Saving Morgan

by MB Panichi

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  By the time Shaine’s destination showed on the GPS, her muscles ached from walking against the wind and she figured she’d lost a fair amount of hearing from the sand’s incessant pelting against her plastic helmet. What remained of her tepid water supply tasted like sand. Dusty grit itched and irritated her skin under the tight-fitting suit.

  She ignored the annoyances and focused forward. It didn’t matter if she was uncomfortable. Irritations had to be tolerated in the same way she’d accepted the entire situation. I’m doing this for Morgan. And I’m doing it for me, because it would hurt so damned much to lose her. I don’t give a fuck about Maruchek and Rogan. But Morgan needs to stay alive, and if this is the only way, then so be it. Determined, she held a vision of Morgan’s playful smile in her mind’s eye, using the image to keep the discomfort and unease at bay.

  Finally, the blocky concrete bulk of Charun’s compound loomed through the storm—a darker shadow against the haze of blowing sand and dust. As she approached the massive building, most of which was actually underground, she pulled up a set of apps on her pad and started running scans. The readings wouldn’t be a hundred percent trustworthy because of the sandstorm, but it was still better than nothing. She thought it unlikely guards would be posted during a storm, but Tyr Charun had a reputation for paranoia and she had no intention of getting caught flat-footed.

  After a minute and a half, nothing pinged the scanner—no thermal readings that might be human, no movement other than the constant background motion of the sand. She shifted into the relative shelter of the building’s wall and brought up Ellerand’s blueprints. She overlaid her GPS position on the diagram. The entry point she planned on using was only about five meters to her left. She hugged the wall, moved to the spot she’d marked and looked up. In the twilight, the outline of the top of the wall was only a slightly darker shadow.

  She unclipped a winch-and-cable gun from her belt. Sighting to the top of the wall, she raised the gun and fired. She clicked on the winch, but the grapnel didn’t catch and the line fell down the wall. Forcing herself to be patient, she wound the line back in. She aimed higher and back further, and set the grapnel’s internal charge so it would automatically lodge into whatever it hit. She didn’t want to waste any more time, and the small charge wasn’t likely to be noticed over the storm’s noise.

  She fired and felt the slight vibration of the charge through the cable. When she thumbed the winch, the grapnel caught and the line tightened. Wonderful. She wrapped the safety straps around her wrists, triggered the winch, and started walking slowly up the two-story wall. She scrambled over the meter-high lip at the top and dropped on the sand-coated rooftop to lie flat on her back. She retrieved her pad again and flipped on the scanner.

  Nothing. Good.

  She released the grapnel, reset its charge, and reeled in the rest of the line before resecuring the winch gun to her utility belt.

  A tap on the pad screen flipped the display to the blueprints and called up an overlay of the break-in route along with the GPS of her current position. She studied the route a second and peered through the reddish twilight, visually locating landmarks.

  She got to her feet and crossed the roof toward the shadow of the air vent. The intake pipe was a meter and a half in diameter and rose about two meters above the roof. It had several narrow rungs up the side. She climbed up to see a finely meshed screen covering the top. Looking inside, she noted a fan blade, now stilled, just below the mesh. She pulled a laser cutter from her utility belt.

  Sand gusted around her. Shaine struggled to anchor herself while she worked. The short-beam laser bit through the quarter-inch mesh as she cut around the edge. She bent back the mesh, flicked on her helmet light and pulled herself up and over. She wriggled through the flap, holding her breath as she dropped past the fan blades.

  Balancing on her toes on the thin climbing rungs, she used a low-energy fuser to solder the mesh back into place. She replaced the tool and started feeling her way down into the blackness of the air vent. Wind rushed past her, directed and concentrated by the pipe.

  A couple of meters down, her foot slipped on a broken rung. She hung awkwardly a moment before she caught the bar again.

  While she climbed, she went over the blueprint’s layout in her mind. The initial section of the intake pipe ran down about fifteen meters, at which point there would be another mesh barrier as well as an electrostatic filter to keep out micro-dust particles.

  The further into the vent Shaine moved, the less the wind was an issue, though dust still swirled around her. She reached the second mesh barrier, stopped a rung up from it and peered down. Okay, this is awkward. There were no hand- or footholds other than the narrow rungs she balanced on. I need both hands here.

  She set one foot sideways on the rung and stretched her other leg out, placing her booted foot flat against the opposite wall of the pipe and lodging herself into place. She took the winch gun from its holster and released the cable, pulling a length of cord and tying it around her waist. She measured out an additional length and opened the grapnel hook, locking it manually around a rung at chest height. Using the rungs as handholds, she flipped upside down, hanging from the cord tied around her waist. She smiled as she got into position, pleased she didn’t drop through.

  This mesh barrier was much finer than the one outside and drifted over with a centimeter of sand. While she watched, a rectangular crack in the vent wall slid open just above the mesh. She heard a dull hum and the loose sand was sucked into the opening. The opening snapped shut. She blinked. Huh. Vacuum. Cool.

  A static field buzzed a handbreadth below the mesh, a plane of hissing electricity meant to hold back the ever-present dust. Shaine scanned the wall for a control panel or at the very least, a power conduit. As expected, she located the power conduit and control box on the other side of the barrier. She considered her options and quickly decided she’d just have to gut it out. She was gloved and suited, so it couldn’t be any worse than the Taser hits she’d taken in training.

  She unclipped the cutter from her belt and made quick work of slicing through the mesh and folding it back. The electrostatic barrier crackled and popped loudly as sand fell through. Sparks snapped in front of her faceplate.

  She opened the zippered pocket on her suit’s forearm, retrieving a thin rectangle as long as her thumb with retractable connectors extending from either end, and two LED lights on its surface. Each connector had an auto-clip with micro-lasers that would burrow in and make contact with the power lead. The small controller shunted power through the device, bypassing whatever control she was trying to avoid.

  Shaine made sure she had a good grip on the power shunt, took a breath, and shoved her gloved hand through the electrostatic barrier. Her jaw clenched as stinging shocks skittered up her fingers and into her arm. Her hand jerked involuntarily, but she managed to keep hold of the device. Gritting her teeth, she clipped one end on the exposed conduit just below the power switch. The first indicator showed green—connected. She attached the other end. The second indicator turned green and the barrier disappeared.

  Her right arm tingled wildly. She took a couple of long breaths to steady her racing heart and pulled herself upright on the rungs. It took a few seconds to disconnect from the makeshift harness and stow her equipment.

  She clambered down the rungs past the static barrier, pulled the wire mesh into place and soldered it, then disconnected the shunt. The barrier hissed into existence when power was restored.

  Shaine climbed down the last set of rungs to where the intake pipe connected to a rectangular horizontal vent. She pulled off her helmet. The air remained hot and dusty, but it felt good to be out of the helmet’s stifling confines. After removing the faceplate and the flexible neck and shoulder armor, the rest of the helmet collapsed nearly flat. She fitted the pieces together and secured the package under the backpack straps across her chest.

  Ducking into the shoulder-width spa
ce and worming into the vent, she was relieved to find the space high enough that she could crawl on hands and knees rather than shimmying through on her elbows. She clipped a flexible penlight on the neck of her suit. The dull beam pooled on the dusty metal surface, barely making a dent in the darkness. Her ears rang from the noise of the sandstorm. She concentrated, trying to listen past the annoying hum. The only sound she heard was the soft slide of her suit against the metal.

  She crawled until she came to another “T” junction. Checking quickly against the blueprints on the pad, she took the vent to the right, which would bring her to a down vent, hopefully with rungs. She needed to reach the compound’s main levels four stories underground.

  Her thoughts drifted while she crawled. She wondered what Morgan might be doing, and if Morgan might be thinking of her, as she was thinking of Morgan.

  She smiled to herself. At least Morgan was safe, hidden away in Maruchek’s corporate headquarters. She might not get out of this in one piece, but at least by accomplishing the mission, she would make sure Morgan would be all right. And if she did manage to get through this mission, well, she’d cross that road when she got there. She didn’t want to think that far into the future. Right now she needed to function moment to moment.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The shuttle’s retro-thrusters whined loudly as the craft slowed to land at Mining Facility 2333. The small transport swooped into the docking bay and came to an abrupt stop. Morgan grimaced when the restraints cut into her shoulders, wondering if the pilot was showing off for the boss. A few seconds later, she heard the metallic clank of the boarding ramp folding down.

  Taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly, she unclipped the four-point restraints and braced mentally for whatever might be waiting. She swung off the recliner and reached her arms up over her head, gratefully stretching cramped muscles.

  Maruchek walked into the cabin. “Morgan, I’d like you to come with me.”

  Rogan appeared behind him and put a hand on Maruchek’s arm, turning him away from her. The men briefly spoke in low murmurs, then Rogan turned to the hatch. He palmed the release, barely waiting for the door to slide aside before he hurried out.

  Maruchek smiled and gestured to the hatch.

  Morgan followed him into the docking bay. She glanced around as they walked quickly through the expanse. Besides the shuttle they’d come in, she noticed two fighters sporting Mann-Maru colors on the far side of the hanger: big three-man fighters with their cockpits open. She admired the angular ships. She’d seen them up close and personal once or twice at the docks. They were sleek and well-armed, but not nearly as mobile as some of the smaller one- and two-man fighters the EG used.

  Walking a half-pace behind Maruchek, she left the docking bay and entered a main hallway leading to a bank of elevators. They rode up several floors to the administrative level of the facility. A couple of quick turns brought them to a nondescript doorway in a secondary corridor.

  Maruchek touched the call-pad at the side of the door, which slid open. He waved Morgan ahead of him.

  She stepped through and eased aside to let him move past her into the small office. A sizable desk took up the center of the room. The workspace was ringed with monitors and covered with semi-organized piles of papers and comp pads.

  The young man behind the desk jumped to his feet and came around. Dark, almost blue-black hair hung past his shoulders. He wore working cargo pants and a casual tunic with the company logo on the breast. He grinned widely as he clasped Maruchek’s outstretched hand. “Father, it’s good to see you.”

  Maruchek returned the smile, clapping the younger man on the arm. “You as well, son. Sounds like things are well in hand here.”

  “Yes, sir. With all the damage, it’ll be a while before we’re back in full production mode, but we’re secure and cleanup is well in hand.”

  Maruchek nodded. “Good job.” He looked over his shoulder at her silently observing him from just inside the doorway. “Morgan, come here,” he said softly. “Garren, this is your sister, Morgan.”

  She straightened and took the few steps necessary to stand at Maruchek’s side.

  Garren regarded her warily. She forced herself to hold still under his scrutiny. His dark gaze flicked from her to his father and back. After a long moment, he swallowed and shook his head in wonder. “I can’t believe I never saw it. I read the reports and looked at the photos, and I never saw the likeness.”

  Maruchek smiled. “You weren’t expecting to, so you didn’t.”

  Garren looked at Morgan with a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry,” he said, “that was rude of me. It just—you look so much like her. It caught me by surprise.” He held out a hand. “I’m Garren.”

  Morgan took his hand, finding his grip strong and sure. “Morgan Rahn. It’s good to meet you.”

  He grinned at her. “Always wondered what it would have been like to have a little sister,” he admitted.

  Relieved there wouldn’t be a scene or uncomfortable silence, she smiled back. “Probably not all it’s cracked up to be,” she said. “But thank you.”

  A short while later, Morgan leaned back in a stiff plastic chair, her head resting against the wall, her legs stretched out and crossed in front of her. One arm rested on the table at her side. Her hand curled around a mug of steaming coffee. She was more than content to remain unobtrusively on the side, observing while her brother and his—their—father talked business.

  Garren sat in a heavy leather chair behind his desk. Maruchek perched on the edge of a chair beside him. She decided Garren looked very much like the images she’d seen, though in real life he seemed much more passionate than the holos suggested. He carelessly brushed his dark hair out of his eyes, never losing focus on what his father told him. His serious concentration reminded her of Maruchek.

  Still, there was something about Garren making him seem younger than his years. Morgan found it hard to believe he was actually almost four years older than her. She didn’t feel like a younger sister. Watching him, she felt old. She’d been working her ass off for years, dealing with whatever crap the universe threw at her as best she could, while he seemed like a wet-behind-the-ears young executive who’d lived in some kind of skewed, privileged reality that had nothing to do with her own.

  Then again, who was she to say? They’d both grown up without their mothers. And she knew better than to assume growing up being Garren was any less painful than growing up being her. She figured they’d both had their fair share of trials and tribulations. She shrugged inwardly. It didn’t matter, really. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again after all this is over, or if we’ll ever get to know each other.

  A buzzing alert cut into the relative quiet. Garren leaned across his desk to tap the com console. “Garren.”

  “Is your father with you?” Morgan recognized Rogan’s rumbling voice.

  “Yes.”

  “Come down to Security. We have an issue.”

  “On our way.” Garren tapped off the com. “Wonder what this is about.”

  Maruchek was already moving toward the door. Garren started to follow and stopped to look over at her. “Come on,” he said.

  Morgan didn’t hesitate in following. She, Maruchek and Garren hurried to the elevator tubes and down to the Security Center at the lowest level of the complex.

  Brodderick Fenn, head of security at the mining facility, and Duncan Rogan stood behind a scanner console, leaning over the shoulders of a nervous-looking attendant, who adjusted a series of controls at the side of his board. Maruchek and Garren moved to stand beside their security chiefs. Morgan hung back, wondering what had happened, but knowing she was better off staying out of the way.

  Rogan said, “About a dozen small ships heading in our direction, fast. ETA twenty minutes. They came in from out-system, hidden by the Belt. Too much interference for long-range scans to have picked up.”

  Garren asked, “Pirates?”

  Fenn reached past the atten
dant to scroll through a window on the console. The screen refreshed. “Too small to be haulers. Any EG ships would have transceiver IDs and would have identified themselves by now.”

  “Launch intercept,” Garren said.

  Fenn nodded. “Already started. Fighters are in the air in thirty seconds.”

  “Good. What about Earth Guard?”

  “Fighter wing is on the way. Commander Sho gave an ETA of twenty minutes.”

  “And all our people are being moved to shelter?”

  “Yes.” Fenn glanced at another monitor. “Pearson is down there checking people off.”

  Rogan broke in, “We need to leave.”

  “Garren, go with them,” Fenn said. “I’ll stay back.”

  “No. I’m staying,” Garren said. “Father, take Morgan and go.”

  Rogan turned and grabbed Garren by the arm, giving him a shove toward the door. “Don’t be a stupid ass,” he snarled. “Tarm, take them. I’ll meet you at the ship in two minutes.”

  Garren glowered at Rogan.

  Morgan threw an arm around his waist, pulling him with her to the door. “Come on.”

  Muttering a string of oaths under his breath, Garren trotted with her and Maruchek back to the elevators on their way to the docking bay.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Tarm Maruchek led Morgan and Garren up the boarding ramp and into the shuttle.

  The pilot waited near the cockpit door. “Go strap in,” he said. “We’re taking off as soon as Rogan gets here.”

  Morgan claimed one of the four acceleration chairs, pulled the restraints across her chest and settled in. Garren and Maruchek followed suit.

  Rogan arrived seconds later, pausing at the entrance to hit the boarding ramp controls and seal the hatch behind him. “Reed, let’s go!” he ordered. He headed into the cockpit as the shuttle lurched forward.