by M. R. Forbes
“Sorry to tell you, Lieutenant,” Gant said. “Otero was right. We aren’t with Thraven. We’re called Hell’s Rejects. We’re special ops, but not the kind you were thinking of.”
“Mercenaries?” Iann asked.
“Sort of. The bottom line is that Thraven is an asshole, and we hate him. You should too. He doesn’t give a shit about the Outworlds, and he’s been using you and your boss to position his rise to power.”
“General Thraven is a decorated military officer with the Outworld Cooperative,” Iann said.
“Really? How do you know that?”
“Captain Gall told us.”
“How does he know that?”
Iann shrugged. “That’s what he said. I had no reason not to believe him. What happened to Otero?”
“I sent him away in his shuttle. If you want to join him out there, be my guest.”
“No thank you, sir,” Iann said.
“We’re being hailed again.”
The Brimstone had turned nearly one hundred eighty degrees. Gant could see the Fire now, a few thousand kilometers distant and moving toward Anvil’s orbital defense station. Streams of plasma and projectiles filled the space between them, the defenses firing full-bore. The Fire absorbed the attack, shield energy constantly visible as it took the brunt of the response. Four flashes of light followed, fired by ships further back and flanking the fire. They struck the station a moment later, each one creating a flare of detonating oxygen before the framework around the impact collapsed.
Within seconds, the station was gone.
“I don’t understand,” Iann said. “He’s attacking his own soldiers.”
Gant put his head in his palm. “Where did Gall find you?” he said softly. Then he lifted his head. “Iann, I want you to answer the hail. As far as the Fire is concerned everything is fine here, we’re just waiting for Gall to return. If you try to warn them, you get shot. You don’t want to get shot, do you?”
“No, sir,” Iann said. “Gavash, open the link.”
“Aye, ma’am.”
“This is Lieutenant Olain Iann of the warship Brimstone.”
“Lieutenant,” a woman’s voice said, filling the bridge. “Where is Captain Gall?”
“On the surface, Captain,” Iann said. “He’s been down there for a few days now.”
“I assume you’re cloaked. What is your position?”
“Captain, we’re under attack, we-“
Gant didn’t see who had spoken until after Pik's bullet had gone into the crew member’s head and the body had slumped onto the floor.
“Ah, frag. Sorry, Piss-elle. Gall’s mercs don’t run this boat anymore.”
“Who are you? Identify yourself.”
“Gavash, close the link,” Gant said.
“Aye, sir.”
The link closed.
“Well, that idiot wanted to get shot,” Gant said. “What about the rest of you?”
None of them moved.
“Forget the Outworlds. Forget the Republic. Thraven is a threat to everybody. You don’t believe me? Keep watching.”
He stared out the view screen with them. Smaller ships began to drop from the Fire and her escorts. Shrikes and dropships, all of them descending into the planet’s atmosphere. More Outworld warships were closing in, one of them passing within ten klicks of the Brimstone. They fought back against Thraven’s ships as bravely as they could and were destroyed just as bravely.
“Whatever you’re doing down there, Queenie,” Gant said. “Do it faster.”
36
Abbey, Airi, and Bastion were in the lobby of a downtown hotel when the warning tones began blaring out across the city, the resonance of the sound penetrating everywhere, from the tallest building rising into the clouds, to the deepest parts of the surface dwellings. None of them knew what it meant at first, but they watched as the individuals around them began lining up in a fascinatingly orderly method.
“What the hell?” Bastion said.
“Attention all citizens. Attention all citizens. Please report to the nearest protection facility immediately. This is not a drill. This is not a drill. All soldiers on leave are ordered to return to their assigned base immediately.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” Airi said.
“Anvil is under attack?” Abbey said. “By who?”
“Two choices,” Bastion replied.
“The Republic or Thraven,” Airi said.
“Not good for us either way.”
The message repeated, following the tone. It was obvious from the reactions of the other individuals that they had done this sort of thing before. Abbey was certain it normally was a drill.
She heard the sound of thrusters a moment later and turned to look out the transparent wall of the lobby to see a black Shrike rocket past, vibrating the building. A second later she heard the hiss of plasma fire, followed by the deeper repetition of projectiles and the muffled thuds of distant explosions.
“Excuse me,” someone said, approaching them. He was wearing a tailored suit. A hotel employee. Maybe the manager? “We’re evacuating the building. Please follow the line to the stairs. It will lead you down to the Protection Center.”
“I don’t need protection,” Abbey said. “But thanks.”
“It’s illegal to remain on the streets during an emergency,” the man said. “Punishable by twenty years imprisonment.”
“We’ll take our chances,” Bastion said.
“Sir, I must-”
Bastion spread his coat, showing off his sidearm. “I said we’ll take our chances.”
The man eyed them for another second and then moved on to the next group of visitors who didn’t understand protocol.
“We need to find Ursan Gall, right now,” Abbey said.
“You wanted a terminal?” Airi replied. “How about that one?”
She was pointing to the hotel’s reception desk, a white, spherical station in the center of the lobby. The employees behind it had already left their posts, joining the exodus.
“It’ll do. Keep an eye out for soldiers.”
Bastion and Airi both drew their sidearms, whatever good they might do against fully armed and armored grunts.
“I’m not sure which invader I would prefer,” Airi said.
“I don’t have a problem killing Thraven’s soldiers,” Bastion replied.
“But we might be able to talk our way out of it with a Republic platoon,” Airi countered.
“True. Outworld Defense is going to be a problem.”
“I think they’ll be a little busy to start searching hotels to arrest us for loitering.”
“Again, true.”
Abbey vaulted the desk, tapping on the terminal and bringing up the projection. The receptionists had left in such a rush they hadn’t bothered to shut anything down, making it easier for her to get deeper into the systems.
“How long do you need, Queenie?” Bastion asked.
“A few minutes,” she replied. “Why?”
“A dropship is about to land on the platform across from this one.”
“Can you identify it?”
“It’s unmarked.”
“Not Republic then.”
“We should have taken bets.”
Abbey’s hands moved quickly, navigating through the menus of the system until she found the command line. It only took a dozen commands to get back to the city’s network, and she closed her eyes when she did, recalling the address and password she had lifted from the terminal.
A nearby explosion rocked the building as she did.
“Whoa,” Bastion said. “Outworld PD is on the scene. They just blasted the dropship. This place is turning into a war zone real fast.”
“Then keep your fragging head down,” Abbey said, entering the keys. A moment later she had an interface to the full network.
The sounds of fighting intensified. Shrikes zipped past in ragged dogfights, one against another, while more dropships could be heard descending on t
he city. Abbey moved through the network as quickly as she could, her mind running in multiple threads.
Why was Thraven attacking like this? There had to be a reason that went beyond Ursan Gall. Even if the man had disobeyed orders, it didn’t make sense to assault an Outworld planet like Anvil to kill him. It couldn’t be because he knew she was here, could it? He was revealing himself as an enemy to the part of the galaxy that had provided him succor while he built his army. For one person? She knew Thraven wanted her, but that didn’t make any sense at all.
She navigated the network until she located the central visitor's database. The Outworlds and the Republic were similar in some ways, and one of them was the level of connectivity between loosely affiliated systems. Both governments wanted to know where visitors were moving to and from at any given time, and residency records were one of the best ways to do it, especially once they could be paired with payment cards and used to track every transaction. Fortunately, the machines like the loop kiosk needed direct access to insert records, and so the credentials she had gathered were viable to access the database directly.
“Uh oh,” she heard Bastion say.
She glanced up. He and Airi were both running toward her. A squad of Outworld soldiers had bounced into view ahead of the hotel, taking whatever cover they could find as they squared off against approaching targets.
“Get down,” Airi yelled, both of them vaulting the desk as the firefight started, the bullets smacking the hardened transparency of the building’s face and pushing through.
Abbey ducked slightly but had to remain somewhat upright to work the terminal. She could see the bullets hitting the floor ahead of the desk through the projection, digging up tile and dust. She typed the database command in, running a query for Gall. The search only took a second, returning zero results. She wasn’t all that surprised. She recalled the last command and changed the parameters, looking for Dak instead.
One result.
She copied the coordinates, backing out of the database to the Hotel’s main interface. It had a mapping system there, used to direct visitors to their destinations. She put the location into the system. The projection changed, showing her a three-dimensional view of the city, lighting up a path from their position in the upper reaches all the way down to the surface.
“Lucifer, Fury, look at the map,” Abbey said, committing it to memory. If she forgot any portion, hopefully someone else would be able to pick it up. “That’s our target.”
Airi and Bastion glanced up at it, almost at the same time a round passed through the projection and hit Abbey in the stomach. She felt like she had been sucker punched, and she cursed when she looked down and saw a hole in her softsuit. She had never been shot this much before she had been given the Gift. She was getting reckless.
She ducked down, a hail of bullets passing overhead and blowing pieces out of the desk above them. Then the destruction stopped, the firefight changing direction. Abbey stood, looking out to the fight. The blacksuits were closing in on the Outworld Planetary Defense unit, filled with holes but still up and attacking.
“We have to help them,” she said.
“Help the Outworlders?” Bastion replied.
“I’m pretty sure it’s better than helping Thraven.”
“Ladies first.”
“Fine. Fury, I’ll knock them down, you take their heads.”
“Roger.”
“You have the map memorized?”
“As best I can,” Bastion said. “I’ve never been that good with directions.”
“You’re a pilot.”
He shrugged.
“Let’s go.”
Abbey stood, locking her eyes on the Converts beyond the hotel. They had already decimated the first PD squad and looked to be targeting reinforcements from somewhere to the right. She could see a second dropship beyond them, which had landed near the first. That one was smoking heavily and had a huge, gaping hole in its side. Even so, there were still units coming out of it, damaged but not destroyed.
She felt the Gift responding to her anger, and she used it to bounce across the lobby, landing halfway and bouncing off again and throwing herself through the damaged transparency. It was so beaten it barely resisted, and she crossed over, slamming hard into one of the Converts and landing on top of it. It had been shot in the helmet, and half of its head was missing from the side, replaced with the silvery goop. She used the Gift to hold it down while she grabbed and broke both of its arms and pulled the gun from its hands.
Then Airi was beside her, Katana in hand. She brought the blade down in one quick slice, removing the Convert’s head.
“One down,” she said.
Abbey found the next target, taking up the rifle and firing, hitting it in the head, aiming for the eyes. The helmet’s protective transparency shattered beneath the repeated rounds, and the Convert stumbled, losing the ability to see. She turned and repeated the process on another, while Airi rushed over and decapitated the first.
Bastion emerged from the hotel, conservative with his attack, shooting the Converts in vulnerable joints to disable them, reaching one and hitting it point-blank in the elbow, the force strong enough to dismember it and release the rifle it was carrying. He picked it up, ducking behind a column as a fresh contingent joined the fight.
“Queenie, incoming,” he said. Abbey looked up. A pair of Shrikes were bearing down on the position, angling to strafe the platform. Airi was in their line of fire.
There was no time to reach her. She threw out her hand, desperate to move her out of the way. A moment later Airi was pushed forward, launched out of the area and back toward the hotel. The Shrikes released their rounds, peppering the platform, running bullets through both converts and Outworld PD alike.
“It doesn’t look good up there either,” Bastion said.
Abbey glanced further up, to space beyond. Streaks of flames suggested large forms losing orbit and burning up. Of course, if Thraven were assaulting the ground, he would be attacking the forces around the planet as well. Was the Fire here? Was the Brimstone secure?
“We can’t waste time,” she said, remembering the map. “There’s a tube two blocks east of here.”
“Roger,” Airi said. “Thanks for the save, Queenie.”
“Anytime.”
37
“This is it,” Bastion said. “Do you think he’s in there?”
They were standing outside of a rusted hatch, located on the second subterranean level of a dirty hotel that rested below the formerly pristine skyline of Anvil city. Most of the fighting hadn’t made it down this far yet, but many of the residents had vanished, making their way to nearby Protection Centers or holing up in hidden spaces.
It had been a challenge to make it down. Part of PD protocol was to disable civilian tube stations, leaving them inaccessible during attacks in the name of security. Abbey had been forced to return to the hotel terminal, to re-enter the network and re-activate the transport from the upper reaches of the city down to the base. It had wasted nearly five minutes, a damn lifetime in the middle of a battle. By the time they made it back to the tube they had to fight their way through another platoon of Thraven’s soldiers, burning more time and energy.
They had gotten below, though. They had made it to the surface, to where Dak had used his identification to rent a room.
“Let’s find out,” Abbey replied.
She put her hand against the hatch, feeling the Gift moving beneath her fingers. It had been pulsing steadily, as though it was tuned not only to her own anger but to the fury of the fighting around her, the chaos and discord increasing its energy. She pushed it out into the hatch, the force wrenching it from its tracks and throwing it aside.
Bastion and Airi swept into the room, rifles ready. They covered it in seconds, both of their muzzles coming to rest aimed at the same spot.
“Who the frag are you?”
Abbey looked at the Trover sitting on the floor in the corner of the room. He had
a massive pistol in his lap. His hand was resting on top of it.
“I’m looking for Ursan Gall,” Abbey said.
“You aren’t with Thraven.”
It was a statement, not a question.
“No.”
The Trover smiled. “He isn’t here.”
“I figured that much. Where is he?”
“They took him.”
“Who?”
“They called themselves the Children of the Covenant. They took him for Thraven.” He shook his head. “They weren’t Terran. They weren’t Trover. They weren’t any damn thing I’ve ever heard of before.” He paused, looking down at his gun. “They were monsters. Or animals. I’m not even sure which. I don’t know what the frag is going on with anything, anymore. I thought Thraven was fighting for the Outworlds. Now he’s attacking the Outworlds? I knew he had magic. Power, you know. He was going to help us conquer the Republic with it.” He looked up at Abbey. “I should have known he wanted it all for himself. Isn’t that the way assholes with power always do it? I just thought...” His voice trailed off.
“Why are you sitting there?” Bastion said. “There’s a battle going on. You want to fight for the Outworlds? You’re doing a shitty job.”
Dak shrugged. “I didn’t know what to do. Thraven let me live. He won’t if I resist him. I’ve seen his work. You’re her, aren’t you? Abigail Cage?”
“How do you know my name?” Abbey asked.
“Thraven told it to Ursan. Ursan told it to me. You killed his wife. It’s your fault we’re here.” His hand moved slightly on the gun.
“Don’t,” Airi said, pushing the rifle closer to him.
“Thraven’s using you,” Dak said. “Just like he’s using all of us. Whatever you’re here for, it’s because he wants you to be.”
“I came for the Brimstone and the Fire. The two stolen ships. The Republic wants them back.”
Dak smiled. “Of course, you did. It doesn’t matter if you take them. They were prototypes. Thraven’s got more.”
“What else do you know about the ships?” Abbey asked.