“Looks like the others have begun,” said Richter.
“Let’s hurry, then.”
The team entered the transfer coils section. It was a massive corridor, running from a hundred yards behind them to a hundred yards in front of them. The corridor was three stories tall. The elevator shaft ran up along the outside wall and ended in the room they’d just come from. Several conduits flanked one larger conduit that ran horizontally through the center of the corridor. They hummed with energy. Steam emanated from coolant piping that intersected the conduits in places.
The three men waited for their eyes to adjust a bit more to the dim light, and began moving forward.
“I feel strange,” said Richter.
“It’s the transfer coils,” said Aldebaran. “It must be.”
John stopped suddenly. A man was standing in front of him. He appeared to be Umberian, but it was hard to tell. His face was scarred and blackened. His eyes glinted, and he regarded the team with ire. John started to say something when he noticed more men stepping out of the darkness. Aldebaran and Richter took up defensive positions behind John, slowly raising their weapons. There were quickly more than twenty figures surrounding them.
“Who are you?” the man said, his voice raspy.
“We’re with the resistance,” said Aldebaran. “We’re heading for the control room. We need to get there as soon as possible.”
“Wolshit. More likely you’re merc scum. The Zendreen may not have much use for them around here but it’s not the first time we’ve seen them.”
“If we were mercs, why would we come down here alone?” asked John. “You obviously outnumber us.”
“Because mercs wouldn’t care about cutting slaves like us down with those weapons.”
“Why confront us, then? Are you weary of living?”
“You can’t really call it that.”
“We are part of the resistance,” said Aldebaran. “We’re here to kidnap the Zendreen commander. We’re here to help you.”
“Prove it.”
“You hear that alarm that just went off? Those are our colleagues, attacking one of the pyramids. They’re providing a diversion for us, but we’ve got to get to the control room before the commander decides to leave.”
“They’re not mercs,” said another man, stepping forward.
“Good, then let us pass.”
“No. I recognize you. You’re Aldebaran.”
Shouts of outrage came from the crowd. The first man stepped closer.
“You are Aldebaran,” he said. “For the love of the core, it is you.”
“Do I know you?” asked Aldebaran.
“Know us? Know us? This is the crew of the Fortunate Son, you bastard!”
Aldebaran’s eyes grew wide in shock. He took a deep breath.
“What’s going on?” asked John.
Aldebaran leaned in close to John and Richter. “On the count of three,” he whispered, “open fire and run like hell.”
“What? Why?”
“Just do it.”
“But they’re Umberians,” whispered Richter.
“They’re also about to kill us. One, two...”
“Didn’t you ever wonder what happened to the Umberians you turned into the Zendreen?” the first man shouted. “The ones who fled? The ones who resisted? Ones like us are not looked upon too kindly by the Zendreen! You cursed us to work in this hell. Six years, Aldebaran. Six years since you and your sons of bitches pirate friends captured us. You can shoot if you dare, but you can’t kill all of us before we get to you.”
“Three!”
__________
The control room of the power station was a flurry of activity. It was a large room with a vaulted glass ceiling. There was a large picture window on one end that overlooked the canyon. There were several work stations and consoles on two split levels, and every one of them was occupied. The Zendreen overseers were working with the military visitors in an attempt to get a handle on what was happening. Initial chaos soon turned into a basic understanding of the situation. A lieutenant moved from place to place, speaking with personnel. He was new to the commander’s entourage, but so far he was as competent as one of his rank should be, even if he was a bit stuffy. He approached the commander and bowed slightly before speaking.
“The east pyramid is under attack, sir,” he said. “It’s a small force of five or six, most likely resistance soldiers.”
“What could such a small effort be trying to accomplish?” the commander said, furrowing his shiny green brow.
“Unknown at this time. The resistance has never attempted to hit a hard target before.”
“Maybe they’ve changed their definition of a hard target, lieutenant. Central Command continues to ignore my reports about the growing threat, so the threat grows.”
The lieutenant seemed either amused, insulted, or both.
“With all due respect, sir,” he said, “even if the resistance is gaining more resources, you don’t seriously think they could ever disrupt our occupation, do you?”
“Disrupt, no, but every Umberian in the underground is one not working for us, and one trying to convince others to join them. We cannot tolerate them, no matter how futile their efforts may be.”
“What of the ship that attacked the transport near Mount Tarsus a few days ago?”
The commander stopped regarding a console and looked at the lieutenant.
“How do you know about that? That’s supposed to be top secret intelligence.”
“Rumor and gossip are more powerful than a classification.”
“The colonial affairs division is working on that. You don’t need to worry about it.”
“So you don’t deny it took place?”
“I suppose I can’t.”
An overseer shouted out above the din.
“Guards are reporting a heavy exchange of fire,” he yelled. “They’re waiting until they can get some grenades on line before they advance.”
“Sir, we should play it safe and get you back on the transport,” said the lieutenant.
The commander shook his head. “I refuse to let this annoyance prevent my appointed inspection. We will quash the combatants and proceed as normal.”
“What kind of weapons fire is the enemy reported to be using?” the lieutenant asked a worker.
“Projectile weapons, either magrail or percussion,” an overseer replied.
“You see?” said the commander. “They’re still as under armed as ever.”
The lieutenant shrugged. “They’re still deadly in trained hands. They’ve managed to stall any counter attack, haven’t they? I think we should...”
“There’s a report of weapons fire from Transfer Coil Section One,” an overseer shouted.
“How many guards between here and there?” asked the commander, standing up.
“I don’t know.”
“Find out!”
“I’ve lost contact with them, sir.”
“Shit! Lieutenant, get our team together and prepare to withdraw to the...”
The main entrance to the control room opened. Three figures rushed inside, weapons tucked tightly into their shoulders. Five Zendreen went for their weapons and were cut down in an eardrum-shattering instant. Two overseers ran for alternate exits and were also killed. The remaining Zendreen froze.
The figures appeared to be Umberian. Each wielded a projectile weapon, only one of which was familiar to the commander. The men were covered in grime and non-Zendreen blood, the whites of their eyes standing out in stark contrast. The man in the lead was wearing clothing still identifiable as a uniform of the defunct Umberian military, and he was the first to speak after the echoes faded.
“Drop your weapons,” he said in loud but measured tones. “Everyone keep your extremities where we can see them.”
The commander and the lieutenant could see that resistance was deadly, and complied. The other surviving Zendreen followed suit. One of the other men secured the doors
, and motioned for the third one to do the same with the side entrances. They spread out but kept their weapons pointed unwaveringly at the Zendreen.
“I am Commander Krichilik,” said the commander. “What is you purpose here?”
“All in good time, commander,” said the lead man, his eyes shifting slightly to watch his friends.
The other men spoke in a language the commander had never heard before. His translator earpiece only managed to decipher the word “here” from one of them.
“If you want to live through this, you’ll start communicating with us,” the lieutenant said.
The commander waved the lieutenant into silence. “Take it easy,” he began. “Nobody wants to get shot. We’re on their schedule now.”
“Everybody move to the far corner,” the first man said.
The other men joined the first at the center of the control room as the Zendreen complied. The man with the Res-ZorCon rifle made a radio call. This time, the commander’s translator came up with “to,” “what,” and “status.” He listened to the reply, then turned to the leader.
“We’re holding,” he said.
“Good,” said the leader. “Now then. My name is Temerity. We’re with the resistance movement, if you haven’t figured that out yet. Commander, you are to be taken from here to a secure location where you will be our prisoner. You will be released when our demands are met. The rest of you will be allowed to live after we depart safely.”
“The colonial administration will never negotiate for my release,” said Krichilik. “Even I am expendable.”
“Maybe, but if this control room is destroyed it will compromise the power station, to say the least. It might take weeks to get the station back online if this little device were to go off.”
The Umberian withdrew a small purple sphere from his pocket and displayed it.
“Very well. You do realize that half of the occupation army is already on their way here, right?”
“So what? That changes nothing. A standoff is a standoff.”
There was a pause in the conversation as Krichilik considered his next move. The three Umberians remained unwaveringly alert.
“I want to speak to you alone,” Krichilik said.
The leader raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“It will become clear.”
Shrugging his shoulders slightly, the leader moved toward the nearest side exit.
“Don’t try anything. You’re worth much more to us alive and it would be a shame to...”
“Not you,” Krichilik interrupted. “Him.”
Krichilik pointed at the third man. The Umberians regarded each other with confusion.
“Why me?” asked the third man.
“As I said, it will become clear.”
30.
John led Krichilik into the side room, which turned out to be a lavatory. The Zendreen didn’t seem to be concerned about cleanliness, at least to the same standard as Umberians. John tried to ignore the mess as he motioned for the commander to stand away from him. His unprotected ear was ringing and his eyes stung from sweat and blood, but the front sight of his rifle was clear as he settled it on the thorax of the Zendra.
“Okay, what’s the game?” he asked.
“I know who you are, John Scherer.”
“Nice to meet you,” said John, barely hiding his astonishment.
“I can’t let the others know about you. Your ship and your involvement is a matter classified to the highest level.”
John lowered his rifle ever so slightly. “You want to deal.”
“Obviously I can’t let myself be kidnapped. I’ll offer you a simple trade.”
“You’re not in a position to trade. We’ll be out of here before your help arrives.”
Krichilik drew himself up onto the sink counter and took some weight off of his legs. John prepared himself to fire, but the action was non-threatening.
“Looks like you had some difficulty with the Umberian workers on your way here,” said Krichilik.
“A tragic misunderstanding.”
“Really? Tell me, how many did you have to kill?”
“What’s your point, Commander?”
“Those Umberians attacked you because we’ve implanted them with a mind control device. They were acting on a standing order, residing subconsciously, to protect us against threats. You’ll have to face them again to escape.”
“Then their deaths are your fault. It changes nothing.”
“If you let me go, I’ll deactivate the control devices. You’ll be able to escape without harming more of your own.”
“Great, but then our mission is nothing but a big waste of time, and those workers we already killed will have died for nothing. Sorry, no deal. Get up, we’re leaving.”
“If you take me, you’ll never see Arianna Ferro again!”
John involuntarily lowered his rifle, gasping in shock at the Zendra’s statement. The sounds and smells of the room faded away and he forgot all about his aching muscles. The insectoid creature before him suddenly appeared to be more than a bizarre alien, gaining a malevolent subtext that went beyond physical fear. John could accept that the Zendreen’s intelligence gathering had gained his name and the intent of the Faith’s mission. The prospect of Ari being alive was far past anything he could remotely embrace.
“Bullshit. She died when your fleet destroyed the way station.”
“Not so. We recovered her alive from the wreckage.”
“I saw the explosions, Commander. Nothing larger than a... garbage can came out of it.”
John kicked over the object he’d just described. Krichilik laughed, a deep, disturbing chortle.
“Not so. The control room survived. The Umberians designed it as a self-contained escape pod. Good old Umberian ingenuity. Your friend was very badly injured, but we were able to sustain her.”
John let go of his rifle with his left hand and drew Ari’s Glock. He slung the rifle over his shoulder without letting the pistol leave the commander’s body. With his right hand, he unscrewed the cap on his canteen, removed it from the belt carrier, and took a swig of the liquid inside. Before he swallowed, a thought occurred to him. He strode up to the Zendra and spit in his face.
“Fuck you,” John said, scowling.
Krichilik was briefly surprised, but recovered and lunged at John. Jumping back, John restored his stance with his pistol. Krichilik stopped.
“It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not,” he said, wiping the water from his head. “She’s alive. How else could I know your name?”
“I find it much more likely that your knowledge was gained from another source, like the mercs you’ve been sending after us. Besides, if you do have her, I stand to gain from taking you with us. I might be able to set up a hostage trade.”
“I have a better idea. Stop helping the Umberian resistance. You’re nothing but an added annoyance anyway. I don’t know what the Umberians are paying you for your help, but it’s not enough if you die. Cut and run while you still can, and we can make arrangements to have Ferro returned to you. She’s worth little to us except as a way to get rid of you.”
“She’s valuable to me, but not my crew. What about money?”
“So, you are mercs. Whatever the Umberians have promised you, we’ll triple it.”
John looked at Krichilik. He furrowed his brow and frowned.
“Prove to me that you have Ferro,” he said, “and you’ve got a deal.”
“We were going to take her to our research facility to study her anatomy. We didn’t want to miss the chance to study a new race, but I’m sure I can convince my superiors that this is a better use of her. If we go back into the control room, I can get the captain of the ship she’s on to send us a video feed. Then you can see for yourself.”
“After you then, Commander.”
John motioned for Krichilik to move, and followed him out of the restroom. In the control room, Richter and Aldebaran were still holding the Zendreen staff
at bay.
“What’s going on?” asked Richter.
“Call off the assault team,” John replied. “We’re bugging out.”
“But the charges are almost set!”
“I just made a deal with the commander. We can’t keep that deal if those charges go off. Call them off.”
“That wasn’t what we planned,” said Aldebaran.
“This is a better arrangement, trust me. Commander, make the call to that ship. Nobody else move.”
Keeping Krichilik covered, John allowed him to move to a communications console. John joined Richter and Aldebaran.
“Rylie, this is Richter, over.”
“Rylie here,” said Fernwyn’s voice.
“Abort the mission. Leave the charges unarmed or take them back if you can. Retreat to the LZ and prepare for evac, over.”
“Roger, out.”
Krichilik spoke to someone over the console. The crew’s translator units failed to translate all but a few words, but they weren’t paying any attention to the conversation.
“What’s going on, John?” asked Aldebaran. “What kind of deal are you talking about?”
“We’re not taking the commander with us,” replied John. “The Zendreen have offered to triple what the Umberians are paying us.”
“You can’t trust these guys,” said Richter. “We should still take him.”
“This isn’t about money,” Aldebaran said. “This is about my people.”
John laughed. “Oh, like you weren’t going to accept payment for your efforts.”
“It would be a just reward. Accept money from the Zendreen, and we’re no better than the Black Crest.”
“I never claimed to be. And as for you wanting to help your people, don’t make me laugh again. You’d sell your own mother to the highest...”
An energy blast hit John in the shoulder, knocking him into the wall. Richter grabbed John and dragged him down behind a console as Aldebaran dove for cover of his own. Krichilik had grabbed a pistol hidden nearby and continued to fire on the team. The other Zendreen scrambled to recover their dropped weapons. Richter and Aldebaran began to engage targets as fast as they could. John examined his wound.
The Tarantula Nebula Page 40