Exodus

by Jamie Sawyer

  “… you even listening to me?” Zero complained.

  “I copy,” I said, focusing again. It was easy to lose concentration during a planetary drop. “Say again?”

  “The tactical situation has changed—” she started.

  T MINUS TWENTY SECONDS UNTIL ATMOSPHERIC BREACH, my suit told me. ADMINISTERING COMBAT-DRUGS.

  Something icy cold snaked into my bloodstream, and my heart rate slowed just a little. The drop-shakes calmed for a moment. Another series of thrusters in the suit’s enormous EVAMP fired.

  I saw red-white comets in the periphery of my vision. Those were the Jackals, their clipped breathing barely audible over the comm.

  “Say again, Zero?” I said. “Do not copy!”

  There wasn’t much between me and the void to begin with, but parts of the drop-suit were now beginning to shear off. To the uninitiated, that might be concerning, but it was all part of the technology. The outer armour acted as a disposable heat shield and was shed as the suit made atmospheric entry.

  “… arriving …!” Zero said.

  “Say again?”

  I only got static. CONNECTION LOST, my suit informed me. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.

  But something else brushed my mind.

  Others come. They are here.

  And then I saw exactly what had got Zero so damn freaked. It was, with the benefit of hindsight, pretty hard to miss …

  The Shard Gate was split wide, spilling green light across near-space. Already, the outlines of Krell bio-ships and arks were visible, trailing organic material as they breached the barrier between time and space.

  “Holy shit!” Feng exclaimed.

  A barrage of unencrypted Navy chatter assaulted my ears:

  “Gate is open! Repeat Gate is open!”

  “Class Six incursion inbound. All available vessels move to intercept—”

  “… assist! Require assist! There are too many of them! Falling back!”

  “Do not, repeat do not, fall back from that position. The cordon must be maintained—”

  “This doesn’t change anything!” I managed. “Our mission remains the same. We drop in, secure the asset, and pull out. Now, concentrate on getting down to the surface in one piece.”

  I came up to meet Kronstadt’s atmosphere, and the shakes had me again. No amount of combat-drug could suppress the sensation in my gut, in my limbs, as I burst through the exosphere and plummeted down towards Svoboda: fixed on the beacon broadcast by my wrist-computer …

  Through cloud cover.

  Plummeting, plummeting, plummeting.

  Like fallen angels. Angry fucking angels.

  Thrusters fired again. More armour slewed off, smoking as it hit the atmosphere. Vertigo, and her close cousin nausea, almost made me black out. The Pathfinder dumped more drugs into my bloodstream, and I was grateful for every one of them.

  I got a bird’s-eye view of Svoboda. What we’d seen in orbit—the Shard Gate opening—had caused a sort of chain reaction on the ground. The cosmodrome was a mass of activity: shuttles and smaller craft already lifting off, mustering to support the fleet in orbit. Meanwhile, AA guns tracked all over the city’s perimeter, spitting mass-reactive rounds at incoming targets.

  “Danger close!” I roared. “Prep for evasive manoeuvre!”

  My drop-suit jinked and rolled, banked and ducked. Tracer fire slid beneath me, and I ground my teeth with the G-force. The Jackals’ suits did the same, barely escaping the friendly fire.

  We closed on the Barrows. What with the lashing rain, visibility was shot to shit, but my suit had multi-vision. I flagged the four Directorate Dragons. The Shadow commandos were identifiable by the flare of their jump packs, as they moved from rooftop to rooftop. They had deployed drones too, and swarms were flittering through the streets, building up an intelligence network. The Directorate had slid right past the Alliance fleet, an assassin’s knife to the heart.

  LANDING ZONE IDENTIFIED.

  I picked out the statue of Nikolai, standing astride the ragged mess of warrens. There, very close by, was Nikolai’s Dream, the barely visible blue dome of the null-shield still protecting the establishment. The suit selected a safe place to touch down, and I got ready to make planetfall.

  “Sound off!”

  There were a series of ragged responses.

  “Give those dropships a wide berth,” I ordered.

  “I hear that,” Feng said.

  Then we were down. The remainder of the drop-suit’s shielding fired, sending out a wave of deadly shrapnel. Debris pinged off surrounding structures.

  I slammed both feet into the ground. The combined weight of me and my suit was a thing to be reckoned with, and the pavement cracked with the force of the impact. The Jackals landed in the same way, with a finesse that I hadn’t expected of them.

  “Null-shields up!”

  The squad complied. Our shields ignited, overlapping, creating an impenetrable barrier.

  “Who marked up the suits?” I asked. “Was that you, Lopez?”

  Each of the combat-suits was stencilled with our callsigns, our rank identifiers and accolade badges. Although the suits often didn’t come back with the simulants, it was a Sim Ops ritual, an old tradition. My heart swelled with pride to see my team badged up, proudly wearing the Jackals’ colours. Sure, there was an argument that declaring who we were was no longer a good idea—especially since we were technically AWOL, and Kwan had put a bounty on my head—but whatever our status, we were still Jackals.

  “We all did it,” Lopez said. “Joint effort. Before we reached Kronstadt.”

  “We thought you’d like it,” Feng replied.

  “Good work,” I said. “We ready for this, Jackals?”

  “Affirmative,” they answered.

  “Deploy weapons.”

  I slid the M115 plasma rifle from its magnetic lock on my back. The weapon automatically slaved to my suit, targeting data filling my HUD. A steely calm spread through the squad.

  “See,” Lopez said, “that wasn’t so bad, right? We all made it down in one piece; we can be trusted with the nice things every now and again, ma’am.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  The advanced targeting array activated, suggesting firing solutions and hostile movements beyond the limits of my senses. The suit carried lots of cutting-edge upgrades—each was equipped with its own flight of drones, for instance—but we weren’t going to use those unless necessary. Sticking to the basics would probably be more than enough for the Jackals.

  I plotted our next move through the Barrows. The suits carried sensor-fouling scrambler modules—designed to stop the user from being shot down during the descent—but our arrival hadn’t been exactly sub rosa. Although we hadn’t triggered any immediate reaction from the Directorate, it was only a matter of time before they responded.

  “On me, into the bar.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  AZIMUTH, FAITH, FIRE

  Nikolai’s Dream sat resolute amid the Barrows, but I could see a dozen or so frightened faces peering out at us as we approached. We double-timed it down the street, and then through the null-shield. Paused outside the door.

  “Let us in, Vitali,” I said.

  The protective screen over the door slid back, and Vitali stood there. Although flanked by his two bodyguards, he was positively quaking.

  The Jackals marched into the bar. Once again, every face in the place was turned in our direction, but this time for very different reasons. The armour still smoked from a combination of the drop and the rain. We were monsters, so big that the bar could barely accommodate us.

  “Sorry we made a mess of your bar,” Feng said without sounding sorry at all.

  “It … it doesn’t matter,” Vitali stammered.

  Our simulants lay in a pile on the floor, dead. The gangers had cleared a space around the skins, no one wanting to get too close. I reached down and deactivated my wrist-comp. The locator beacon was now a liability. Both Krell and Directorate f
orces would be able to detect it.

  Novak did his own recovery job. He unstrapped the varied blades from his corpse and slid them into sheathes across the combat-suit. Lopez watched on, one eyebrow arched in disapproval.

  “What?” Novak questioned. “Am recycling, yes?”

  “Sure,” Lopez said.

  “Is just shame to lose perfectly good weapons,” Novak insisted.

  Dr. Locke stirred from behind the main bar. She looked dishevelled, but in one piece.

  “I’ve never seen a Simulant Operations team in action,” she said. “It’s quite something.”

  “You’re about to see a lot more of us,” I said. “We’re going to exfiltrate you to the cosmodrome. We’ll use the storm as cover, but you’ll need to keep buttoned up while we’re outside. It’s raining hard out there.”

  “Understood,” she said grimly. At least she’d the foresight to get dressed in a survival suit, with a respirator and goggles strapped across her head.

  “The Krell have breached the Shard Gate,” I said. “We heard some Naval chatter on the way in. They’re saying that it’s a Class Six incursion.”

  “Class Six!” Vitali exclaimed, as though he actually knew what this meant.

  “The fleet’s moving to intercept,” I said.

  “They’ll stop the Directorate too, right?” a ganger piped up. It was the guy whose nose Novak had broken.

  “I doubt it,” I said. “Their hands will be full with the Krell.” I turned back to Dr. Locke. “But it does mean that we can probably hitch a ride off-planet, if we make it to the cosmodrome.”

  Vitali paced the length of the bar, grumbling nervously, wringing his hands. In the midst of what was soon to become the hottest warzone in the galaxy, his silk kimono and slippers were ridiculously inappropriate. The look really didn’t work for him.

  I tried to open the comms channel to Zero, but it was still blocked. Quite what was causing that wasn’t clear, and I didn’t have time to find out right now. My inner ear vibrated with the thrum of an approaching VTOL engine: one of the Dragons, turning to investigate our arrival in the Barrows.

  “You should go,” Vitali suggested. He was doing his utmost not to make eye contact with me.

  “I think that’s a good idea.”

  “Here, through my office. There is an alley out the back.”

  We barrelled through the bar’s back rooms with weapons ready, expecting to meet resistance at any moment. The corridors were too small for a properly armoured trooper, and I fought the urge to just smash my way through the walls. The pent-up energy in the Pathfinder’s frame was hard to control.

  “The cosmodrome is three klicks through hostile territory,” I said over the Jackals’ comms channel. “Whatever happens, we’re disposable. But Dr. Locke gets out, right?”

  “Affirmative,” the Jackals responded.

  “We need that map.”

  I popped a backup communicator from a pouch on my belt. Sim Ops–class armour usually carried all sorts of useful shit, and the drop-suit was no exception—the user was often expected to survive solo in a warzone. I thought-commanded my armour to tune the comm to our general frequency, then passed it to Dr. Locke.

  “Take this,” I said. “Keep it switched on at all times. It’s going to get hot out there, and we’ll need to stay in contact.”

  Dr. Locke nodded, and slid the communicator into her ear with an ease that suggested this wasn’t the first time she had used this sort of technology.

  “Will do,” she said. “Comms check?”

  “We hear you,” Feng answered.

  Vitali led the way, his bodyguards still at his side.

  “Where will you go?” Dr. Locke asked him.

  “Where is there to go?” he said. “I am the Kurgan king. This is my home.”

  “Thank you for everything you’ve done,” Dr. Locke said, and once again I found myself wondering about their relationship.

  “It is nothing,” he replied. “Through there. Go.”

  I patted him on the shoulder. “You’re okay, Antonis.”

  “You can settle your bill when we meet again,” he answered.

  I smiled and nodded. “Will do.”

  But Novak: he paused there. Stood in front of Vitali.

  “I am truthful to you now,” Novak said, drawing Vitali’s attention. “When I say am no one, is not true. I am someone, and you will know who.”

  Vitali frowned, obviously torn between the need to preserve his immediate personal safety and the curiosity caused by Novak’s sudden disclosure. Novak opened his helmet and stared down at Vitali.

  “I am Son of Balash,” he muttered.

  Vitali smiled knowingly. “I suspected as much. You are of Kronstadt?”

  “No. What I say of Norilsk, that is truth.”

  “Novak!” I yelled. “Button up—we’re leaving!”

  Novak ignored me. “I need information.”

  “Don’t we all?” Vitali muttered.

  “Come on, Novak!” Lopez yelled. “This isn’t the time.”

  “Be quiet, girl!” Novak barked back at her. He turned to Vitali again. “Where is Major Mish Vasnev?”

  Vitali’s smile faltered a little. Suggesting that perhaps he was networked to his two automaton guards, the women at his sides dropped into combat stance, hands on knives at their belts. Vitali frowned.

  “You do not want to know where Mish Vasnev is,” he said.

  “I do,” Novak said. “And I will find her.”

  Shooting started behind us. I recognised the sound of a Directorate-issue assault rifle, the distinctive suppressed hiss. Shouts followed.

  “No time, Novak!” I yelled. “We’re leaving—now !”

  “You really want to know?” Vitali said, almost hesitantly. Whoever Mish Vasnev was, the little man was obviously frightened of her.

  “Tell me.”

  Then Vitali said something in Russian. Novak replied, in the same language. Nodded, satisfied. They spoke too quickly for my drop-suit to translate the words, except for the last few.

  “Tell her that Leon Novak is looking for her.”

  Novak slid his helmet back into place. A flash of light spilled from inside the bar: an energy weapon discharging.

  “Go,” Vitali said. “We’ll hold them back.”

  We emerged into a rain-drenched alleyway and found that the storm had well and truly broken. Dr. Locke pulled up her goggles, slid the respirator into place. Her survival suit covered almost all of her skin, but in this downpour I had no idea how long it would protect her.

  I nodded towards the end of the alley. “Jackals, move out.”

  I thought-commanded my suit to plot the way to the cosmodrome, taking the fastest route through the Barrows. Battlefield intelligence was scant, and it wasn’t going to be easy. A reminder of just how fluid the tactical situation had become slid overhead: a Krell bio-pod, on fire. It impacted somewhere in the city limits, making the ground quake.

  “What the hell was that all about?” Lopez asked Novak.

  “Not your business, Senator,” he barked back. “Directorate are here. It is time for action, yes?”

  Two Dragons had taken up position above Nikolai’s Dream, and Kwan continued his address to the city, the promise of a reward looping over the streets, from the lead ship. We scouted the perimeter range of the ships’ sensors, sticking to the tight streets so that it was more difficult to spot us from above.

  Of course, that tactic didn’t last long.

  A Shadow suddenly materialised out of the darkness, right in front of me. At exactly the same time, my suit detected the figure’s repressed bio-signs. The tech these bastards were packing was good, too damned good. But human nature is human nature, and the figure paused: perhaps surprised to see us wearing full drop-suits.

  “Contact!”

  The commando disintegrated in a hail of bright plasma. His assault rifle fired as he died, spitting a stream of rounds into the air. The Shadows used silenced carbines, but
in the alleyway the noise was still alarmingly loud.

  Two more troopers appeared at the end of the alley. My null-shield lit as I took hostile fire. Dr. Locke took up a position behind my armoured bulk.

  “Take the one on the left, Novak,” I ordered.

  Novak slid past, mono-blade to the Shadow’s chest. He planted the blade between the seams of two armour plates at the gut. The knife went in fast and silent. The Shadow flailed for a moment, then went down.

  I grasped the commando on the right. Faster than fast, I had my own mono-knife up and slicing through reinforced polymer. The body sagged in my arms, and I slid it gently into the trash.

  “What is word?” Novak queried. “‘Handy,’ yes? You are handy with knife.”

  “Not too shabby yourself,” I said, sheathing my blade. “Keep to the dark. Move.”

  The Shadows would be networked. They carried heartbeat sensors, probably had in-head communicators. They’d be homing in on our location, but right now, we had a head start.

  To demonstrate the point, another Shadow touched down ahead of us, gracefully bouncing from the roof of an abandoned building. Had the commando seen us? I didn’t think so.

  I battle-signed the Jackals to hold, and the squad fell into a crouch. Dr. Locke folded behind me, pulling the hood of her suit over her face.

  “Drones,” Lopez whispered.

  “I see them.”

  This Directorate trooper was surrounded by a swarm of drones. Each individual unit was equipped with a camera, red-lit eye lenses visible in the rain. They were designed to provide networked intelligence, being directed by a human overseer. As we watched, the mechanical cloud split into two, hovering into the surrounding streets.

  “He’s going to look for his buddies,” Feng said, his voice low.

  “And he’ll find them dead,” Lopez replied.

  More bio-signs were massing around us. The Directorate were closing in. We needed cover.

  Across the road, the open fascia of a hotel gaped back. The building was bombed-out and looked a lot like it might collapse at any moment: a printed fixture with the name HOTEL RESTOV had long since fallen into the roadway.