Under Shadows

by Jason LaPier

  Amar frowned, then brightened. “The whole place runs electricity on a nuclear power plant.”

  “Ooh, we cause a meltdown,” Freezer said with a bit too much enthusiasm.

  Amar came around the console to come close to Isella. Their brown eyes locked. “Would that work?”

  She sighed. “So many damn safety protocols. Maybe. It won’t be easy.”

  “If we don’t convince the ark’s systems that there’s a massive amount of radiation onboard,” Lealina said, stepping in between them, “then everyone still in stasis is going to asphyxiate.”

  The word sent electricity through Jax. At first, he felt paralyzed, stunned. All those people in a subdome on Barnard-4. Their deaths weren’t on his hands, but they had been on his watch. Their atmosphere sucked away. The same way his mother Irene Jackson had died, oxygen slowly pulling away.

  He stood. “We have to try. Whatever it takes.”

  Chapter 20

  Lee “2-Bit” Tubennetal had never thought about retirement. It wasn’t love of the job. He knew that. He did love his job, but that’s just not what kept him from thinking about retirement.

  It was the flyboys. An outdated term of his that everyone endured because they knew to him it meant both boys and girls. There were a lot of things about old 2-Bit that people endured. His list of bad habits, annoying quirks, and outdated quips went for miles. That was another one; they kept telling him no one knew how far a “mile” was any more.

  But they put up with him, because they loved him. They loved him because he loved them. It stung his eyes to think about it. And most of the time he didn’t. But now he had to. Because those times when he didn’t, it was a given. Now it was no longer a given.

  It’s only when love is tested that it matters.

  He walked around the bridge of the Longhorn and looked at each of his people. Young men and women at their stations. Down in the deck level, more young men and women were suiting up. Prepping hastily-repaired fighters.

  He looked at the contact maps. The Fenders were moving fast. They had better ships. His flyboys were better, 2-Bit didn’t doubt that. But his ships were breaking down. And his pilots were outnumbered four to one.

  He was sending them to their deaths. His beloved children. They trusted his orders unconditionally.

  Boss Rando Jansen had disappeared since the ark began its descent. After they’d ripped a hole through its critical systems. Jansen was a ghost, but was still issuing orders, holed up somewhere. 2-Bit laughed shortly at the thought: RJ was probably in one of the escape capsules. Just in case. 2-Bit had seen so many men and women come and go in Space Waste. He got to know the look of the ones that have escape on their mind. RJ tamped it down in the beginning, but was losing control. Too long waiting for escape, and now too close to tasting it. Whatever it was he was doing, he must have been close to finishing. Wherever he’d come from. Whomever he really was.

  “Captain, all pilots ready for launch,” Ensign Moh said from his console at the side of the bridge.

  “Aye,” 2-Bit said.

  After a pause, Moh said, “Orders, Captain?”

  Jansen gave orders, but there was a chain of command. And 2-Bit had done his duty, passed the orders on. He didn’t know what would happen if he didn’t. He’d never not. Would his people listen to him? Or would Jansen have him spaced while they silently watched?

  It’s only when love is tested that it matters.

  The orders were to hold off the Fenders. It was bad odds. 2-Bit loved a good fair fight, and even loved a challenge. But this was suicide. No, it was homicide. If he sent his flyboys out there, they’d be slaughtered. He might as well go down to the deck and put a bullet in every brain.

  He shook his head. He had to think. To reason it out. He’d been hoping for Dava to take care of all this. He was a father-figure to his crew, but he was no goddamn leader. Dava, despite her stubbornness, ate and breathed every word that had come out of Moses’s mouth. She would be an even better leader than the old Earth man was.

  But Dava had her hands full. She was down there on the surface, defending the ark from the Misters that Jansen had made a deal with. 2-Bit took a breath. We shoot down the ark. Misters close in and grab the Earthlings. We all escape.

  The part that didn’t fit was RJ’s plan for the Earthlings: how was the escape supposed to work? The Misters were on the ground, and had no ships down there. The Longhorn only had fighters on board, nothing that could land and bring hundreds of people back up. And even still – ModPol was here to ruin it all.

  This bad plan came down to Jansen. The fucker knew ModPol would show up. Probably even told them when and where. But why? And what about the Earthlings?

  “Captain?” Moh said quietly.

  2-Bit’s face crunched together. “Hold, Ensign,” he muttered.

  Expendable. His pilots. The Earthlings. Whatever Jansen and ModPol were up to, these people were expendable. There was no other reason to send the ark crashing to the surface. Those people would be dead before the end of the day. Just a bunch of old-world people. Casualties. Just numbers.

  Numbers for whom or what, 2-Bit couldn’t reason. He knew he had no head for accounting, just a heart for people. And if Jansen was using him and his crew for this shit, it was ending right then and there.

  “Ensign, give me the comm,” he said. “Set it to all-call.”

  “Okay, Captain. Go ahead.”

  “Crew of the Longhorn,” he said. His voice echoed all around him. Every beautiful eyeball on the bridge screwed his way.

  It’s only when love is tested that it matters.

  “You’ve always done as I’ve asked.” He felt a tear on his cheek. “And I’m forever grateful. Today, I gotta ask you the hardest thing I’ve ever asked. I’m askin’ you to stand by me.”

  He paused to swallow down the emotion that he was feeling. Wide eyes met his own. They were fixed on him. Inside, he smiled.

  “I’m relieving Rando Jansen from duty. I have reason to believe he’s – he’s unfit for command.” He wiped the sudden sweat from his brow. “We’re pulling the Longhorn back. Do not engage ModPol. I repeat: do not engage.”

  The weight of his body grew, and despite the fractional artificial gravity, he felt himself pulled down into his chair.

  “One last thing,” he said. “If anyone sees Jansen: stun the hell out of the motherfucker.”

  *

  “Half-Shot got clipped,” Toom-Toom said. He turned to Dava, his young face going pale. “Got it in the hand.”

  “Shit,” she whispered. Her best shot with a rifle, out of the fight. That made eleven of her people critically injured. “Get him back here.”

  She stood, looking at the makeshift map on the large screen in the center of the bridge. They had used the images taken when the black maria was approaching and landing to plot out the desert and the ark within. Since then, they’d used coordinated communications from the Shadowdowners in the field to try to track what points they held and the movements of the Misters.

  The Misters were all over the goddamn place. They weren’t well coordinated, which made them unpredictable. A discernible strategy of any kind would have been easier to defend against. As it was, they alternated between taking pot shots from a distance, to sending lightning strike teams into weak spots, to swarming at various locations of the ark itself. Dava’s people were burning themselves out trying to position for defense, especially anywhere away from the makeshift camp that the black maria served as.

  The black maria had been the most well-stocked vehicle, so Downers had to continuously make their way back to it for restocking of ammo and power. There had been two offensive spikes from the Misters directly against the maria, but they were easily turned back by the quad-barrel, plasma-powered, 30mm autocannon that Johnny Eyeball had bolted to the top of the transport. This had meant the Misters were more likely to come at the ark from other angles. They had too many vehicles and were too mobile.

  “How many confirmed ta
kedowns do we have?” Dava said.

  “Twenty-three,” Toom-Toom said after a moment to count. He looked up at her. “I think that means we’re winning.”

  “Only as long as we don’t run out of supplies,” Lucky said.

  “Right,” Dava said with a sigh. She didn’t say it aloud, but in a fight like this, she knew the first to go were often the weakest. Which meant they’d culled their enemy down to the most dangerous.

  “Dava,” Lucky said. “They’ve been trying to pick away at us, but we’re holding. Be ready for them to do something desperate.”

  The muted rumbling of the autocannon had been going in spurts for the better part of an hour. They all looked up at the ceiling as it became a steady, unbroken churn of anger. Were they making another go at the black maria?

  “Johnny,” she said into the open comms, knowing he wouldn’t respond. “You’re supposed to report back with their movements, dammit!”

  “Boss,” came another voice over the comm. “They’re coming at me! Trying to get to Door Five!”

  “That’s Wide Mouth,” Toom-Toom said.

  Dava was already out the door. She sprinted through the narrow passages of the transport, nearly colliding with Half-Shot on her way out, his right hand wrapped in a field bandage that oozed red.

  “I need your good hand,” she said, grabbing him by the arm. “Seven!” she called, seeing Half-Shot’s escort heading back to an ATV. “Come on, you’re with us!”

  The three of them jogged to the side of the ark and followed it toward the fore of the massive, still-smoking ship. From the center where the maria was planted, Door Five was halfway to the front of the ark. It had been one of the few hatches undamaged enough for Freezer to make any progress with. As they moved, she glanced back to see Eyeball firing away at a line of trucks on the opposite end.

  This may have been the only half-coordinated move of the night for the Misters. It appeared they were distracting the big gun on one side so they could send others at the ark. Their scouts must have spotted the opening and someone had cobbled together a plan.

  Dava found Wide Mouth crouched against the hull where a slight buckling of metal provided a thin but critical amount of coverage. He was firing his fat shotgun, failing to hit a trio of Misters crouched near Door Five that were covering each other by firing back. They must have overwhelmed the big man and sent him falling back looking for cover.

  Half-Shot dropped to the ground with his rifle. A pair of legs sprang out before the barrel touched the sand. He slid behind the propped gun and looked down the sights, his unbandaged hand taking the grip. A breath later, it popped to life. Five or six shots and the bodies of the Misters were twisting away at awkward angles.

  Wild shots rang out from further away. Shooters up on the dune just beyond the ark. They weren’t in a position to hit a damn thing, but she and her people couldn’t take much of a shot back. Dava decided they needed to make a move for the door and get inside. The narrow opening would make it hard to effectively dash over and duck through while under fire, but if they could get in, it would be a much easier position to defend from.

  The sun came out.

  Or so it seemed for a moment. A swath of sand about thirty meters across lit up all around Door Five from a massive spotlight that rose above the dune. Reflexively, they all ducked down; but they were far enough back to not get caught in the beam. It panned around, but didn’t stray far from the side of the ark.

  So much for her plan to move at the door. Without the cover of the dark – which was limited as it was, given the likelihood that the Misters had a few nightscopes – it was suicide.

  “Everyone, hold your fire,” she said in a low voice. She wanted to stop and listen. What was their plan?

  The potshots raining down on them slowed.

  “Maybe they’re short on nightscopes,” Seven-Pack whispered.

  It was a possibility. The tech was not cheap, especially on a backwater moon like Terroneous. It would explain the spotlight; they were using it to better see their target. What made the least sense was their actual intentions. It seemed like they wanted to board the ark, but with Shadowdown still holding positions around the vessel, what hope would a handful of Misters have by getting inside? Would they take nearly a thousand people hostage?

  “It’s only a single gun now,” Half-Shot said. Dava listened and realized what he meant. Each potshot sounded just like the last. The others in the group were on the move and had left one behind to continue the blind cover fire.

  She looked down at Half-Shot and his sniper rifle. “Wide Mouth, can you help him prop this up so he can get a shot at that spotlight?”

  “Sure, Boss. Not sure how Halfie’s gonna be able to see it.”

  “I’ve got filters on my scope,” Half-Shot said. “I’ll hit it.”

  “Good,” Dava said. “But wait for my signal. No voice – I’ll beep you. Seven, you’re with me.”

  She and Seven-Pack crab-walked into the darkness. They made a wide arc around the circle of light. She heard the clink of equipment and froze, putting a hand against Seven-Pack’s arm to still her.

  The hush of whispers. Clicking of guns, checking ammo. The brightness of the light made it impossible to see even silhouettes. She looked the other way, staring into the darkness, forcing her eyes to dilate. She held her breath.

  Seven-Pack tapped her on the elbow and she looked back, closing one eye and narrowing the other to a slit. Four figures stepped into the circle of light. One of them immediately bent down to the narrow half-opening of the door. Seven-Pack’s outstretched revolver tracked him.

  Dava signaled Half-Shot.

  The beep from his pad was as audible as a gunshot in the cold night, and all four Misters flinched, looking in the direction of the source. A second later, a true gunshot rang through the night and the world went dark.

  “Light ’em up,” she said softly.

  While Seven-Pack unloaded blindly, Dava sprinted further along their arc, counting her soldier’s shots. One, two, three. She pulled her heat goggles over her eyes. Four, Five. Unsheathed her blade and stepped toward the four glowing blobs.

  Six. The last of Seven-Pack’s rounds. Dava leapt forward.

  The one near the door was completely prone, two bright-red wounds glowing hot. The other three showed outstretched arms, hands glowing from hot weapons blazing blindly between the source of the continued beeping and the source of the high-powered revolver that had hit them from the side. One of the three was down on one knee, and she suspected he’d taken a hit.

  Dava went for the two standing. Slipped up to one and pulled the goggles from her eyes and down around her neck. Her dark-adjusted sight was better at finding the pale flesh of throats than the heat-vision was.

  The target was erratic, but her blade found home with a soft plunge that was shortly followed by a sticking resistance. The scream told her she’d missed the windpipe. The Mister had managed to unwittingly twist away at the right moment, which caused her blade to slide into the underside of his chin and catch on his jaw.

  It was an older blade, one she’d kept around for nostalgia; what it lacked in mechanicals or poisons, it made up for in length and sharpness. She twisted to dislodge it from the bone and thrusted with a step forward. The scream turned to a gurgle and then abruptly stopped as the blade bit deep into the brain.

  As the weight of the body pulled at Dava’s hand, she tried to twist the dagger free, but it was too far in. She let go, sensing another coming at her.

  She raised an arm to block an incoming blow from a short club, hoping to deflect it to her left so she could lock the attacker’s arm with her right. White fire blazed when the club hit her – stun club, she learned the hard way – and she staggered backwards, slipping on the sand and onto her back.

  The form loomed above her, club raised high. Reflexively, she wanted to grab a handful of sand to throw in his face, but in the dark she caught the glint of goggles protecting his eyes.

  Dava�
�s hand found the laser pistol holstered to her leg. As the club came down, she fired into those glinting goggles and the night lit up with the terrible smell of scorched face.

  She rose as the body fell. She stood above it as the head smoldered dimly crimson like the dying coals of a campfire. She could see now the Mister by the door was still and dead. The other was on both knees, tilted slightly to favor one thigh that oozed from a bullet wound. He tossed his gun and raised his hands.

  She stepped over his burning companion and leveled the gun at his head. “You’re dead weight.”

  “I surrender!” he said unnecessarily. “Please. I didn’t want to be a part of this stupid gang. They forced me in!”

  Dava hesitated. And hesitation begat hesitation: she wondered why she didn’t just end him. There was a time when she would have without question. It wasn’t pity – she could still kill those she pitied. In fact, almost all of her victims were pitiable at their end.

  “Your flesh is more valuable as reptile food,” she said, refocusing her aim. “I’m going to feed you to the desert.”

  “V-value!” he stuttered. “Information!”

  Her gun fell by millimeters. “Ten seconds.”

  “They’re going to blow up the ark!” he blurted. “They don’t want the Earthlings at all! L-look!” he said, pointing at the pack lying next to the Mister dead at the door. “The pack is all minis!”

  She frowned at him. “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, fear wavering his voice. “We don’t know the whole plan, just our orders.”

  Cell structure. Dava circled the quivering man slowly until she was close to the large bag. She bent at her knees, leveling the gun at him while reaching for the flap with her other hand. She glanced for only a second. Explosives, that was for sure. They could have been breach charges, but they were too large and glinted from metallic casing, rather than the dull matte of putty. Mini-nukes, if this Mister was telling the truth. A few to be placed around the inside of the ark, then remotely detonated. Just one was enough.

  “Why?” she said again, knowing there was no answer. She believed him when he said he didn’t know.