by SD Tanner
Pulling her helmet from her face, her dark hair slipped out of its loose braid, falling gracefully down the back of her suit. Everything she did was elegant, making it hard to believe she was more machine than she was woman.
Using his heavily armored shoulder, Tank forcefully nudged him away from the wall. “Pay attention, Ark.”
Feeling sheepish at being caught admiring Tiana, he muttered, “I was…am.”
There was evidence of a fierce battle. Holes had been punched through the walls, wires were hanging from the ceiling, and long burns had sheared into the shiny metal. Small bruises of blue light told him the nanobytes were hard at work, rebuilding the walls as if they could take away the pain. That’s what he was looking at. Pain. Whatever had happened, they hadn’t won the fight.
“Where’s the docking bay?”
Tank was stamping along the corridor with his weapon ready to fire, but even he could see his grip was loose. Whatever the enemy had been, the ship was already lost, meaning they were long gone.
Without turning, Tank replied, “Scorpions are loaded. Blow one in a confined space and you nuke ‘em all. It’d be enough to take out the docking bay.”
“And the navs and Boms?”
“The navs wouldn’t survive space for long, but the Boms might. The problem is finding them.”
“Didn’t CaliTech chip us all?”
Tank stopped, turning to look at Tiana. “Can we tap their signal?”
“You will need to send out visibility pods. Their signal will not be very strong.”
Catching onto Tank’s uncommonly optimistic idea, he asked, “But we have a starting point, so can we map their likely trajectory?” When she nodded, he said, “Stay here and talk to the fleet. Tank and I will search the ship for any survivors.”
“I will order the nanobytes to redirect power to any part of the ship that is operational.”
Leaving Tiana to communicate with the BattleRig, he followed Tank along the corridor. “Every time, Ark. What is it with you?”
The next corridor was the same as the last, but if they continued along it, they should reach the engineering section. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You have a thing for alien booty.”
“That’s not fair. I never did anything with Mariana.”
“Only because she rejected you. Must be tough losing your good looks like that.”
Although Mariana had joined them on Tracha, she hadn’t settled in well. He’d tried keeping her company, but he’d been busy setting up the army, which wasn’t going well either. Caught up in his new role, he didn’t have the time to help her causing them to drift further apart. Her own people had shown so little interest in her safety he felt guilty about abandoning her.
Not bothering to answer Tank, he turned his attention to the engineering room door. “Do you think there’s anything behind it?”
“Nope.”
“Why?”
“This ship is dead.”
Staring back along the corridor, he’d barely registered the damage on every surface. Earth ships were made of living cells, meaning they could die. In theory, their Trachan ships were maintained by the nanobytes, but this one had a staleness to it, as if all life had been lost. Nanobytes never slept, tirelessly working to keep everything in top-notch condition. Where Earth ships were dark and warm to the touch, Trachan vessels hummed with a vibrant energy. They were so alive that, unless they were wearing visors, the brilliant silver covering everything on Tracha blinded Navigators. As a Bombardier, he didn’t see color, only shape, energy, density and distance. This ship felt flat to him, as if having done all they could the nanobytes had shut down.
Staring through the closed door, he could already see that Tank was right. There was nothing behind it other than machinery.
“Ladies first.”
“Not funny, Tank. We’ve lost the entire crew.”
“Army humor.”
The engine room was wide and long, taking up an entire floor of the five levels on the ship. At the top was the Bridge. Below them was the docking bay that no longer existed. Over two hundred men and women should have been living on the middle three levels. Being almost indestructible, the medical area on each ship was small, providing only the most basic of care. Trachans weren’t doctors and the nanobytes and human tissue weren’t compatible. They couldn’t do much for anyone injured or ill, so Navigators were known to die of diseases and injuries fixable on Earth. It was just one more reason they needed to go home.
The BattleRigs used a Negative Mass Drive powered by a fusion-fission generator to move through space. The drive created a negative mass energy field around the ship, contracting space in front of it while expanding space behind it. When space in front of it was compressed, a ship only had to travel a fraction of the distance, meaning it was actually moving at over fifty light-years per hour. Without the negative mass energy field, the ships only traveled at half-light-speed.
Several bodies were lying in awkward positions against the bulkheads. Walking across to them, he hunkered next to one, studying what was left of the Bombardier. Whatever had hit the man had taken half of his face and head away, penetrating the soft tissue of his brain. He would have died instantly. Tank was moving the head of a Trachan lying in a pool of dried blood. His mechanical arms and chest had been no match for the enemy. The wide and open hole through his torso had almost cut him in half, leaving a trail of metal and intestines across the floor.
“What kind of weapon does this sort of damage?”
“It wasn’t a laser or standard ammo. I’m guessing it was a plasma bullet.”
“How sure are you about that?”
“Pretty sure.”
“So, it wasn’t the enemy aliens?”
“Nope.”
“Another species?”
Tank shook his head as he straightened. “No, this is Dunk’s handiwork.”
“How do you know that?”
“Weapons are a question of materials. How many planets would have the right materials, knowledge and skills to create this type of weapon?”
Straightening, he nodded. “This could be good.”
“Really?”
“Our troops need motivation and two hundred dead oughta do it.” Walking towards the door, still hoping there might be at least one person left alive, he waved at Tank to follow. “Dunk just made this personal.”
He felt Tank bat his shoulder hard. “Sometimes I forget you’re Ark’s grandson and then you say something that sounds just like him.”
It wasn’t that he was trying to emulate his grandfather, only that it made sense. He didn’t believe Dunk Three would have the heart to take down one of their ships, but Dunk Two wouldn’t hesitate. After learning Dunk Two had killed his mother before he was conceived, he was committed to taking him out. Would he launch the entire army to kill one man? The answer was yes, but only if it also solved a bigger problem. If he only wanted to kill Dunk Two then he and Tank could do that alone. This was about taking back control of Earth. Tracha needed their technology. He wanted control of what Earth did to other planets. The Bombardiers wanted to go home and the Navigators needed real medical care. From the moment he’d realized his own kind were his worst enemy, his worries about the enemy aliens had fallen away. Taking down Dunk Two was his number one priority.
On the next level, the corridor was also scarred. When they reached the doorway to one of the living quarters, it had been covered in a thick metal. Running his hand over the grey surface, it vibrated with energy.
“Where’s the door?”
“It’s been sealed?”
He turned to look at Tank. “Why?”
“I’m guessing whatever happened behind it breached the hull.” Flicking his head at the dull metal surface, he added, “This is a nanobyte emergency barrier.”
“They tore us apart.”
Tank nodded, pulling his mouth into a deep grimace. “Yeah, they really did.”
“Why w
ould Dunk Two deliberately wipe us out?”
“Isn’t that what you’re planning to do?”
War had rules. When he’d rescued Mariana and Luki from CaliTech, he could have blown the main building, killing Dunk Two and Dunk Three. It was only at his insistence Tank hadn’t bombed CaliTech to hell and back. He hadn’t wanted to take the lives of people he thought of as his own, but Dunk Two had shown him no such consideration.
“This isn’t proportional to what we did at CaliTech.”
Sighing, Tank shook his head. “I tried to tell you who you’re dealing with, but…” Sounding disappointed, he let his words trail away.
“I didn’t want to kill our own people.”
“They’re not our people anymore, Ark. You need to choose a side. You can’t stand in the middle representing both. War isn’t a debate. It’s about beating the shit out of one another until one side cries Uncle.” When he didn’t answer, Tank patted his shoulder. “How did you think this was gonna play out?”
If the truth were known, he hadn’t thought it through. Compared to Tank, he was only playing at being a soldier. If he was going to change CaliTech and the United Guild then he had to step up or step off. Unable to answer Tank, they made their way towards the Bridge. It too had been sealed by a thick metal barrier, meaning it was also compromised. In the corridor outside of the sealed door was another body lying face down. This one was in full armor and helmet, so he assumed he’d been one of the bridge crew.
When he dropped to one knee next to the body, he was surprised that a light on the helmet was flashing green, indicating it still had power. Pushing his hand under the man’s shoulder, he tried to roll him over, but the body wouldn’t budge.
“What’s happened here?”
Tank dropped to one knee next to him, running his thick gloves under the man’s body. Twisting so that he could see underneath, he chuckled. “He’s been fused to the floor.”
“What?”
“The nanobytes have fused his suit to the floor.”
“Why?”
Elbowing him away from the body, he began unclipping the man’s helmet. “It’s good news, Ark. They powered his suit because he’s still alive.”
CHAPTER FIVE:
Friends Like These
(Granger)
“Hide in here.”
Pushing Joan into the narrow space between the buildings, he pulled his collar higher up his neck. They shouldn’t be in the city, but his son was sick, possibly dying. Joan first noticed that he was thirsty all of the time, crying at night and calling for his mother. At first, she’d assumed he was simply missing Vela, but then he began drinking huge amounts of water every day. As renegades, they had no doctors or medical supplies. To help his son, he and Joan had brought him to the city. Getting in wasn’t the problem, but walking along the street was. Everyone in Old Vegas were microchipped, meaning they wouldn’t be able to enter a building without being scanned. Worse were the scanner drones whizzing along the streets. They would hover over a person, running a light across their body, reading their chip and assessing their status. Both he and Joan had chips, but their status would read as deceased.
His son was nestled inside of his jacket, hidden from view, but he had no chip. If they were caught, his son’s DNA would be tested. If he had too much enemy DNA then he would be executed or taken to a laboratory for research. His only hope was to find a doctor leaving one of the health clinics. They might take pity on a child.
The city had been cleaned up since the alien attack two hundred years earlier, but other than making it functional, the streets and buildings were grey and bland. Paint had worn away from the edges of windows and walls, making them look patchy and diseased. Once brightly lit signs were broken with hanging wires and jagged glass. Roads designed for cars had crumbled under the weather leaving wide potholes. The city might have been clean, but that was about all that that could be said about it. Men and women dressed in grey pantsuits with long tunics were walking along the sidewalks, joyless and busy. Small one-person transporters zipped along the street, weaving to avoid the potholes.
As renegades, they lived in long abandoned cities, where trees and weeds burst through the concrete structures. Birds sang and wildlife rustled. Their cities breathed and moved, whereas this one felt dead.
Standing opposite the clinic, tucked into a small gap between the buildings, he watched people entering and leaving. He didn’t know which of them, if any, were doctors. How could he know? His son felt limp and warm against his chest, making him worry even more about what was wrong with him. With so few people left, once common communicable diseases were rare, so whenever anything went wrong it was usually serious.
Touching his elbow, Joan flicked her chin at the pedestrians walking past their hiding spot. “Check their shoes.”
“Why?”
Joan’s dyed blonde hair was growing out, revealing she was really a brunette with a touch of grey. With half a head of brown and the other a yellowing white, she looked like she’d dipped her head into a bucket of paint.
Without looking at him, she replied, “Doctors wear good shoes.”
“Why?”
“Because they get more credits.” Finally glancing at him, she gave him a wan smile. “When you get just enough credits to eat and sleep you don’t waste any on shoes.”
“What do good shoes look like?”
Pointing at a slim woman with cropped red hair, she said, “Like hers.”
“Follow her.”
The woman had left through the main doors of the clinic. Making her way along the street, she joined the ranks of grey tunics passing shops selling food and clothes. Under Dunk’s rules, anyone could start any sort of business, but with a limited number of credits, most stores carried exactly the same items. So many skills had been lost when ninety-eight percent of the population died that few knew how to reclaim the past. Some stores laid out scavenged and restored goods, only they tended to fall into two categories, junk and not complete junk.
Striding along at a decent pace, the woman was clearly going somewhere. After crossing the road, they followed her along the sidewalk. From behind, she had short red hair and a trim figure. Wearing the grey suit of a government worker, hers had a thin belt highlighting a slim waist. If he approached her, she might call for help. If he was very lucky, she might take pity on his son. It was a risk he was going to have to take. Finally, the woman paused, looking through a broken shop window at a selection of recovered jewels. They weren’t really jewels, most of them were plastic, but no one made non-essential items anymore.
Tentatively approaching the woman, he said, “Excuse me. Are you a doctor?”
When she turned to look at him, he knew he’d made a mistake. Her face was lean and hard with thin lips compressed into an unforgiving line. “Who are you? What do you want?”
Stepping backward, he held up his hand. “Sorry, my mistake.”
His son must have felt his heart beating harder, making him lift his head inside of his jacket.
“What have you got under your jacket?” The woman asked in an indignant tone. Spinning around, she scanned the street, clearly looking for help.
As they’d made their way through the city on foot, he’d been surprised at the number of Navigators roaming the streets. Many were in large trucks with blackened windows. Parked outside of living areas and office buildings, people were queueing next to their trucks. He’d wanted to know why, but Joan hadn’t seen anything like it before. Knowing they couldn’t be anywhere near a Navigator with advanced vision, every time they’d seen one of the trucks they’d taken another route towards the center of the city.
Backing away quickly, hoping he wouldn’t attract attention, he shook his head. “I’m sorry. Don’t worry about it.”
The woman didn’t reply, only stepping backwards until she was standing in the middle of the street. A single person transport stopped behind her. Pulling himself through the open roof, the man waved impatiently at the woman. �
�Get off the road.”
Turning to Joan, he pushed her ahead of him. “Go. Go. Go.”
Walking at a fast pace, they made their way along the sidewalk towards the clinic, hoping to leave the confused people behind them. It wasn’t their day and a black transport used by the Navigators was making its way towards them. Above the truck were several scanner drones, each monitoring people walking along the sidewalk. If he stayed on the street then they would be scanned, but if he tried to walk into one of the buildings then he would fail the security scanners.
Joan solved the problem for him by stepping in front of the black truck. Thrusting her chest, the government grey pantsuit strained against her considerable assets. Sashaying in front of the truck, she waved at the driver. Without looking at him, she said, “Go.”
Continuing to walk away, he held his son more firmly, praying he wouldn’t cry. Daring a glance behind him, two Navigators were standing over Joan, listening to whatever nonsense she was telling them. He shouldn’t have looked back. If he hadn’t then he might have avoided the scanner drone that suddenly appeared above his head. As it was, the drone began emitting a piercing howl, drawing the attention of the Navigators sitting in the back of the stopped truck.
“You! Stop!”
Run or stop? If he ran then he’d be shot. If he stopped then he’d be arrested. Neither option was good, but if he stopped then his son might not die. If they tested him and he was clear then they would absorb him into the world of the United Guild. If he were only sick then they might heal him. As all of these thoughts ran through his head in a matter of a second, he chose to stop. There were never any guarantees in life, only options. In this case, he would do whatever he could to give his son even the smallest chance at life. He owed that to Vela, even if it meant he had to die.
“Get your hands above your head.”
“I can’t.”
Another voice spoke. “He’s holding a kid.”
Turning slowly, he faced the two Navigators. One was wearing a red and white helmet and the other was grey. One might be the Navigator who’d saved his life more than once, but he couldn’t be that lucky. Their colors only designated their rank so this Navigator could be anybody.