Legacy Universe: Gentle Reminders (Book One in The Rosewell Sequence)

by Martin Perry

  “Well, they certainly aren’t coming for me,” grinned The Historian, slouching down and relieving the pressure of the pistol from his forehead. “After all, I didn’t steal from them.”

  "You brought them here?" Kerra asked with a look of shock. The Historian just shrugged in response.

  Maur took the time to shoot him a cutting glance, catching and holstering the pistol as Kerra threw it toward him with disgust, before jogging after her and Thom as they headed out to join their team-mate.

  He was tempted to shove a fist through one of the merchant’s precious cabinets, but there were bigger concerns to deal with. Even before he had burst out into the light of day Charles was in full combat-ready stance. Most likely there was already pressure being applied to the trigger. Maur paired up with Kerra, standing beside her and mimicking as she raised a hand to cover her brow and stare into the distance. A rank of the same brown-clad men that had chased him into the sewer ravine were descending upon them. Glints of gun barrels catching the waking sun made it entirely clear that their intent remained to harm.

  Kerra broke rank, scuffing her boots along the ground as she slid toward the automated food trolleys that had been waiting for them outside of the unit. Her fingers rapidly tapped across the side panel of the lead trays. Maur and Thom, although a little more nervously, began to draw their weapons as the trolleys reversed across the street. Heat baked down on them, the massive ball of gas raising into the sky much slower than the blood was boiling in their veins. Every member of Beta Crew could feel the thud of battle in their heart as anticipation grew and grew, muscles tensing with armour and under-skins creaking quietly, but audibly, as they slid over increasingly agitated skin. The team peered through the sights nestled between the curved tops of their rifles. The scuffs and silver scratches that covered the custom paint-jobs, carefully blending tones to represent each personality, would soon be further fractured.

  Their make-shift cover was spread thin across such a wide road, but the two pairs could fit behind them well enough to obscure themselves from sight. Charles’ bulk stuck out though, and from the front you could clearly make out his shoulders, and crouching legs – it was no surprise then that it was the coverings nearest his neck that drew the first projectile. The noise cracked through the sky, but was quickly cancelled out by a roar of anger as Charles rose to his feet and opened fire, spitting rapid laser fire toward the approaching horde.

  Two of the Nation were lifted off their feet by the heavy thud of energy hitting them square in the chest before Maur had even dared to bend around the corner of their cover. Charles’ had far more training than him, but that didn’t mean he was going to slack off. He carefully picked out a target, further fire from Kerra sizzling overhead, and squeezed the trigger. The shot landed exactly where he had aimed, the dark hood of the Nation foot-soldier lighting up as he hit him between the eyes. It was on now, the first kill sparking a blood-lust. Maur was now desperate to wreak havoc on the men and women who had captured him.

  “Guys, I’m going to flank them,” he shouted, trying to roar over Charles’ ongoing anger. “Stay here, I want to take them out from behind.”

  Maur ducked back down, hunkered to his knees and jogged towards the far side of The Historian’s unit. He scouted around the junk that lay around and picked out some of the sturdier looking crates.

  Within a minute, the thunder of the gun-fight still filling his ears, Maur had them assembled into a make-shift staircase, just high enough for him to jump up the wall and get to the roof of the stand-alone unit. He took a few steps back, a deep breath filled his lungs, and ran towards the wall. Hop, push and grab – he was up on the roof and able to look back down on his friends as they fought back against the Nation. Their opponents were reckless, hooded men leaping into the fray and trying to run towards Beta Crew’s cover with little success. Thom’s fist pumped the air as he sent another one to the ground but they were far from safe.

  Sheer numbers meant that they were poised to be overwhelmed at any moment.

  “Charles, we need to do something here!” blared Kerra, her finger never releasing from the trigger of her light green and black rifle.

  “Maur has decided the strategy,” replied Charles, the ferocity of the fighting calming his anger through concern. “We need to box them in.”

  The food carts had taken plenty of fire, and by now there were more than several bullet-sized holes that would give away their position if the Nation army got much further forward. In addition, the enemy were spread too far apart and had shifted into smarter cover as their numbers declined. Beta Crew’s rounds were finding their targets less often, and the evading enemy might soon stop underestimating them and try their own flanking manoeuvres. Beta Crew were still out-numbered, and the estimates of by exactly how much were depressing. Charles could see Maur turn away from the edge of the unit. It was time to become the aggressors rather than the defendants.

  Maur jogged to the other side of the roof of the unit and stared over the gaping distance between it and the rest of the buildings on the street. A quick look overhead revealed an adjoining cable that linked it with the next. This was going to be risky. He was happy to hop from roof to roof with his rifle drawn, but it would need to be holstered to go hand-over-hand over the wire. He’d be out in the open, gripping onto a hopefully well insulated bit of cabling, without the ability to defend himself and return fire. He quickly scanned around. There really was no other option.

  He flipped his rifle onto his back, the click of it lodging into place sounding baleful, as if it was clinging on for dear life. Rubbing his hands together, he breathed out this time, and shook his head as he prepared to try and sprint across as fast as his hands could carry him. The yellow blast of one of Annie’s stock of grenades flashed across his face from below and compelled him on. He made a bunny hop, grabbing the thick cable in both hands and began to swing his legs and move his hands forward after each other. The chest piece of his armour rode up just under his chin, making it nearly impossible to peer beyond his own arms to see how his team-mates were doing.

  Maur could tell when he was beyond half-way, the cable was sagging and he began to really feel the incline required to make it all the way to the other side. The opposite roof was much higher than the one he had started on, the pressure of battle adding to how tired his arms were becoming. Without warning, a sharp thud against his gripped fist sent him spinning around, an arm waving wildly in the air. As he twisted from one side to the other, he could see ahead of himself clearly enough to know that it had been either shrapnel or deflected fire. It had not been a directed shot but that made his situation better in only the slightest sense. He struggled to hold his grip, eyes directed to the ground over his chest-piece, as he calculated whether a fall would break his legs, or merely re-open old wounds. Regardless, if he failed to flank the enemy then his friends would end up in a far worse condition.

  Charles, Thom and Kerra were unaware of Maur’s predicament as they prepared to make their supporting manoeuvre – the line he was so precariously attached to heading away from them in a diagonal direction that obscured their view. They had decided to start a steady move forward, setting their gradually decreasing cover on a trajectory forward toward the enemy rank. By trying to push them back they hoped the hooded soldiers would retreat into a more unified position, rather than the disparate pockets of fire that the Beta Crew were currently having to defend against. Maur could then rain down fire upon them once he was in place. Full retreat wasn’t an option, they would be quickly gunned down at such short range if they moved into the open that lay behind them. Moving forward seemed like their best and only available strategy. Charles tapped in the commands to the trolleys, and they began to shift themselves into the belly of the beast. If Maur didn’t play his part, their tactic would definitely fail.

  Playing his part in this tactic wasn’t Maur’s most pressing problem. He needed to get to the safety of a firm roof before he fell. His armour was stopping him from
gripping the line with both hands again. Encasing his joints, it was blocking his arm from shifting back up above his head.

  However, he could still reach the Nation side-arm stashed on his hip holster. The plan forming in his head didn’t seem like a good one. He wasn’t even sure he could shoot an old-fashioned projectile weapon straight enough to pull this off, but as the first finger slipped from the wire, he seized on it as his only chance of making it out of this situation with his legs intact.

  He gripped the pistol, unhitched it and pulled the hammer back. Maur wiggled himself around, facing back toward The Historian’s unit and pulled the weapon up. His hand was unsteady, but he squeezed off a shot anyway, a hasty prayer running through his mind in the milliseconds that followed.

  The shot caught the wire and ripped through it. Only a few threads of metal remained, and they were quickly giving way to the pressure Maur’s body weight was putting on them. He screwed up his eyes, holstered this lucky weapon once more, and prepared for what was about to follow. Remaining fragments of wire snapped, one after another. The final one gave way and sent him careering toward the wall of his destination. Within the moments before he impacted a grin spread across Maur’s face, the thought entering his mind that he really was getting quite good at the business of being a soldier.

  However, the force of the collision quickly zapped his happy thoughts into oblivion. The right shoulder, the one working with his hand to keep his whole body suspended from the wire, hit first and it took all the strength he had to keep a hold. With the cabling now vertical, he was able to grab on with both hands once again and start his ascent. Lurching upwards he hoped that Kerra was still well. As capable a soldier as she was the odds seemed truly overwhelming. Those thoughts stayed in his mind as he curved himself over the roof ledge. Safe for the time being, he ran toward the street-facing side of the building and peered over the edge. To his surprise his three friends and their cover were almost immediately below him.

  “Stop! I can’t get there in time!” His cries were drowned out by fire. Slamming his chest he broadcast a wail of beeps and rings, none of it picked up.

  He began his sprint, moving much quicker than he had intended to. There was no time to keep his head down and be smart about avoiding potential enemy fire. Maur had to get into position quickly or his friends would soon be dead. The gaps between the rest of the row of buildings were much smaller, and he was able to leap over them with ease. He moved from rooftop to rooftop, on two occasions colliding into the puran spires that formed the base for some of these units and losing valuable seconds in the process. He had no way of knowing how close Kerra, Thom and Charles were to unavoidable defeat.

  Too close was the answer. Moving directly forward, without needing to leap from building to building or with spires in their way, the rest of Beta Crew were now within twenty feet of the enemy. The trays came to a halt, and the ground team slid down onto the floor to make the most of their remaining cover. Charles’ manoeuvre had worked, the enemy had regrouped to a central location in front of them, having tipped over stalls and other debris to form up some cover for themselves. Kerra looked back along the street from her position on the ground, gritting her teeth at the sight of blood on the sand.

  Their battle was alarm enough to wake residents of Cirramorr from their slumber, and multiple species of face could be seen in the windows of units that were both business and homes, before quickly disappearing as it became evident what all the commotion was about.

  “Where the fuck is he?” shouted a panicked Thom. “He should be bringing down hell by now!”

  “Give him time,” Kerra said. There was no confidence in Kerra’s voice, interrupted by further fire as Charles shot blindly into the crowd. “He might have encountered resistance on the roofs.”

  A minute passed, and they had to slide onto their backs to remain in a a safe place as their cover became almost completely disintegrated. The enemy would start to move forward now, none of the three able to let off meaningful fire from their position. Different concerns ran through each of their minds, Kerra’s most focused on Maur’s personal safety, as it began to dawn on them that the single-man flank was not going to arrive in time. Thom stared to the sky and Charles lobbed his last grenade overhead. Soon, the firing began to slow as the enemy prepared to take the advantage.

  “Motherfuckers!”

  Thud after thud was heard, and Maur’s lone cry was enough to alert them that they had been saved in the last seconds of their life.

  Thom and Kerra rolled to the right, Charles to the left, and opened fire once more as Maur thrashed the crowd from his position on-high. Were it not in self-defense, then massacre might have been an appropriate description. Bodies twisted, fell back and tried to shield themselves as the four-man team took down one attacker after another. Nation members, outwitted but not outgunned, fired rounds off in his direction with little effect. They were the fish in the barrel, and Maur had no intent of catching them. Prisoners weren’t something he was interested in, and he sent each man and woman sinking to the bottom, filling them each with heavy lead weight.

  The team members on the ground got to their feet and came down on the few wounded stragglers still breathing as Maur’s fire came to a halt. He was now taking only a few shots where he saw movement.

  His behaviour might have seemed shocking were it not for the pain he had had to suffer at the hands of these people. Eventually, they stood amongst the carnage and took in sighs of relief, Thom and Charles slapping hands together, more celebrating their survival than the victory.

  Shortly after, Maur squeezed out of a narrow alleyway formed partly by the building he had been positioned on top of. He was gripping his shoulder, and Kerra laughed with satisfaction at the thought of him spending more time under Dr. Beat’s care.

  “Where the hell were you at?” Thom shouted, more happy than angry.

  “Ugh, don’t ask,” started Maur, curling his arms around his friend’s back in a celebratory hug. “Just make sure it’s not me that does the rooftop thing next time round.”

  “Next time?” Kerra wasn’t smiling. “I’m hoping that’s the last time I get into a gun-fight because of your worthless ass.”

  “What? How’s it might fault?” said Maur, his arms spread open in shock, trying to defend himself.

  “Whatever,” she replied. “Lets just get off Pura. No way I’m explaining to Champion why we have no new supplies.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yes Maur, shit. No decent food makes Champion a very grumpy bear. A very grumpy bear who is going to be very pissed at you.”

  They stood for a moment and recollected their thoughts, coming to terms with the chaos around them.

  "Lets check that shithole's shack then, he isn't getting away with letting them know we were here," Kerra said.

  Charles moved over to the door with surprising quickness, having forgotten all about The Historian during the fight. When he met the door it was locked, but a hefty boot to the edge cleared the brackets from the frame. It fell to the ground with a dusty clatter to reveal a mostly empty space. The lit shelves had been smashed open and cleared of anything of real value. A few bits and pieces remained but they were just the most rusted, most familiar objects that they had seen before. At the back of the unit, through The Historian's office area, the back door was left swinging open. The hot light of the day broke through and illuminated the dust, giving the place a holy aura. The Historian had escaped into the glow, his return unlikely.

  "Fuck."

  "Should have expected it. I wouldn't have stuck around," Maur said in reply to Kerra.

  "No, I guess not. Nothing left even worth looting."

  "Would you want any of his crap anyway?" said Maur.

  "Whatever, lets go. The snake better make sure he never shows his face again. He must have sold us out as soon as he saw us come in, I shouldn't have been waving that gun around. He knew he'd get away with talking to me like that."

  "Just leave it Ker
ra. Sorry for dragging you into this," Maur replied.

  "Maur, come on, this can't really be your fault. It better fucking not be."

  Beta Crew headed back towards Annie in unison, the ragged food trolleys limping after them. The remains of fruit and meat trailed juice along the ground, and it swirled into the pits of blood that had been dug down by the bullets and laser fire.

  Chapter Seven

  The open hangar bay of Annie became visible long after the team’s arms started swinging at their sides out of exhaustion. The food trolleys had made it all the way back, for what they were worth, and every member of Beta Crew wished that there was something still edible to try and cure the exhaustion that was causing their shoulders to sag. Feet scraped along the ground, kicking up dust as Maur and his team-mates pushed through the now busy streets of Cirramorr toward the garage. They had been surprised by the lack of authoritarian pursuit. The policing force of Pura, the Authority Complex were well-known for their efficiency in responding to crime. This was likely just evidence of the Free Man Nation’s influence as the Authority Complex were not above corruption. Maur had never encountered a police force that was, and the bodies they had left were probably already swept tidily under the rug.

  Once they entered the garage itself the food trolleys failed to follow any further. The lead trolley’s front wheels, the rubber ragged from bullet-fire, got caught in the grating that lay underfoot at the threshold.

  Thom idly peered over his shoulder, a fragile sadness coming over him as he walked away from all the fresh ingredients he had intended to play with. The life of a soldier wasn’t nearly as fun, he had learned, but the pain he felt in his joints and bruises quickly broke the feelings of attachment he had towards the trolleys. They could stay there and rot. He just wanted to shower and to eat the pre-prepared gunk that had been in the freezers since they had last left Earth. It tasted terrible, congealed blocks of fake flavour, but it was easy and required no energy to make. Thom was starting to think like a soldier. Food was becoming fuel rather than cuisine.