If Time’s passage is swift before a dreaded deadline and dawdles before a desired one, then Alistair must have been anxious to leave. Even the many tasks he gave himself could not distract him. It seemed Time’s hourglass must be partially clogged, that the grains counting the seconds were stuck together and refused to fall through. The sun was a continent in a blue ocean and drifted like it, always in motion but budged only imperceptibly by currents beneath it. When evening approached and shadows grew longer, a great stir was caused in the camp by the arrival of Santiago. He came on a Torpedo at such a speed, and executed such an abrupt stop, that he pitched forward over the handlebars and nearly tumbled onto the ground. Not bothering to lament his lack of decorum, he called for Alistair and, spotting him before anyone responded, rushed over to the ex marine who was carrying a wrapped bundle in the direction of his craft.
“You’re going to be attacked!” he cried, reverting to his native tongue.
“By whom?” Alistair demanded, finding his Spanish easier than his Mandarin.
“Giselle,” he replied and suppressed a look of guilt. “The attack is five minutes away. Maybe less. She planned it without me… I only found out by accident.”
Alistair dropped his bundle and sprang into action. He called out the alarm, ordered the men to arm themselves and sent them to their battle stations. He waved his arms as if he might speed the men up, though they were already moving with the speed nascent panic brings. Gregory appeared at the top of the aircraft’s exit ramp, holding his hands up inquisitively, but Alistair did not have time to give him an explanation. When he was satisfied things were moving on their own he returned to Santiago.
“What the hell is this about?”
“She wants her husband’s murderer. That’s why she left you, and that’s what she’s back for. And I think Mordecai is in on it. He’s taking the mines—”
“God damn it!” Alistair let out such a loud curse that Santiago started. “Santiago, I have to go. This is Darion’s firm now; I’m leaving. I have an HD Drive and I’m going back to Aldra. I can’t take the chance it will be damaged.”
“I’m going too. I had my own HD Drive built.”
Alistair gave him a surprised look as bodies flew past all around them.
“Shukri and the others are not the only scientists on this moon. I’m going back to Earth. I’m going to look for my son.”
While the world raced around them in panic, while men shouted and grunted and strained as they prepared for battle, Alistair held out his hand and Santiago grasped it.
“I’m sorry, Alistair,” he said, and it was clear he meant more than just regret for Giselle’s attack.
“I was wrong. I should have let her have her vengeance.”
“Yes. His punishment was her business, no one else’s.” Santiago gave him a sad smile and moved back to his Torpedo. The space between them quickly filled with hectic workers and soldiers.
Alistair headed towards his spacecraft, then stopped. “Don’t try to leave now, Santi!” he called above the din. “You won’t make it through the blockade.”
“Alistair, the pulse is going to disable our ships before long!”
“Go to the north pole!” They stood on their toes to peer over the tops of heads. “Wait for the pulse to disable the ships and take off from there! The pulse won’t affect you at either pole!”
Santiago waved goodbye, but before Alistair could return it he felt rough hands grabbing his shoulders and he turned to see Miklos.
“We have to protect the equipment,” said the big man.
“Call down one of our ships and load it,” said Alistair. Miklos nodded and turned to go but Alistair grabbed him. “Miklos, this is Darion’s firm now. I have to take off; I can’t let my aircraft get damaged. You are in charge of the defense. If you can’t hold this position, retreat. And get that equipment set up somewhere else.”
Miklos’ face registered the frustration of a man who has many questions and no time to get his answers. He nodded and went running for the hut. An instant later Alistair was running up the exit ramp where Gregory was still perched. Gregory had his mouth open to say something but Alistair cut him off.
Pointing towards a long, low building of logs a few yards removed from everything else, Alistair said, “I need you to go to that building and get John Kregel.”
“Who?”
“Just ask for him. He’s Mordecai’s twin. Go get him and bring him with us. I’ve got to get the ship warmed up.”
Not waiting to see his orders obeyed, Alistair charged into his space vessel and, taking the curving corridor to the front, turned right, jumped down the small incline in the floor and, racing past navigation computers, came to the cockpit doors. These he kicked open and a split second later hopped into one of the pilot’s seats in the black cockpit. His training in flying was sparse, and several times he tripped over the startup procedure but, after a couple minutes, did manage to get the aircraft humming. The multifarious knobs and dials and buttons, many unknown to him, glowed, and on a monitor he saw several blinking lights nearing his position. Looking out the one-way transparent metal that served as a windshield, he still could not see the approaching vehicles, but he estimated they were only a minute away.
Outside the cockpit, he passed Layla in the hallway, ignoring her questioning look. She spun around as he passed her and followed him to the top of the exit ramp. He was about to leap to the ground when he spotted Gregory with Kregel. He waved them on and their jog turned into a sprint even as a drone to the west built. Kregel was armed, but he had the look of a man who had thrown himself together at the last moment. Alistair gave him a nod and returned to the cockpit. All three passengers followed.
“What the hell is going on?” demanded Kregel, sitting down next to Alistair in the copilot’s seat.
“We’re being attacked. And I need you for a special mission.”
“You mean The Incarcerator?” asked Greg.
“Rival firms.”
The blips on the monitor showed the attacking party was almost on top of them. Alistair flipped switches and turned dials, raising the exit ramp and closing the exit door. A moment later they came free of the ground and fell into the sky with enough rapidity that Alistair and Kregel were pushed deeply into their seats and Layla lost her balance and stumbled to the cockpit floor. Alistair let them fall until they were about forty yards in the air, above the tops of the tallest trees and then, while gunfire broke out below, shot forward. Layla, just regaining her feet, stumbled forward and pitched onto the dashboard.
Irritated, Alistair grabbed her with one hand and lifted her off, saying, “If you’re not in a seat you need to be out of the cockpit!”
Gregory put his arms around her and shuffled out, leaning forward so the acceleration would not sling him back in.
***
The trip was short. They did not accelerate for long before Alistair decelerated. Gregory left the cockpit door open so they could hear two bodies stumble and fall to the ground with a curse. When they came to a stop, Alistair lowered the craft and set it on the ground in a clearing. There was a bit of a jolt when the novice pilot landed, but nothing serious. Next, Alistair extended the exit ramp and, stopping only to grab a handgun, was there before it finished extending.
Outside there was a long and slender pile of freshly dug earth, and Alistair was in it up to his elbows in short order, heaving clumps of it to the side. Kregel joined him a moment later.
“I’m glad I spent an hour burying this.”
“Unforeseen circumstances. I have a mission for you. It might be a dangerous one.”
“Go on.”
Alistair paused a moment to look over his shoulder, in the direction of some hills and the darkening eastern sky.
“Darion has a mine about a mile in that direction. There, look at the ships!” Alistair pointed and Kregel was able to make out a couple of ships parked on the slopes.
“Mordecai is trying to seize the mines and I need somet
hing inside.”
“Go on.”
Alistair reached down and his fingers met with resistance. It was a tarp used to protect the Torpedo from the wet earth.
“I need you to order the ships to leave. Don’t give them anytime to think, just get them out of there. Accept no excuses.”
“Just march up and tell them to leave?”
“Those are Mordecai’s men.”
Kregel’s eyes widened and he tilted his head back and parted his lips. “No fingerprint identification. No retina scans.” Kregel nodded his head. “You couldn’t get away with it anywhere else.”
“We need to get away with it here.” Alistair saw Kregel was looking with apprehension at the hills behind him. “Are you OK with this?”
His only response was a slow nod. After they dug out the Torpedo and made sure it was functioning, Alistair went back on board his spacecraft and told Gregory and Layla to stay put until he got back. Then he returned to Kregel, mounted the Torpedo behind him, and they took off.
The way Kregel handled the Torpedo bespoke experience. He slalomed through the trees and underbrush with the calmness of a skier on an unchallenging slope. When they fully accelerated the trees whizzed by almost as a green and brown blur. The mile or so between the spacecraft and the base of the hills was traversed in seconds.
Before exiting the foliage, Alistair jumped off. Kregel idled for a moment, allowing the soft hum of the bike to play, before twisting his torso around to look at Alistair.
“Here goes nothing.”
“It’ll work.”
“Thanks for the job. I was expecting something… a whole hell of a lot worse when I got here.”
“It’s been a pleasure, John.”
“I’ll see you soon.”
Alistair had to force out a response. “Sure thing.”
Kregel nodded once and then darted up the hillside, the sound of his engine fading to silence as he disappeared over a small arm of the hill. Alistair was left alone in the darkening forest edge. The preternatural stillness of Srillium’s forests struck him again, and he thought of the chirping crickets and buzzing bees to which he would return. The only sound around him was the soft rustle of leaves in the gentle evening breeze and an occasional snap of a twig when he shifted his weight.
He grew impatient. The sky got perceptibly darker and still there was no indication Kregel succeeded. Thoughts of the many possible ways the plan could fail ran in his mind and, frustrated, he clenched and unclenched his fists, unsure what to do. He almost decided to go up the hillside when three metallic disks rose above the hill. Letting out a deep sigh of relief, he let them get smaller in the sky before he started up the slope, taking it at a jog.
When he was within sight of the mine entrance, he was startled by a powerful whoosh overhead, and a breeze buffeted his body. Squinting against the dirt and other particles kicked up, he lifted his gaze and saw, to his horror, a magnificent dance of lights in the sky. The population of lights had more than tripled, and in the western sky, which still clung to a hue of lighter blue, he saw the silhouette of a larger craft, not a mothership but far larger than anything he possessed. It was slowly descending towards the surface, and around it, like hornets, buzzed craft from both sides, locked in a dogfight. The sound of distant gunfire reached his ears, and this served to get him running again.
The shots, presenting themselves with a diffident tapping at his eardrums, presently grew louder until he rushed into the mouth of the mine, at which point the sounds receded until they were no longer audible. It was only after he was several yards in and his enhanced sight turned the blackness into gray that he realized how foolish he was to charge in. There might yet be some of Mordecai’s troops inside the mines, plundering Darion’s equipment. He stopped his headlong rush and, after a moment to control his labored breathing, quieted down and listened. He heard some amorphous sound from deeper in the mine. Taking his handgun out and cocking it, he stepped more cautiously, even though his guts churned inside in anticipation.
The soles of his moccasins crunched the loose gravel of the mine. Being uncontested by other noise, these reports of footfalls seemed almost deafening as his feet tossed them out into the darkness. Many times he stopped, abruptly, to listen for any indication he was not alone, for any crunching coming from other feet, but he heard nothing. Then, as he plunged still farther into the bowels of the hill, the rock around him vibrated, and it was accompanied by a deep rumble, as a distant explosion. Pebbles rained down, and sand and dust billowed and formed a sort of smoky haze in the air as the rumbling faded. A moment later a second such occurrence took place, and the pebbles, hitting his head, tumbled down his face or past his ears, onto his shoulders and back and chest, and finally onto the ground, making a thousand little pizzicato clicks.
He coughed once, then stifled a second. No third portentous rumble assaulted him; quiet and stillness reclaimed the mine. He was familiar with the layout and knew the shaft he was in, the main shaft, went back and down into the hill more or less directly, with a multitude of branches stemming from it. There were, however, some minor bends and twists and coming around one of these he was presently greeted with a splash of color intruding on his gray vision with the familiar ripples like heat waves.
With his normal vision he saw a light source spilling into the main tunnel from one of the side shafts. After holding still and silent for a minute or two, he heard a soft sound, as of someone shuffling around, and then a loud clank followed by what sounded like a hushed discussion. Another clank sounded and the discussion built into a brief crescendo that, by degrees, ebbed into silence once more. With a reassuring grip on his gun, he crept towards the junction of the main shaft and the branch. Each foot he settled on the ground with the delicate care one uses in placing an infant in its cradle. Each foot was lifted with similar caution. A spider, if it were careless, had made more noise.
He crept up against the wall of the main shaft when he reached the branch. Both hands he placed on the hewn stone wall, bracing himself against it, and cast his body to the left but slowly and only slightly, just enough to bring his left eye past the edge of the wall. He allowed himself a quick glimpse and then pulled back, undetected. The glimpse was enough to appraise the situation: the light source was a lantern placed on the ground, and it showed him four figures nearby. A great drill, a patchwork of equipment salvaged from the Gaian cities, was there, and it would have the ignition key he sought.
He leaned out past the wall one more time, but this time his hands held his gun. The four figures did not notice. Taking careful aim, he lined the gun up with the lantern and inhaled until his lungs were full. Still, the men took no note of him. Holding his breath, he pressed the safety latch and a click sounded. The four men started. He could not know how much they saw or whether, accustomed to the lantern’s light, they could see him at all, but it made little difference. He pulled the trigger.
The lantern exploded in a shower of sparks. The sound of glass shards and other bits falling to the floor mixed with the reverberations of the gunshot. Four voices called out and four figures scrambled to hide behind boulders or equipment or whatever offered itself as a likely shield. Once more, Alistair saw everything in gray.
“Who’s there?” demanded a voice in the darkness, and the walls threw the angry shout back and forth, breaking it up until it was no more.
A response on Alistair’s part would have done nothing more to reveal his location than his gunshot had already done. He might have given them his name, height, weight and occupation for all that it mattered from a practical standpoint, but a human voice would have been a solace, if for no other reason than it confirmed the very walls of the mine had not decided to cast them out or some such fear which, in the dark, tickles the brain of even a skeptical man. Alistair denied them that minuscule measure of comfort.
“Who’s there?” the same man called out again. The same echoes followed.
A third tremor shook the mine and rained bits of ro
ck down and it served to remind Alistair he did not have the luxury of time. He stepped into the middle of the branch shaft and, letting out a magnificent bellow, pulled the trigger several times, unleashing a volley of bullets that sparked against the shaft walls, floor and ceiling. Two of the men jumped out of their crouches and scampered farther down the shaft. The other two only tucked themselves tighter into the niche in which they hid, but when Alistair shot at the wall just above their heads, when the sensation of a bullet’s near passage shook them, when splinters of rock ejected from the bullet’s crater pricked their skin, these last two ran after the first pair. The result was four men cowering several yards farther down the shaft, howling for mercy and leaving the drill abandoned.
Alistair ran to the drill, holding his gun in the waistline of his pants, and dug into the motor.
“If you come any closer we’ll shoot!” screamed a new voice.
Ignoring him, Alistair opened hatches, unhooked parts, detached wires and worked his way down to where he knew the ignition key was. A glance down the shaft showed one of the more intrepid of the four venture out from behind a pile of rocks. Alistair paused for a moment to grab his gun and fire another shot, sending the man scurrying back behind the pile. A few moments later he had the key in his hands. Gently cradling the precious bit of equipment, he fired four more shots, inducing another series of wails, and went back the way he came.
Moving more quickly now, he was back outside the mine and in the warm night air. The sounds he heard as he neared the entrance prepared him for the view that greeted his eyes. In the north a vast fire burned, coloring the sky a deep orange and outlining black aircraft crossing in front. In the sky, lights of aircraft weaved in and out of the lights of gun and laser fire. Every so often there was a burst of light, revealing the body of a vessel which would, like a meteor, plummet to the ground and cause another explosion. The noises of battle were unrelenting. Explosions, gunfire and the screech of aircraft moving at incredible speeds rushed over him like a tidal wave.
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