Outriders

by Ian Blackport

  Rinko crawled closer and sat beside Alexis, looping one hand through the crook of her arm and placing her head on Alexis’ shoulder. “Do you regret coming here?”

  “Not for a moment,” Alexis answered. “You?”

  “Never. I just hope someone up there was listening to us.”

  “They heard. All of this was worthwhile. It has to be.”

  Fierce pounding echoed from beyond the door as soldiers breached the lock, rattling metal against its frame. Sparks spewed from the red-hot, melting handle and drifted to the floor as glowing embers.

  “Did you ever think this was how it’d all end?” asked Rinko.

  “Not like this. But I always knew you’d be here with me.”

  “Sentimental even in the face of death. I only wish it hadn’t taken me this long to find you.”

  The malformed entry crashed open and a half dozen troopers charged through with weapons drawn. Alexis offered no protest, made no attempt to cower or resist. She merely waited, her hand entwined with Rinko’s, until the first rounds were fired.

  A muffled, inaudible string of words emerged from within the soldiers’ helmets, prompting each to halt and hold their position. Alexis could not hear what was being said over the channel, but the conversation stayed the troopers’ hands. Despite muzzles aiming for the young women huddled together, no one seemed willing to take the shot.

  Indecision gripped the lead soldier, a sergeant by the triple-chevron insignia decorating both shoulders, who cocked his head sideward and straightened. “Say again, Command. I didn’t copy.”

  Silence settled on the chamber like a stifling haze, the only noise Alexis’ panting breaths and fitful heart rate. Rinko squeezed Alexis’ hand tighter, with only the faintest shiver in her arm.

  “What broadcast?” The sergeant shifted his stance, the uncertainty in his posture noticeable even through the armored suit he wore. “Copy that. Fireteams Epsilon Five and Seven standing down.”

  “Bullshit,” uttered a woman behind him. “Sarge, we can’t—”

  “You heard Command.” Disgust flavored his husky voice, each syllable forced out with mounting ire. “These two aren’t to be harmed. Go check on our people.”

  The woman hesitated before lowering her weapon and turning away. “Yes, sir.”

  Other troops vacated the server room until only the sergeant remained. His opaque helmet swiveled to encompass Alexis and Rinko, and though his features beyond were indiscernible, Alexis could feel palpable hatred as he regarded them.

  “I don’t know what you did here,” he rasped, “but it shouldn’t have earned mercy.”

  Rinko offered a disdaining scowl, meeting his faceless gaze without fear. “Word to the wise, you should be thanking us. We prevented a war between the Confederacy and Tuatha system. You would’ve been deployed to fight on some inhospitable, forlorn world, only to die far from home in a trench. But now you get to stay here and play at being a real soldier instead. We saved your life, asshole. Don’t forget that.”

  He appeared ready to erupt at her words, but Alexis blurted out questions before he had the chance. “There was another man with us, stationed on the roof. What happened to him? Is he still alive?”

  The sergeant remained quiet, perhaps considering whether to answer her inquiry. Finally he spoke in a hoarse, grating voice. “We have him. He’s alive, for the moment.”

  “Can we see him?”

  “No. I was directed not to hurt you, but that doesn’t mean I have any obligation to release you.” He withdrew to the doorway and propped his assault rifle against one shoulder. “You’re confined to this chamber until I decide what to do with you. Don’t test my patience and you won’t have cause to see how willing I am to defy my orders.”

  Chapter 30

  Metal crates were scattered into a haphazard barricade at the cargo bay’s mouth. Pallid brown dirt and moss sloped upward to bury the bottom edges of the loading ramp, its struts warped and leaking fluids. Daylight shone through the open bay doors to reveal a landscape of withered snowdrifts and boulders encrusted in gray-green fungi. Evan crouched alongside Harun and propped his gun on a container while Taylor hunkered next to Kyla.

  “Load incapacitating rounds,” Taylor instructed.

  Harun regarded Taylor as though suspicious of his mental acuity. “After what just happened? I’m using lethal ammunition.”

  “The hell you are. This is still my ship and you fall under my command while you’re aboard. I’m in no mood to tolerate dissent. Fire incapacitating rounds.”

  “You’ll see us all killed before the day—”

  Taylor snatched Harun with one hand and spun him around. “We just lost our friend to your goddamn war. And those soldiers on their way toward us right now? Their people are responsible for his death. But I still don’t believe any of them deserve to die for following their orders. What does it say about me if I can look at the people who murdered Connor and still show them mercy? You view their lives as cheap, nothing more than a bothersome hurdle to clear on your way to victory. What does that say about you?”

  Harun shrugged away from Taylor’s grip and reclaimed his position. “Incapacitating rounds are less effective at range and you know that.”

  “Then fire lethal rounds, but you’d damn well better aim to miss. Or I’ll shoot you down myself.” Taylor holstered his loaded sidearm and hefted the rifle. “Wait for them to draw closer. They won’t know if we’re in any condition to fight. Kyla?”

  She peered through a scope affixed to her rifle. “The Trailblazer is about a minute away and closing fast. They’re coming straight on, not bothering with efforts at flanking. There’ll be no tactics here. Just brute force to seize our freighter.”

  “Numbers?”

  “Not inspiring. The transport holds twelve troops and four crew, and this one looks to be at full complement.” Kyla raised her head, fiddled with a knob jutting from the scope and pressed her face to the eyepiece once more. “I can aim a shot for the antigravity generator and disrupt the magnetic field. Trailblazers rely on speed for reaching combat zones and don’t have added armor on the underside. Might gain us a little extra time.”

  “Don’t bother. That’s a damn tricky shot, and if you miss all it’ll do is give away our position. We wait for them to come to us.”

  Evan adjusted his stance leaning in the shadow of one empty crate, his eyes peering through the yawning cargo bay door. “You think Rinko and Alexis got the word out?”

  “We can’t let ourselves be distracted by thinking about the others,” Taylor responded. “Not now. We focus on surviving the next few minutes and nothing else. Or none of us are walking away from this one.”

  The Trailblazer decelerated and reduced its antigravity field, settling bare inches above the soil as egress hatches slid open. Troopers disembarked and formed ranks with weapons drawn, their burnished gray and blue armor glinting beneath the sun.

  Taylor peered at the approaching soldiers through a narrow cleft between crates with one hand held aloft. Infantry closed on the freighter and Taylor waited until the first soldier reached the rim of churned dirt before he whipped his hand downward.

  Kyla fired a round at the lead trooper, knocking him writhing to the ground swathed in rippling static. Evan and Harun appeared and caught wary troopers in a fusillade that paralyzed limbs, melted wispy snow and reduced spongy moss to scorched embers. Taylor lifted his own assault rifle above the crate and contributed wholeheartedly to the pounding chorus of gunshots.

  Infantry fireteams pummeled the cargo bay with controlled bursts and withdrew to either side of the disfigured loading ramp, the white muzzle flashes darting among shadows like whirling fireflies. Sparks splattered from crates and racks as though a metalworker’s forge, electrical currents plucked at Taylor’s hair, scalding cartridges clattered to the floor and accumulated at their feet.

  Taylor crouched as bullets tore past his head, withdrew a spare magazine from one pouch and shoved it into his rifle befor
e popping up and returning fire. One shot ricocheted off the shoulder of a trooper, spinning him into an erratic fall as his twitching fingers continued firing bullets skyward.

  A woman swung her rifle over one shoulder and unhooked a grenade from her belt, activating the device as she stepped forward and cocked her arm to throw. She released the projectile a heartbeat before Kyla fired a round into her stomach and impelled her backward.

  The palm-sized orb sailed into their cargo hold and tumbled to a rattling stop. Taylor inhaled a shaky breath and lunged for cover. A concussive detonation surged through the chamber and Taylor clenched his eyes shut as a blinding glare stole his vision and turned the world into a featureless, white void.

  Blurred shapes gradually appeared in a distorted landscape and the ringing lessened in Taylor’s ears while his hand fumbled to retrieve the fallen assault rifle.

  Gasping for breath on his hands and knees, Evan uttered a frenetic howl. “Sonic Needle!”

  A piercing, earsplitting shriek erupted through the cargo hold on a focused trajectory and Taylor thrashed with both hands clasped against his burning ears. Screams climbed from his throat and his boots whacked against the floor yet he heard nothing beyond an intense, unyielding discharge from the aural pacification weapon. He glimpsed one soldier grasping the device that resembled a compact antenna, though lost sight when his vision was swallowed by tears and he suffered spasms. Blood crusted his ears and nose under the Sonic Needle’s brutal drone while acid crawled up his throat and he choked on air expelled from his lungs.

  One might expect a distant recess in Taylor’s subconscious to wonder how protestors and activists endured barrages from these weapons, if he was capable of directing his mind away from the despairing torment. Instead seconds stretched to an infinite agony and his mind reeled, all thoughts consumed by a desire for unconsciousness or death.

  The unbearable sound finally deadened to nothing and Taylor uncurled from a shriveled, quaking ball. He smeared blood leaking from his nose on one sleeve, spat viscous bile from his mouth and staggered against an overturned crate. His companions faded little better, their clothes bloodstained and faces moistened by tears. None held their weapons, nor did they even make ready to stand, and Taylor soon noticed the reason.

  Confederacy soldiers were stationed in a perimeter around the cargo hold, yet no one barked commands or moved closer to restrain their prisoners. They merely stood at attention, content to leave the bruised freighter crew lying on the floor. Footfalls clanking against metal grates brought his attention around to the boarding ramp and a lone figure ascending its sloping surface.

  An infantry soldier bearing the single silver slash of an officer on her helmet approached Taylor and halted, still cradling her shotgun in armored hands. Her voice, amplified through the enclosed helmet she wore, held a mechanical edge. “Can you stand?”

  Though his wobbly legs felt like gelatin, Taylor managed to find his footing. “For now,” he said, “but only if you don’t expect me to do this for long.”

  “My orders were to capture you if possible, but kill everyone aboard otherwise.”

  “We figured that was your directive.”

  “Yet you only fired incapacitating rounds at my troops. Even knowing we were willing to take the life of everyone on this freighter. Why?”

  “Your fireteams can’t be blamed for their ignorance. You didn’t know why we’d come here, what we hoped to achieve. Kanaloa is a restricted planet in a military-controlled star system. We knew you’d respond against intruders with lethal force. But we weren’t going to kill soldiers doing their job. For all you knew we were invaders, saboteurs or terrorists. You didn’t have a choice, but we did.”

  “I received instructions to stand down following a security breach and subsequent broadcast originating in the Icicle Flare scientific installation. Those were your people?”

  “The ones carrying out our main mission.” Taylor groaned and rubbed his tender ribcage. “We were only the diversion to keep your base distracted.”

  “A lone merchant freighter launching an assault on our military facility? I don’t know whether your crew is brazen or desperate.”

  “Any plan worth achieving is a bit of both.”

  “Off the record, what was all this for? Why come to Kanaloa, why risk everything to send a transmission through our network?”

  “I’d wager you’ll have all your questions answered in the coming days. You don’t know it, Lieutenant, but you’ve played a part in history today.”

  “I suppose I’ll need to take your word for it. In the meantime, whatever you did caused a stir with Base Command. Personnel have been directed to repair your freighter until serviceable enough to leave Tangaroa. And I’m no longer under orders to arrest you.”

  “What about my people at Icicle Flare? What happened to them?”

  “They were restricted to the facility and kept under guard. I haven’t received more information. I’ll instruct the fireteams on station to escort them here for a reunion.” She released one hand from her weapon and formed an imaginary gun with her fingers. “But don’t overstay your welcome. Once the engineers pronounce you fit to fly, I’d recommend leaving.”

  The officer departed their cargo hold with her troops and Taylor found himself standing alone, his clothing ragged and sullied by sweat stains and dust. Weariness battered at the last shred of strength keeping him on his feet.

  “No cause for worry,” Taylor mumbled. “All we want is to rid ourselves of this place.”

  *

  Clara wrenched the Stiletto to starboard as errant plasma tore through space in a streak of blistering heat. No warships or cannons had chosen to target her with specific intent, though her close proximity to the raging battle left Clara vulnerable to the occasional discharge. She wanted to position her starfighter even closer in the hopes of warning anyone who might listen, yet Clara knew her life would be forfeit the moment she interfered with either fleet. For now she remained beyond the fray as though a medical or media observer.

  A message scrawled across her visor display:

  INCOMING TRANSMISSION, FLIGHT LIEUTENANT AYLETT.

  “From the Sentinel?”

  NO. THE MESSAGE IS ON AN ESTABLISHED CONFEDERACY NETWORK AND ORIGINATES IN THE STAR SYSTEM TANGAROA.

  “The Confederacy research outpost?”

  CORRECT. I HAVE TRACED THE COMMUNICATION FROM THIS SYSTEM BACK THROUGH THE TANGAROAN RELAY TO A FACILITY ON KANALOA.

  “Wait, the science installation itself? Not a warship?”

  NO.

  “I’m aware you can’t reveal classified information to me, but I thought Kanaloa was strictly a legitimate research base. No clandestine experiments or off-the-books endeavors.”

  BASED ON THE INFORMATION IN MY LIMITED PROGRAMING, THAT IS TRUE. I LACK THE DATA TO CONFIRM AND CANNOT ACCESS HIGHER-TIERED FILES.

  “Doesn’t matter. Stop holding out on me, Tonk. What did the transmission include?”

  MY PRELIMINARY ANALYSIS OF THE SEVEN PETABYTE UPLOAD INDICATES THIS INFORMATION APPEARS TO BE THE EVIDENCE OF CRIMINALITY YOU CLAIMED EXISTED.

  Clara could scarcely believe what she was reading. Her voice stammered for a moment until she pushed words through an uncooperative mouth. “About Triaxus?”

  YES. THEIR STRATEGY FOR MANIPULATING THE TUATHAN GOVERNMENTS INTO CONFLICT IS PROVIDED IN DETAIL. DATA ACQUIRED THROUGH SURVEILLANCE CONDUCTED BY THE CONFEDERACY DIRECTORATE OF ESPIONAGE AND COUNTERINTELLIGENCE WAS LIKEWISE PROVIDED. THIS INCLUDES THE AMBUSH AGAINST YOUR FORMER SQUADRON. I AM SYMPATHETIC FOR THE LOSS YOU ENDURED.

  “Thanks. At least now the truth will be heard.”

  I HAVE OBSERVED ORGANIC LIFE DEVELOPING BONDS OF ATTACHMENT TO ONE ANOTHER. SEPARATION RESULTS IN CONSIDERABLE NEGATIVE CHEMICAL AND PSYCHOLOGICAL CHANGES THAT HAVE AN ADVERSE IMPACT ON PERFORMANCE AND COGNITIVE FUNCTION. THIS IS TO BE AVOIDED WHENEVER POSSIBLE.

  “If only the choice were that simple. We can’t choose to stop caring for the people in our
life, even when we know they won’t be with us for long. We pay a steep price for loving.”

  She leaned forward in the chair, unclenching one tense fist and staring beyond her canopy at the raging battle. “Wait. Something’s happening.”

  Distant eruptions of weaponry softened in orbit above Creidhne and searing flares from warship engines cooled. Clara narrowed her eyes and angled the Stiletto on a closer trajectory, watching splashes of virulent plasma dwindle while vessels decelerated and retreated into a holding pattern. Only the muted glow from burning fires and molten craters on the moon’s surface radiated beneath the gas giant.

  “Are they…?”

  THE OPPOSING FLEETS ARE STANDING DOWN. WEAPONS SYSTEMS AND TARGETING COMPUTERS REMAIN OPERATIONAL BUT CANNON DISCHARGES HAVE CEASED. FLIGHT PATTERNS OF STARFIGHTER UNITS SUGGEST EACH SQUADRON IS BEING RECALLED.

  “Did they receive the communication from Kanaloa, too?” Clara demanded. “Tonk, are their officers and analysts seeing the same files I am?”

  THE TRANSMISSION WAS DISTRIBUTED ON A WIDE-RANGE, UNENCRYPTED ALGORITHM ACROSS ALL COMMUNICATION SPECTRUMS AND FREQUENCIES KNOWN TO BE USED BY THE ELATHAN AND DELBAETHI MILITARIES. I ESTIMATE THE MESSAGE WAS DISPERSED TO EVERY WARSHIP AND FACILITY WITH A FUNCTIONAL TRANSCEIVER AND LONG-RANGE COMMUNICATION SUITE IN THIS SYSTEM.

  She thumped backward against her seat and crash webbing. “They have it. They’ll stop fighting; people will stop dying.”

  Clara felt tears crawl down her face and stifled the desire to scream her joy at this moment. Whatever their strategy, Major al-Ajlani and the Solar Flare crew must have succeeded in their mission. They breached Vanderlin’s penthouse, stole his encrypted files and broadcast the evidence across multiple star systems. Clara whispered her genuine thanks to those unorthodox warriors, and hoped one day she might be able to tell them in person how much she admired their tenacity and capabilities.