by Jason LaPier
As if on cue, the intercom buzzed to life with Isella’s voice. “It’s working! The rads are spiking. The tubes are unlocking!”
Lealina and Dava both looked at Jax. Lealina’s face brightened with victory; it was a face he’d seen when they worked together before. Dava’s face looked closer to cracking. It was a mix of relief and joy and pain.
“We’re sealing up the room now,” Amar said. “We’ll be back in just a minute.”
Lealina threw her arms around Jax. “They’re going to be okay!”
Jax returned the embrace, but looked past her at Dava. “They’re going to be okay,” he echoed.
Dava’s face completed its confused cycle of emotions, ending in a twist into hard determination. “Shadowdown,” she said suddenly and loudly into her comm. “Everyone listen up. Defend Door Five on the ark. Fall back from all other positions.” She took a massive breath, her chest heaving. “Fenders are coming. Do not engage them. I repeat: do not engage the Fenders.”
She lowered her hand and glared at Jax and Lealina. “You motherfuckers better be right. If those Fenders come in here guns blazing, I’m making a white flag out of your pale-ass skin.”
*
On the way to the landing zone, Runstom had the dispatcher at MPD Command get a message to the ground forces. That he was coming in a wheeled rover. That it had a camera dome on top; not artillery. That he would flash his lights on approach so they would know it was him.
They barreled up to the rear side of the dropships, Granderson flashing the headlights nervously. There were five ships in all, and they formed a line that curved away from the battlezone. This allowed them to assemble from behind the protective hulls of the ships. Runstom and Granderson made a long arc in order to approach from the rear side.
The signaling-by-headlight seemed to work, because they weren’t immediately disintegrated on approach. The unit had already established makeshift watch duties and a bulky-armored Defender waved them to a stop.
“Stanford Runstom,” he said, transmitting an ident burst from his WrappiMate when the guard pointed at his arm.
“Clear,” the guard said. The voice came through a speaker on the front of the helmet. “Public relations, eh? This is a big moment for you, Mr. Runstom. Too soon for congratulations?”
“Yes,” Runstom said. “Can you send me the unit roster please?”
Runstom couldn’t see the Defender’s face due to the complete coverage of the helmet. He couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman. Whoever it was gave a pause at his request, then shrugged. Runstom’s WrappiMate beeped with the incoming data.
He scrolled through the list. Focused on officers. He knew none of them. Except one. Scrolled back. Yes. Major L. J. Oliver. Second-in-command. Captain Oliver had earned a promotion since he’d last seen her. Back on Vulca, moon to Sirius-5, where she’d led a trial unit of onsite Defenders.
He wasn’t sure if she would be glad to see him.
The data had included the ident of the sender, the guard whose faceless helmet glared at him. “Defender Polin,” Runstom said. “I need to speak with Major Oliver. It’s extremely urgent.”
Polin remained immobile for a moment, then shrugged, or at least came as close to shrugging as one could in such armor. “I’ll give her the message, but she’s busy with mission prep.”
“Just tell her it’s Stanford Runstom. Tell her she’ll remember me from Vulca.”
The Defender strolled back to their post. Runstom hoped that meant they had transmitted the message.
He looked out at the space created by the small arc of the five dropships. Men and women were in various stages of gearing up and collecting into formation. He guessed there were at least sixty Defenders, not including their commanders.
An unarmored figure approached.
“Is that Oliver?” Granderson said in a hushed voice. “I was expecting someone less … female.”
“Lucy Oliver,” Runstom said. He was also trying not to be distracted by the finely cut form.
“Well,” she said, presenting a broad smile as she came up to Runstom’s side of the rover. “Stan Runstom. Good to see you again. How’s Public Relations? Brought a camera to get some MPD footage?”
Runstom cleared his throat. “Um. Yes. It’s good to see you too, Major.” She was only wearing a light jacket and instead of a helmet, wore a head-wrap comm device. “Congratulations on the promotion.”
“Thank you. It came right after we last saw each other.”
“And how’s the arm?”
She raised it. Flexed it. Said nothing. Runstom thought it looked just fine.
He glanced over his shoulder at Granderson, then turned back to the door of the rover. Cracked it open and slid out onto the sand. Bounced once on his bad foot with a grimace.
“You’re nursing a war-wound of your own,” she said, lowering her voice to match their sudden proximity.
He shook his head and waved at the foot dismissively. “Major.” He pointed to her headset. Tipped his head in question.
Her smile shrunk away. Met his eyes. Removed the headset. “You got something to tell me, Stan?” she said softly.
“Listen, Major—”
“If we’re going off the record,” she said firmly, “you have to call me Lucy.”
Words caught in his throat. Her eyes snared his. He swallowed sandy air and continued. “Lucy. On Vulca. Remember how … off it was? You got the orders to do an unplanned scouting run that morning. The same morning that—”
“That Space Waste attacked.” Her lips pursed. “Yes, I remember. And I remember we were victorious.”
“Right.” When things don’t make sense, but they work anyway. Had she stopped questioning when she got a promotion? Or felt no other action than compliance was possible?
“How’s the search for home?” she said.
The sudden change of subject threw him. He traveled back to the last moment he’d seen her. This had been the subject they shared. No ground to go to. Lost, forever.
“Same as yours,” he said. A bold assumption, he knew.
She nodded. “So it is,” she said softly. “Stan? What the fuck are we doing in this desert on this independent moon?”
He took a deep breath. “It’s Vulca all over again, Lucy. An orchestrated event. Designed to provide MPD with an opportunity.”
“An opportunity to be the hero,” she said. “To save the day.”
“To land a contract.”
Now it was her turn for a deep breath. “Well.” She nodded at the distant popping noise of gunfire. It had been on the decline for the past hour, but was still ever-present. A shot or two. An answer. “There’s a threat. Innocent people are in danger.”
Runstom grunted. “It’s how they got put in danger that bothers me.”
A small explosion briefly lit the heavy night. For a singular flash, he could see her face. “I have to go, Stan.” She shifted, then paused. “What do you need?”
He stepped closer to her. “What’s the plan? The battle plan? Never mind, it doesn’t matter.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” she said. “It’s going to be a one-sided fight.”
“It’s a three-sided fight, Lucy.”
“Three? The Wasters—”
“They’ve split. There’s a contingent that’s defending the ark from the rest of them.” He paused, unsure of how to differentiate the forces. There were no uniforms.
“Defending the ark,” she said, eyes narrowing.
“Defending the Earthlings,” he said.
“Interesting.”
He read the bemusement on her face, felt it himself. It wasn’t like Wasters to protect lives. But somehow he believed it. These were Earth lives, and Dava was an Earthling.
“When you get to the ark, those defending forces … they’re going to lay down arms.”
Oliver huffed. “When squads of Defenders are coming at them, they’re going to drop their weapons?”
“It’s the only way out of this,” he s
aid. “Lucy – all I’m asking is that your people be on the lookout. Not everyone here is an enemy.”
“Alright, Stan,” she said, looking him in the eyes. There was a pause, only the space of a breath, but enough time for something to pass between them. She quirked a smile. “Since you asked nicely. I’ll make sure we don’t kill anyone that’s not trying to kill us.”
She reached out and grabbed his hand. Gave it a single pump. Then pulled away and replaced her headset.
“See you when it’s over,” he said. Allowing himself this tiny moment of connection.
She nodded. “When it’s over.”
*
Dava sprinted into the cabin of the maria. “Someone tell me those nukes are secure.”
“Secure, Boss.” Wide-Mouth was looming near the door, unsure of what to do with himself as Lucky and Toom-Toom busied themselves with the monitors all around them. “That evidence locker is as tight as it gets. Multiple layers of cages. No signal getting through that.”
“Good.” She wanted to breathe relief, but it wasn’t over yet. She stood over Lucky Jerk. “What’d I miss?”
“Dava,” he said, just noticing her there. “Everything is in pieces. I would kill for some sat-imagery right now. From the intel coming back from the Downers out there, this is the best picture we got.”
He pulled up the crude 2-D map that consisted of shapes and lines and numbers. From inside the maria, the entire battle had to be viewed this way: reports from the soldiers – both feeds from some helmet cams and manual reports – were their only data sources.
The green shapes were Shadowdown, and the red were the Misters. Dava pointed at the purple shapes that had appeared along the bottom of the screen. “Defenders?”
Lucky looked back at her. “How’d you know?” He turned back to the screen, not waiting for her answer. “They’re pushing straight through the middle, splitting the Misters in half.”
“That’s good,” she said. The Defenders had lit up the shadows with penetrating wide-spectrum lights beaming forth from the tops of their dropships. A column of sunshine through the middle of the dark desert.
“They’re coming directly at us,” he added.
“That’s less good,” Wide-Mouth commented from the back of the room.
“It also means we’re getting more pressure here and here,” Lucky said, pointing to the opposite ends of the large blue rectangle that represented the ark.
On cue, Half-Shot burst into the room. “Fore-side of the ark!” he spat. One hand against his side, red oozing through his jacket. “They’re coming down from the top of that dune again.”
“They have a squad pinned down up there,” Toom-Toom confirmed, one hand to his ear.
“Where’s Seven?” Dava said.
Half-Shot gestured by lifting his rifle with his other hand. “She went up.”
“Pop your scope,” she said, then turned to point at Wide-Mouth. “Get up to the autocannon on the roof. Keep them from advancing on the aft-side of the ark. Do not fire on the Fenders.”
“Um, okay,” Wide-Mouth said.
“Wide-Mouth, listen to me,” she said, stepping toward him as Half-Shot detached the scope from his rifle and handed it to her. “If you fire at the Fenders, they’ll bury us. Don’t even point that gun at anyone in purple armor.”
“Okay, Boss. I got it.”
Sixty seconds later, Dava caught up to Seven-Pack climbing the slope of the massive dune that rose up at the front-end of the ark. As she tapped the other woman and they nodded a silent greeting, she turned to face outward. The path of sunlight that drove away the shadow. Silhouettes of marching Fenders. Guided rockets periodically leaping forth and spiraling toward the vehicles that turned to face them, incinerating the hapless Misters within.
She turned away. She had no love for the bastards. But did she want them slaughtered? Did she want anyone slaughtered? This was war. She definitely had not wanted war. She just wanted to protect the Earth kin.
Seven-Pack poked her and she looked up. Over the ridge. A trio of Shadowdown grunts crouched against the mangled carcass of a large truck, turned onto one side. She recognized one of them as Bayonet Boy. A fourth body lay motionless just outside of cover. They were down in what looked like a pit in the sand. From off to Dava’s left, shots peppered down on them.
Through her borrowed scope, she could see five figures there, alternating their shots. They weren’t in proper cover or anything, they were just pressing an advantage of numbers. It almost seemed like they were toying with the trapped grunts.
“Watch my back,” she said to Seven-Pack.
She approached the Misters silently. Considered murdering them outright. There were five of them, but she was willing to bet they wouldn’t handle the sudden chaos created by a blade-wielding assassin at close range.
Another explosion thundered from the direction of the approaching Fenders, momentarily muting the bursts from the distant but constant autocannon atop the black maria. There would be enough death before the day was done.
“I was going to kill you.” The five of them spasmed at the sound of her voice, as though she’d electrocuted them. “But I thought I might give you the choice. Seeing as how you probably didn’t have a choice in coming here to begin with.”
“It’s Dava,” one of them whispered. Then he lowered his gun and spoke up. “I give up!”
While the rest were frozen, one of them growled. “Fuck you, assassin!” His gun rose up and with a crack, his head snapped back in a spray of blood.
“Anyone else?” Dava said as Seven-Pack stepped forward, smoke coiling from the barrel of her massive revolver.
The rest lowered their guns, glancing at each other to see who would be the first to drop their only defenses into the cold sand. The three Shadowdown grunts came out from hiding and signaled that they were okay.
“ModPol is coming,” Dava said to the Misters. “If you want to live, best lose the guns and keep the hands up.”
She left them, their confused whispers fading into the night, and she took her people back down the slope toward the ark. The sound of finely-tuned pulse rifles signaled the closing advance of the Defenders. Their bursts precise, coordinated. A piercing, rhythmic drumming that forced the pace of a battlefield previously driven by more chaotic demons.
Dava signaled to the rest of the Shadowdowners to retreat back to the black maria, instructing them to stow their most prized weapons. To carry the rest – the ineffective, the damaged, the just plain mediocre weapons – with them to the entrance to the ark at Door Five.
She left Lucky Jerk and Toom-Toom to stay locked in the black maria with the weapons. She wanted to have them launch, along with the other black maria on the opposite side of the ark, to take their only working ships away from the Defenders in case things went badly. But even launching the black marias could be misinterpreted as an aggressive act by any overzealous asshole with a hard-on for laying waste to the desert.
Her people deposited their most disposable weapons into a pile just outside Door Five. She had someone set up a portable lamp to rain sunlight in a glaring circle all around the pile. Then she put every last Shadowdowner on nurse duty, to aid the waking ark.
All that was left was someone to present their laid-down arms.
“I know you’re looking at this pile of weapons and thinking this is your big chance,” she said.
The captured Mister’s yellow skin looked pale in the light of the lamp. His wide eyes looked at the guns surrounding him like they were a swarm of poisonous reptiles. “Um.”
“Of course, they aren’t all loaded. So you’d have to take your chance with them. And of course, if you take any of them up, your choices are to come at my people, inside the ark. Or,” she said, pointing a blade out at the desert made darker by the local light source. “You take on a horde of Fenders.”
He raised his hands, and she wasn’t sure if it was voluntary or reflex. “What – what do you want me to do?”
“I wa
nt you to deliver a message, Mister – what is it?”
“Brook.”
“Mister Brook—”
“No,” he said, a small firmness emerging through the fear. “Just Brook.”
She cracked a smile: the defection was complete. “Brook. When the Fenders get here, you tell them we’ve laid down arms. We have no fight with them. We’re only here to protect the Earthlings,” she said, with a nod toward the ark. “And with the threat of violence gone, they can turn around and go home. The rest of this is Terroneous business.”
“Um, okay.”
“Say it just like that. You can remember all that, Brook?”
“Y-yeah, of course.”
“Good.” She looked him up and down, pausing for a moment. “If they don’t kill you, you can come inside and help.”
He looked at her, seemingly unsure of whether or not to curse her or thank her. “Won’t they try to arrest us?” he said when he found his voice again.
She shook her head. “This is ModPol Defense. They don’t have that kind of jurisdiction here. They can kill us, but if they let us live, we’re Terroneous’s problem.”
She left him there in the spotlight, surrounded by a ring of near-useless weaponry. Back in the tube chambers, she found Shadowdown had quickly taken to their new responsibilities of bringing people back to life after the longest journey of their lives since they entered this universe.
Nearby, Jax was giving directions to Wide-Mouth. The big man was actually listening to the gaunt B-fourean, following his gestures with intent and responding in tight nods. Then he went off to comply with the instructions he’d received.
Dava approached Jax. “How are they?”
“Oh,” he said. A small flinch that she suspected he would never lose. Even at his best, Jax had become accustomed to living with fear. “They’re good. Everyone is picking up the instructions pretty quickly.”
She scrunched her face at him. “I didn’t mean my crew.” Though she admitted internally that it was good to hear. “How are the Earthlings?”
“Oh, of course. They are mostly okay. Vital readouts show a survival rate of one hundred percent. But I’ve never seen this kind of Xarp sickness.”