by Martin Perry
The Legacy warned that the rocket launcher was packed with ammunition more than adequate to rip Macson and the scout out of the sky. Worse, its propulsion and systems made it capable of tracking the vehicle faster than Macson could get the ship out of its range. With a single rocket this man could kill one of his fellow crewmen and all in an operation that was supposed to involve an absolute zero of combative action. While his hasty actions in some recent missions had annoyed Kerra, he imagined that the death of one of the new crew would do far more damage.
He trudged across the field, shouting into the broadcast system for Macson to start moving. Even with the power of the Legacy his feet began to drag from tiredness. The thick mud that was swallowing his feet exaggerated this affect, but still he pushed on towards the armed man and the building he stood on. Maur could still see some of the bright jumpsuits of the workers, although they were now small dots of colour in the tree-line far away from the factory itself. Not one of them was moving to stop Mitchell, and Maur was sure that at least a few could see that he was about to launch an attack.
When Maur finally reached the wall of the building, Mitchell had already disappeared up onto the roof. Springing himself upwards, Maur continued to give chase despite the growing danger he was putting himself in and the explosions still sounding around him.
Mitchell stood at the edge of the roof, struggling to lift the weapon up onto his shoulders. He was staggering, his feet swaying from left to right but unable to find any firm footing. With Maur now behind him, it looked for a moment as if the man might end up tumbling over the edge.
“Mitchell!” Maur shouted forward, trying to avoid the weapon being fired. A gargle of blood and spit was all that was returned. “Listen you dumb fuck! You don't need our people coming after you. Hit the scout and you’re done!”
“What?” Mitchell shouted, swinging around and finally noticing Maur was behind him. The launcher came up in his direction, and the Legacy hardened Maur's skin in automatic response.
“Put the launcher down!”
Mitchell managed to hike the weapon up onto his shoulder and Maur had just enough time to scream an expletive before it was fired. The Legacy urged him out of the way, and he dived aside to dodge the rocket as it boomed. It twirled forward, improperly aimed and now free to tear through the sky. Its trail was perfectly white, except when it mixed into the black fumes spreading up from the burning carcasses of the buildings below.
“Fuck,” Maur said, lying on the ground.
The Legacy had mapped out the flight path of the rocket. Even before it happened, Maur knew that the rocket was going to make contact with a pipeline that ran adjacently to Plasterio's operation. Its importance was obvious, but its contents might well remain a mystery. The rocket landed on its unintended target, and the initial explosion didn't seem all too bad.
“Oh shit...” said Mitchell, still staggering with the launcher in hand. His words filled Maur with a heavy feeling of dread, Mitchell, the Plasterio employee, much more knowledgeable about what was to follow.
The ground began to shake beneath them, rumbling as if it were the cap of a newly awakened volcano. In places around him, Maur could see the ground beginning to swell. Then, without warning, giant streams of fire burst into the sky. Flames poured out of the holes, the skyline blinded by the numerous streams of blazing liquid. Maur could hear Macson shouting shock and awe over the audio channel.
“It's over. I guess there's no point now...”
The words escaped Mitchell's throat just before he spread his arms out, dropped the launcher to the ground, and started to tilt backwards over the edge of the building. Maur tried to move quickly in response, but could not match the suicidal man's impulse. With an arm outstretched, he was left to watch as the man forced into criminal activity fell to the ground. Perhaps the crumpled, dead heap might not have been pushed to this if only his employers had offered better pay and conditions – the thought sent a chill up Maur's spine.
The streams of flame stopped as the well of liquid ran dry.
“Macson,” he said, “I need you to come get me.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
Maur watched as Macson circled round him, preparing to come in to land. He looked out over the facility he was supposed to have covertly investigated, and wondered if anything else could have gone wrong. He anticipated the response of Kerra, of Charles, and even of Thom who had pleaded to come along on the mission. None of them would think well of him, and it was deserved. Had he followed the instructions set out by Kerra then this might not have happened. In following the Legacy's suggestions he had started a list of mistakes. Smashing the wall was not a covert action, and all it took was the Legacy to propose it and he had followed blindly.
The scout settled at a hover at the side of the roof, and the rear door opened to welcome him in. He could see Macson at the front of the ship, and could tell that the man was seething at the thought of association with this mess. It was supposed to have been simple. Drop. Investigate. Leave.
“Sorry Macson,” Maur said as he boarded, slumping down onto one of the interior benches.
“I'd keep your apologies to yourself Maur. You're going to need to placate people far more important than me. Kerra is going to have to bullshit like a champion if we're going to get paid for this clusterfuck.”
“I confirmed the factory was being used for narcotics production,” Maur said in feeble reply.
“Hmm. Not sure that's going to be enough buddy. You've left them without a factory. Doesn't seem like something they are going to pay us a bonus for. What the hell happened?”
“Just... take us back.”
They started the ascent up towards the Jump Cannon's orbital position, and Macson left Maur to consider his actions without the interruption of conversation. The Legacy was still feeding him statistics about the battle that had unfolded, and without the slightest of doubts Maur wished that it would be quiet. For all its power, the Legacy could make an idiot of him. Today it had done that and more.
Bursting through the upper layers of Earth's atmosphere, the first reports of a chemical fire started to come in over the scout's audio. Their proximity to the events meant the emergency warnings were automatic.
“Warning. Chemical fire at Plasterio production planet. Environmental catastrophe imminent or already occurring. Do not approach.”
He listened to the lists of disaster and alert as they came in, his head in his hands.
“Maur, are you there?” It was Yazram, sounding uncharacteristically sympathetic. Maur envisaged him standing on the command deck of the Jump Cannon, pondering how he would have done things differently. Yazram would have simply willed Mitchell not to fire. Why hadn't Kerra at least sent him along?
“Yes, I'm here. What is it?”
“When you get back on board, Kerra and Charles want to see you in Champion's quarters. They want to debrief you on the mission,” said Yazram.
“Debrief? You don't need to be charitable Yazram.”
“I disagree. The last words I heard them speak pointed towards you being reassigned onto the maintenance teams – no missions, Legacy or not. It seems to me that you need all the charity you can get your hands on right now.”
“The maintenance teams? Are you fucking kidding? Thanks Yazram. Thanks a lot.”
This was not Maur Rosewell's proudest moment.
Chapter Three
Available now, in full, on Amazon Kindle for only $3.99 or equivalent. Search the Kindle category for 'Legacy Universe'.
“What the fuck were you thinking Maur?” said Kerra, sounding as if she was pleading and chastising all at once. She was leaning forward, her open palms shaking in the air in front of her. He could make out the outline of sweat around her forehead and on the armpits of her plain black vest. He had thought it possible that she hadn't watched the entire thing, but these signals of stress told him otherwise. Maur felt deep regret on top of existing self-loathing. The plan, whatever it had been, was never to u
pset or worry Kerra.
“I was just trying to complete the mission, honestly.” Maur replied meekly.
“Don't give me that Maur! If you were just trying to complete the mission, you would have stuck to the plan that I set out. Apparently it wasn't good enough for you!” she shouted in reply.
“The Legacy said...”
“I know what the Legacy said! You told me what the Legacy said!”
They were seated in Champion's old quarters, still inhabited by his now lonely partner, Marc 14. When the UNAPT arrested Champion the lunark had moved himself in here wholesale. With a full ship's complement, he now saw fit to order his meals over the audio channels and have somebody deliver them to him here. His orders for people to clean were far less frequent, and the mixed odours of the last two week's rations filled the air. Clothes were strewn around the floor, but he sat next to Kerra as if unaware of the growing disgrace around him.
“Look, Plasterio wanted us to confirm that the workers were producing narcotics at the site. I did that, we should still get paid. It is not specifically our fault that I was detected,” Maur said, trying to work through it all.
“We told them that you wouldn't be,” Marc 14 said lazily. His legs were crossed and the foot of the top leg was bouncing up and down. He didn't seem to care about the situation too much, and may well have been going through the motions.
“I know! There were mitigating circumstances! Tell them the workers were armed! They didn't warn us about that before we went in. As far as I see it, they are the ones at fault,” Maur continued, still trying to justify his actions.
Yazram moved away from the wall he was leaning against, away from the seating area where the others were. The noise of him moving forward into the conversation seemed to silence the other two interrogators for a moment.
“He has a point,” he said.
“See, I have a point! Even Yazram says so,” Maur said, trying to jolly the mood by putting on a positive air.
“Are you sure they didn't warn us of the workers being armed?” Kerra asked, turning her head around to Yazram.
“I've already checked the contracts, they didn't include it. We assumed their would be weapons, that's why we sent in Maur...”
“That seems like a bit of a mistake now doesn't it?” Marc 14 interrupted.
“In hindsight, anything can seem like a mistake. Regardless, we have an out, our contract should still be honoured.”
“But in the process we lose another customer,” mused Kerra. Maur now felt secondary to this entire exchange, as if he were a naughty child at the mercy of warring parents.
“Yes, it seems like that is very likely,” added Yazram.
Kerra stood, and walked over to the sofa which Maur inhabited alone up until now. With her hands on her hips, she looked down on him. Still sitting in his under-skin suit, skin smeared with the dirt and muck from Earth's surface, she ran a hand through his hair. It was the first comfort he had been offered since the battle, and it was very welcome.
“Look, I'll try and see what I can do. You need to start listening to me though Maur. I know you're just trying to do your best, but this could have cost us. It still could,” she said. “We need to think about whether or not we need to have you on missions any more.”
“Oh, I knew this was coming,” Maur replied.
“We have a full military team now, it's not just me and Charles any more.”
“That doesn't mean I need to stop doing it! Do you know another member of this crew that can take a grenade to the face and keep going?”
“No,” said Kerra, with a little sharpness in her voice, “but I know other members of this crew who wouldn't have made the mistakes you made on this mission. We'll talk about it later.”
“Very good, I'll just go to my room shall I? Go sit in the corner?” Maur barked, before walking away from them. Up the stairs and out of sight, Kerra was left with words stuck in her throat.
“Ugh,” said Marc 14. “Men.”
Kerra ran her fingers through her own hair now, in stress rather than support. Yazram left the room quietly, preferring not to offer opinions on the spats of lovers. She listened to his footsteps quieten as he too disappeared, before turning back around to Marc 14.
“He'll calm down in a while,” Marc 14 continued. “Charles will be waiting for you. I'll talk to Plasterio. Lunarks are better at contractual dealings.”
Kerra's own exit from Champion's quarters left her to walk the halls of the Jump Cannon. They were always so crowded now. It was a welcome feeling. When the original crew had been wiped out at the hands of Josia 24, she had yearned to have her shoulders and arms bruised by the constant passage of hurried bodies in the halls. The bruises returned, a few months ago now, and Kerra had enjoyed a fair amount of hustle and bustle. However, she was still very unfamiliar with many of the faces that brushed past her. Whether lunark, seetan, human or any other species, she would always smile and they would always smile back. They knew her of course, but it would take much longer for her to know their names.
The Jump Cannon was fully repaired. The policy of holding her in orbit during missions meant Annie, the nickname that even the newer staff indulged in, was still pristine. She felt like home, but the sheer volume of new faces made Kerra recall the days when her parents would adopt a colony child for a few weeks. While she was still their daughter, and while she still lived with them, whichever place they were in always felt as though it had been invaded by a friendly, but slightly unwelcome force. Kerra would have to get over this, she told herself, as she would no doubt rely on every one of these men and women at some point in the future.
Stepping through the doors of the recreation room, Kerra tapped a panel and opened a door into one of the sims. A seemingly endless row of incredible, snowy peaks stretched out in front. Green streaks of plant life leaked into the whiteness of the snow, and the freshness of the air caught her breath. There was a plateau, and Charles was stood on it alongside twenty or so of the military staff dressed in full armour. Not one of them was human, and she caught a few heads twisting around to take in the particular type of beauty that Kerra had only ever seen Earth offer. Charles was in full swing.
“The Jump Cannon has always been a ship willing to take on the most far-flung missions,” he said, his booming voice comforting to Kerra. “However, we also accept just as much domestic work. I know most of you are somewhat familiar with Earth, wherever you might come from, but I need you to be as sharp as possible in these kind of environments. Today, we're going for a hike. We're also going to be attacked by some of the local wildlife. Put your hands up if you have ever been required to punch a grizzly bear in the mouth?”
Nobody responded, and instead blank faces looked around at each other with a mix of chuckles and high expectations. Not one of them looked scared Kerra noticed; they had obviously picked their military crew well.
“You will need to give me a quick moment however,” Charles said. He nodded towards Kerra as he did, and the assembled men and women turned to each other to start conversations.
Charles had taken reasonably well to being the captain of the Jump Cannon, but he remained a soldier and not a businessman. When there was fighting to be done, he would rush at the opportunity, but he showed reluctance to make the sorts of decisions that kept a ship like the Jump Cannon flying. Much of the negotiating for work had fallen to Kerra, while Marc 14 was handling the legal side of things. She didn't mind the work, but it had surprised her how much Champion had taken on alone before his arrest
“You've spoken to Maur then?” Charles asked as he approached.
“Yes,” Kerra said, already aware of Charles' opinion regarding her partner's ongoing participation in missions.
“He made a stupid mistake. Perhaps several stupid mistakes. He is still a good soldier,” he said, much as she had expected.
“Right, sure... Look, we need to talk about Champion,” Kerra said.
“Now?”
“Is he not import
ant enough to interrupt your training exercise?”
“Kerra,” Charles warned, like a father might, “do not ever suggest that I do not have time for Earnest. I am merely asking if it is vitally important news.”
“Yes. It is. It is more than vitally important.”
Charles looked deep into her eyes in an attempt to assess the severity of the message Kerra wanted to deliver. The answer he found was not encouraging.
“Fine,” he said to her. “Team, assess the area for paths that enemies might use to flank you. I will return.”
They left the sim after that, their feet crunching in the snow. Kerra and Charles took seats in the recreation area, Charles waving his hand to prompt the few crewmen inside it to vacate the games tables and the room as a whole.
“What is it then?” he asked.
“You need to keep calm,” Kerra replied.
“What is it?” he repeated, but with a far sterner tone and his hands gripping into the surface of the table.
“I contacted UNAPT for an update on when his trial was going to be – told them how pissed off we were at the fact a date hadn't been set...” she started.
“And...”
“And they told me that he had already been sentenced and shipped to a private prison facility.”
“What?” Charles roared, standing up so fast as to send his bench sliding across the floor behind him. “Explain this!”
“Charles, don't get like that with me,” Kerra said, not intimidated by his outburst. It was to be expected after all. “They won't give me the name of the prison, they are stonewalling us. I'm worried it's something to do with the Free Man Nation. There's no need for them to fuck with us like this.”
“If UNAPT have put him in the hands of the Nation, I will kill every single one of them,” Charles replied, not quite agreeing with Kerra's suggestion but still outraged by it. “Did they provide you with an up-to-date prisoner number?”
“Yes,” Kerra said.
“And did you check it?”