night. But it would be tricky given that their tent was constantly under guard. Potentially, they could just slip out under the back of the tent. However, once they were gone, they’d have to make the distance between the camp and the station in record time before anyone knew they’d took off. And, on top of that, contact Curt and Amelia. Drevan wasn’t certain he wanted to take that sort of chance.
No, it was looking increasingly likely that whatever plan they made, would have to play out with the assault on the labs. Which would mean limited maneuverability and thinking on their feet. As if reading his mind, Asta turned to him.
“Ah don’ like this. We’re boxed in. Even up in the labs. Ah don’ know how we’re gonna pull it off.”
Drevan removed his Grey Lance and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Don’ sell yerself short. They’s gonna hafta give us our guns back if’n they expect us ta take point. Which they will.”
Asta shook her head. “Yer fergittin’ that might be their plan.”
“Aidele’s a real dangerous sharpshooter. But she ain’ cruel. Not so sure she’d jus’ gun us down bein’ unarmed’n all.”
Asta slightly turned away. “Ah’m not so sure. Ah kilt her momma, ‘member?”
“Kent say that would much matter. Like ah said, dangerous, not mean.”
Asta stared off into the valley. Drevan turned and noticed a soldier walking up towards them with purpose in his gait. Asta gently elbowed him in the ribs and he looked to her to see she was pointing down towards the descending trail. Halfway down, and walking all by himself, was Nielson.
“No fucking shit,” Drevan muttered watching the man take the bend heading towards the metro station.
LIEUTENANT HAROLD THOMPSON leaned forward in his folding chair contemplating choices that had brought him to this place at this time. He’d never been a fan of kill orders. Whatever it was these outlaws had done, surely it couldn’t have been so bad the Union wanted them executed? After all, didn’t they just come to their plantation and abduct the two? Kill their crew? He shook his head, a bad feeling in his gut. Part of him just wanted to get it all over with. Another part wanted to vomit and run. Then there were the people in the labs. When did they become assassins for hire? He hadn’t signed up for this. He only wanted to protect the home world.
He frowned. I don’t get it. But maybe it’s better that I don’t know. If it’s this hard not knowing, what would it be like if I did? He sighed inwardly. The mission had already had too many hiccups. That one young lady had injured the general bad. But they’d been chasing those two even before that. He guessed they must have been criminals on the run from the Union. And that was why they needed these outlaws to hunt them. But why not just let the locals deal with them?
Another puzzle, why did most of the regiment have to wear local garb? The stupid brimmed hat, jeans so tight he was always fidgeting with his balls, the ugliest style of vest he’d ever seen, leather boots that cramped the toes fiercely, thick tanned gloves he could hardly wiggle a finger in, and a long, always in the way duster. The brass had assured him it was necessary, to not only blend in with the populace, but to also protect the body against Wastelands environments. It was all so clandestine as to be suspicious to him, if not supremely shady. If these are wanted criminals by the Union, why blend in? Just go after them. If they needed protection from the weather, wouldn’t their body armor better serve the purpose? They were made for deep space operations for Chrissakes!
Okay, maybe there’s a real bad case of anti-Unionism here. But why come then? Fuck ‘em!
Harold twisted the gloves tightly clutched in his hands. He was a Union soldier, trained to use combat gear in wartime situations. Not play cowboy on some desolate world where no one ever saw the real sky and all the people were criminals. These former colonists he knew were terrorists. Maybe not all of them, but a lot of them. Yet they still had a government and law enforcement, didn’t they? All this cloak and dagger nonsense was filling him with all sorts of dread and he didn’t’ like it.
No, sir. Not one bit. First chance I get, I’m requesting a transfer back to Earth. If this outlaw planet wants to start something, well, they can try it. We’ll kick their asses right on back to their dusty old westworld. They made their choice long ago that they wanted to be independent and they can live with it. And if the criminals want to run and hide here, guess they won’t have long to live, now will they? Just consider it a prison planet, that’s what I say. Only punishing themselves.
He looked up as movement caught his eye. The two outlaws, escorted by their guards, were leaving their tent. He frowned, watching them walk up the tents and towards the edge of the mesa. He didn’t trust them any further than he could throw them, but that didn’t mean he wanted to kill them. Special Enforcer Nielson had been pretty specific about waiting twenty-four hours to infiltrate the labs or bring them down. If he was to bring down the labs, he knew they were to be executed on the spot. If they were to infiltrate, those two were to be the forwards. That’s what the direction sent to his mission log had stipulated. He twisted his gloves more violently.
I’m sorry, mom! This isn’t what I signed up for goddamnit! I… I’m not a murderer! Sweat cascaded down his brow. If they were that dangerous, why were they using them? If Weiss was a traitor, why wasn’t he being court-martialed, taken back to Earth? Surely, they didn’t need outlaws for this? Killing in combat was one thing, that was war. However, this didn’t feel like war. Are we at war with Hinon? When did that happen? But if we’re not, then, what’s going on?
All of it was above his paygrade, of course. Nielson didn’t leave him in charge to make his own decisions. Only follow through on the general’s orders. He might not like it, the idea might be tying knots in his stomach and making him want to vomit, but he had his orders. He was Union and he’d do the job expected of him. If one traitor and three outlaws had to die, that was what he was going to do. God help him.
After a minute, he picked up his shotgun leaning against the tent side and stood up to follow after the outlaws. He saw that they were just standing there looking out over the valley. Their two guards were a short distance away talking and paying hardly any attention to them. He’d have to pull them aside later and have a little chat about what exactly guard duty entailed. Harold saw the woman elbow her man who’d just affixed him with a stare. Her man looked down and Harold suddenly felt a surge of panic. Didn’t S.E. Nielson just head down towards the train station? If so, those two were staring down at him awfully hard. He’d have to offer them some busy work until the mission began.
“Hey,” Harold called. The two outlaws looked back at him, as did the guards who suddenly came to a wary attention. “I’ve got some duties for you two. Since you’re our guests, it seems only right to help you feel part of the team.”
He glanced at the guards as the woman said, “Guests, huhn? Why is it ah don’ feel like yer guest, then? What would ya say, Drevan? Less guests, more prisoners? Ain’ that what ya tol’ me?”
The man, Drevan, nodded. Harold rested the shotgun into the crook of his elbow, suggesting none of this was open to debate. He forced a slight smile.
“How you perceive your presence here is your business. However, we have some rifles in desperate need of polishing. And, as they say, idle hands are the devil’s plaything.”
After staring at him for a long, vicious moment, they looked at the two guards, who were resting their own hands on their sidearms. Then without saying another word, the two outlaws walked past Harold. The woman stopped and glared at him.
“Well? Where’re we goin’?”
Harold took in a short breath. “Follow me.” He looked over to the two guards. “You two as well.”
THE SEARCH HAD yet to produce any concrete results. It seemed as if they’d searched every cupboard, baseboard, closet, dresser, nook, cranny, and washer (Ugh!) on the premises looking for any clue that might suggest how to access the waverider below. And yet, nothing. It’d already been five days and the sick feeling in Aidele’s gut was screaming that they needed to get away from the labs. Fast. She despised that feeling. It was always as if she had no control of the situation and could only come along for the ride to witness whatever savage fate awaited her and those she cared for.
Now, she sat across from Durante in the recreational room. He was on the couch re-reading the journal for what must have been the umpteenth time. She in a loveseat staring at the holoprojector in the center casting off a silent news report from Earth. The sound was off because it was doing nothing more than souring her mood. Apparently, the Union had just finished annexing the northern Afrikaan Hegemony and New Zealand from the Australian Pacific Federation. Very few nations stood left to oppose the Union’s broad reach on Earth, it would seem. Of those, the Chuhukon fatherland of the First Nations Remnants could not be taking the news well. Aidele scowled and turned it off.
Durante didn’t seem to notice as he absently forked into his mouth some canned-meat they’d found in one of the two pantries. He put the fork back into the can that was sitting on a tray before him and turned another page as he read carefully. Next to the can of mash were also chips, some jerky type substance, and a cup of water. With the exception of the water, all of it had a shelf-life of forever, questionable nutritional value, and a taste that was like eating years-old cardboard.
Aidele picked up some of the jerky from her own tray, tore off a bit with her teeth, and chewed furiously, her eyes trying to bore holes through Durante. She could feel the heat brewing and she wanted to scream.
How many times is he gonna read that!? She swallowed, balled up her hands, and slammed the edges of her fists onto her tray with a growling roar. The tray buckled and all that it was holding fell to the floor. Durante looked up, his mouth paused in midchew and eyes wide.
“Gawddamnit!” Aidele raged.
“Fuck!” Durante replied staring back in shock. “What, what the hell, Aidele?”
“Ah kent stand it!”
He screwed up his face. “If this is about the duster, I’ve already said I’m sorry! I don’t know how many times, or ways, I can say it!”
She leapt to her feet and started pacing. Today she was wearing a red button-up with a plaid pattern and the sleeves rolled up to her biceps. It bristled with wavy motion as she stormed back and forth, arms waving like she wanted to pound someone’s face into a pulp.
“No, this ain’ ‘bout mah duster! Although, seriously, who chucks a leather coat into the washer!? And then proceeds to dry it in the dryer!?”
“Well, I—”
“No, what’s pissin’ me off is we ain’ gittin’ nowhere! We’ve been here nearly a week and we’ve got shit ta show fer it! Ah’m pullin’ mah hair out! We’ve searched ever’where! Maybe the waverider has the core, maybe it don’… but it’s maddenin’ jus’ sittin’ here watchin’ ya read that gawddamn journal fer the millionth time!”
“It’s not helping either of us driving yourself nuts like this. Yes, we’ve been taking breaks more frequently. But I think I’m figuring some things out. Look, will you please calm yourself and just sit down for a minute?”
“Ugh!” She walked back to her chair and slung herself into it, then leaned back and crossed her arms across her chest and slung her right leg over her left thigh. Her right foot fluttered in agitation.
Durante smiled with a chuckle. “You’re adorable.”
At that, an eyebrow shot up and her lips puckered as if pouting. He continued, “The more I read this, the more I see what your father was trying to accomplish. The gravitic core generates a plasma shield that in turn creates its own gravitational field. In essence, this field counters the gravity around it, rendering whatever it is surrounding, well, weightless. Yet, at the same time, the interior of the plasma shield has its own gravitational environment keeping the rider relatively stationary under a surrounding field. You couldn’t fall off!”
Aidele gave a ‘what-are-you-talking-about’ look and said, “And, what is that supposed ta mean?”
“Well, theoretically, and based on these specs and directives, the gravitic core could, uhm, warp whatever it’s surrounding past the speed of light and the occupant would never even feel the force.”
She leaned forward. “Wait, wait… that’s impossible. Mass increases the closer to lightspeed you come. You’d be squashed flat before you even broke the lightspeed barrier.”
Durante leaned forward, eyes gleaming, “Didn’t you hear me, though? It renders gravity irrelevant. Takes it completely out of the equation by creating a self-contained gravitational field that both isolates its contents and generates force on the exterior by pushing the plasma shielded object using outer gravitational force! Like holding soap under water. You squeeze your hands across it and it shoots forward faster than the friction of water holding it back. Whereas the soap slows down upon losing inertia, the gravitic core would act like… Well, imagine that bar of soap had an infinite number of hands squeezing it forward. It would never stop until the hands let up!”
Aidele felt a sudden nausea. Theoretical physics had never been her cup of tea (too much overthinking with the mechanics of space), but it dawned on her then what he was suggesting. “You can’t be serious… are you saying that… that the waverider can fly!?”
She pointed down and towards the labs. Durante smiled broadly and looked like he wanted to bounce. “Isn’t it cool?”
“Cool!? Durante! Dad built that for mom! Who the hell would build their wife a, a, a watercraft starship!?”
He leaned back crossing his arms. “She was also a Red Star Sheriff.”
“Ugh!” Aidele flopped back again and stared at the ceiling. “They’re little more than myths and legends, Durante. If what we read online was correct, then this mysterious order was once a benevolent band of mercenaries bringing justice to the unjust. Taking back whole worlds that were corrupted by outlaws and criminals. Created by robots, no less, to be the
saviors of Sol. And yet, no historical record exists that they were ever real. Wouldn’t the government, or the law, or somebody have verified such an order existed by now? Sure, Grandfather made a quip, but outside of a few fantasy movies about them, and a trilogy of books, there’s no evidence that they were a thing, let alone that my mom was one of them! Let’s face it, Durante, my parents were playing at something else. Maybe just calling whatever plan it was the ‘Red Star Sheriff Contingency’ or something of the sort.”
Durante frowned. “Regardless, we know for certain that General Berricks wants this technology.”
“The Union.”
“Berricks! Look, let’s just agree to disagree and recognize people have been killed over this book.”
“Fine,” Aidele grumbled still staring at the ceiling.
“Anyhow, if the general gets his hands on this, he’ll have everything he needs to wage war. He has a fleet out in the Pheyton Range. It’s likely he intends to conquer Hinon and control the inner belt. He’ll outfit his ships with this shielding and strike out at the Union. I’m sure you’ve noticed that they don’t control all of Earth. With this tech, he could take Earth, then the Continuum, and eventually crown himself the ‘King of Sol’. Er, if you will.”
Aidele rolled her eyes toward him almost looking down her nose. “That’s quite the imagination you’ve got. And with all that thinking, you’ve still yet to think us up a way to operate the waverider. Providing the core is actually in it, that is. If not, we’ve wasted too much time already. We need to verify this soon and contact the Council about Berricks.”
He smiled again. “I think I have a solution for you.”
“I’m all ears,” she said thumping her knees lightly together multiple times.
“I think that we’ve been going about this all wrong. I’ve been going over these schematics and now I’m more convinced than ever that we should be looking for an ICC of sorts.”
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