by Gun Brooke
“Boyoda.”
“I’m alone, mountainside.”
“Good. I have information to send you.” Andreia sounded matter-of-fact, but Roshan still held her breath for a few seconds. “Go ahead.”
“Transmitting.”
The communicator buzzed as data streamed into its memory. “It’s working fine,” Roshan said. “Are you…all right, Boyoda?”
“I’m fine.”
Too brief. The voice scrambler couldn’t hide that Andreia spoke in little more than a whisper. What the hell was going on at Andreia’s end? “Glad to hear it. Will you monitor us, or are we flying solo on this one?”
“I have to get out of here. I’m pushing it as it is.”
“Are you in danger?” Roshan couldn’t keep the worry from showing in her voice. “Damn it—”
“I said I’m fine. Transmission is finished. I’ll get back to you later. Go ahead with the mission. Boyoda out.”
The signal broke and Roshan grabbed the communicator, relieved to find the transmission was complete. She docked it with the computer console on her desk and waited for it to upload the information. “Come on!” she muttered, impatient and on edge. “What the hell has she found and why did it take her so long?”
The computer beeped twice, and as the screen filled with information, Roshan read with increasing dread. “Damn, Andreia, where did you go to find this?”
*
The dark, empty corridors were eerie, and Andreia sprinted toward the back door. Still wearing her dinner outfit, she balanced precariously on high-heel boots and half expected to nosedive to the floor the next time she had to round a corner. Andreia heard heavy steps behind her, feet clad in Onotharian combat boots, which sounded like at least two individuals. Glass doors with gold-imprinted names flashed by as she rounded another corner.
“Halt! Identify yourself!”
The command boomed through the empty building and, if anything, made Andreia run faster. If they caught her, the game would be over. She couldn’t explain being at headquarters, at least not for breaking into her father’s office and his computer. Because she was a public figure, the Onotharians would make an example of her punishment. And who knows if I’d crack under interrogation? I know what they can, and will, do.
Fear, not for herself, but for the people who relied on her, fueled her efforts. Andreia’s lungs burned from lack of oxygen, but she couldn’t afford to slow down. Sliding, she turned a corner and reached the back door. She tugged at it, only to find it locked. “Of course. They’ve called a lockdown,” she murmured. “H’rea deasav’h!” She couldn’t use her identification code to open it without exposing herself. Glancing around, she tried not to panic at the sound of the approaching guards and spotted a console in a niche next to the door. Wires led up the wall and disappeared into a narrow hatch. A chance—slim, but her only option, propelled her into action.
Andreia used the massive brass door handles for leverage as she pulled herself up by the thick wires. Still gasping for air, she gasped inaudibly when her left foot slipped and she nearly fell. When she found new footing, her lungs burned from trying to breathe as quietly as possible. Sweaty, her hands slipped when she pulled herself up. Eventually Andreia stood leaning toward the wires, outstretched in a forty-five degree angle, parallel to the wall, with both feet on the door handles. Carefully, she let go with one hand, balancing with all of her strength on her other arm. If her feet slipped now, she wouldn’t have time to make another attempt.
The steps were closer now. Andreia looked at the hatch, trying to judge on which side the hinges were located, but she had no more time. Desperate, she pushed her right arm up, slamming it into the hatch. Nothing. Her palm throbbed from the impact. Andreia tried again, ignoring the pain, and this time the hatch yielded and flipped up into the ventilation duct with a thud.
The guards were only seconds away, and Andreia knew her time was up. Desperate, she threw herself forward, pushing with all the strength she had left in her legs. The thin metal trim sliced into her palms, but she ground her teeth and refused to let go. While she still had momentum, she pushed up harder. If she failed, she would suffer an agony much worse than the pain in her hands.
Andreia ducked into the hatch and kicked one last time; the guards were almost there. When she rolled to the right and pushed at the hatch, it closed with a faint clunk, which she hoped was too quiet to alert them. She knew they carried scanners, but perhaps the thick metal encasing the ventilation shaft would throw them off for a while.
Squinting, Andreia examined her hands. Two deep cuts across her palms bled profusely. She hoped she hadn’t bled all over the trim and given herself away.
Andreia removed the belt to her caftan and managed to tear it in two and tie it around her hands, using her teeth to pull the knots tight. She heard the guards rustle around beneath her, calling out orders. Apparently they assumed she’d fled through the doors, because the sound of their steps faded, and she realized she had a new, and definitely improved, chance to escape.
Getting on her hands and knees she began to crawl. She had no idea where the ventilation duct led, but knew this was her best option. Angry at herself for the chances she’d taken tonight, putting herself in such danger, Andreia crept at an even pace and tried to make as little noise as possible. The shaft smelled of stale dust, and a steady stream of air quickly covered her in a thin layer of white and gray particles. She groaned at the escalating pain in her hands, since having to lean on them exacerbated the agony.
Andreia wasn’t sure how long she’d been in the tight space, crawling, sometimes worming her way through it. She passed several hatches, every ten, fifteen meters, but she was afraid to try them, certain that the guards had figured out by now how she’d eluded them.
The ventilation shaft took a ninety-degree turn, then ended, blocked by a thin grid. Andreia crawled up to it, ready to scuttle backward at the slightest sign of trouble. She heard no movement below her, in what looked like a storage room for an assorted collection of technical devices. She pushed at the grid, found it swung open effortlessly, and managed to turn around inside the shaft and push herself out, feet first. Landing on the floor on bent knees, she stood still, holding her breath as she tried to gauge if somebody had heard her.
When she detected nothing but silence, Andreia made a quick inventory of the room, but found nothing to use as a weapon. She looked down at herself and realized she couldn’t even try to leave the Onotharian headquarters like this. Her clothes dusty, bloodstained, and torn, she looked more like a choloz- mine worker than the most famous Onotharian on the planet. Quelling her small panic at the thought of being trapped, she spied what looked like a closet at the far end of the room. She rushed forward and opened it, and her heart pounded when she saw fabric. Long white workers’ coveralls, at least twenty of them, hung in front of her. She stopped herself from touching them with her bloodied hands, knowing she’d leave tell-tale signs. A new search of the closet produced thin-linen gloves, which she pulled on before removing the smallest coveralls from the hanger. Pulling them on, she found that they fit fairly well, and when she put her boots back on, the additional height helped shorten the coveralls’ long legs.
Caps, similar to the coveralls, sat on a shelf, and she tucked her hair, which was in complete disarray, into one of them as she put it on. There was no mirror, but Andreia knew nobody would mistake a worker dressed in white for Andreia M’Aldovar.
But how would she be able to sign out as herself when leaving. Granted, the guards rarely halted anyone using their biosignature on exit, but after last night’s events, they might. She toyed with the idea of sneaking back into her own office. It would give her an opportunity to clean up and change into some of the spare clothes she kept there. She could feign innocence and create a plausible reason for being there at this hour; she was infamous for her long hours and all-nighters. However, Andreia had no idea which of the many storerooms she was in. For her to wander around aimlessly on the e
xecutive floor dressed as a worker wasn’t advisable. Her only option was to leave the building and hope they didn’t double-check her.
Andreia decided to wait until the morning rush began, so she could blend with the crowd. Several thousand people worked in the vast building, and she had better hopes of escaping as one of the masses than alone in the night. Sitting down on a pile of small rugs, she pulled the cap down over her eyes and checked that she hadn’t bled through the gloves. Exhausted, Andreia closed her eyes.
*
“Paladin, to Jubinor. Come in.”
“Jubinor here.”
“How does it look at your end?” Roshan asked as she set the night-vision visor to compensate for the light of dawn. It was still dark enough to complete their mission, but too bright for full setting on the visor.
“They’re marching a second bunch of our people into the shuttle.”
“What type of shuttle?”
“A new sort of transport shuttle. I haven’t seen this particular model before.”
“Try to move in closer. I’ve dispatched two units of four to the power node station at the far north side of the compound. We need them to take out the force field before anything else can happen. Get back to me when you’re in place. Paladin out.”
Roshan looked at the sixteen men and women on both sides of her, ready to act on her command. They were part of what was left of her resistance cell, together with the eight she’d sent north and the twenty accompanying Jubinor. They were divided into units of four, which made it easier to move them up when required.
“Units five and six, I need you up by the tree line to lay down cover fire.”
“Affirmative, ma’am.” A young woman, a rookie, had proven herself strong during their last, disastrous mission. Without hesitation she now took control of the units Roshan sent to the tree line. Roshan felt a pang of remorse sear through her as she saw the group of young people ascend the ridge. She’d sent so many people toward an uncertain fate over the years; she ought to be numb by now. Roshan wasn’t certain if it was good or bad that she wasn’t.
“Jubinor to Paladin. Come in.”
The communicator broke through her thoughts, and she clutched it and responded.
“We’re in position. We have a good angle from here.” Jubinor said over the slight static.
“Remember, we’re not here to rescue anyone, just sabotage them.” They didn’t have the manpower to do that, and nowhere to place anyone they rescued at this point. They were here to take out whatever propulsion systems necessary to keep the Onotharians from deporting their comrades in arms to the asteroid prisons. It would at least slow things down.
“Got it, Paladin. Just give the word.” Jubinor sounded confident, and it strengthened Roshan to know he was leading the other team.
“As soon as units five and six are in position with a clear field of fire and the north team has taken out the station,” Roshan promised. “Over and out.”
She reset her visor to binocular mode and scanned the tree line for her team. So far she saw nothing to suggest anyone had entered from the woods covering the ridge. Roshan shivered from the crisp air of dawn, despite her full combat gear. Wearing padded black coveralls, reinforced to withstand plasma-pulse fire and piercing objects, she knew the shudders didn’t come merely from the cold air. Her thoughts returned to the last call she’d received from Andreia. Breathless and with a disturbing urgency, Andreia had breathed fear. Fear of what? Her own safety...or something else? Twenty years ago, Roshan would’ve been able to say for certain, just from listening to Andreia’s voice. Today, she didn’t know Andreia well; in fact, she was little more than a stranger.
“Units five and six, we’re in position, Paladin.”
“Excellent.” Roshan scanned the tree line again. “I can’t see you, though.”
“You’re not supposed to, ma’am.” The young woman was a little short of breath, but sounded confident.
Roshan had to smile. “Good point. Remember your orders. No more, no less. Wait for my command.” The rookies were always worrisome—some trigger-happy, some too hesitant. The young woman in charge of the tree line unit was obviously neither.
“Units one and two to Paladin.”
“Go ahead.”
“Node station out of commission, ma’am.”
Blaring alarms from the compound beneath them confirmed the report. “I can tell,” Roshan yelled into her communicator. They couldn’t wait any longer. “Paladin to all units. Commence operations!”
A range of voices confirmed her command, and within a second, plasma-pulse fire singed the air before striking the shuttle in front of the main structure. Loud explosions caused enough havoc for Roshan to motion her own team on. They ran, hiding behind the smoke generated by continuous fire from the tree-line units. They all wore sensor scramblers, illegally smuggled to Gantharat by one of Roshan’s ships and sewn into their coveralls to deflect any of the Onotharian soldiers’ sensors. This was one of the few instances that Roshan’s rebels were better equipped than the enemy.
The air filled with the typical smell of plasma-singed metal. The Onotharian soldiers returned fire, but apparently the smoke affected their aim since Roshan didn’t receive any information of casualties.
She ran across a clearing, her team taking up position behind her, and threw herself on the ground, just outside the barricades. Together with Timis, who huddled next to her, she mounted an over-the-shoulder cannon and armed it with a series of five nano-reduced plasma charges. They were the most accurate of the high-yield explosive projectiles available to the resistance, and Roshan hoped to take out the propulsion systems of the three shuttles.
“Paladin to Jubinor,” she yelled into the communicator to compensate for the fighting going on in front of them. “Come in!”
“Jubinor here.”
“Keep the smoke screens going! We can’t let them know exactly where our cannon’s located.”
“I hear you, Paladin. Laying down additional fire.”
“Good. I’ll launch within fifteen seconds. Over and out.”
Roshan pushed her visor up and blinked hard to clear her eyes of smoke. She flipped open the small screen attached to the cannon and punched in the search for her first target. The built-in sensor rapidly found a shuttle and homed in on its rear. Roshan knew the risk of accidentally killing some of their own people was great, but she wouldn’t allow the shuttles to take off if she could help it.
“All hands!” Roshan called out into her communicator. “Firing first charge!” She punched in the command and hid her face in the crease of her arm when the projectile hit its target. She looked up, but the thick smoke made it impossible to see anything.
“Paladin. A direct hit! Good job.” Jubinor’s voice crackled over the comm system.
“One down, two to go,” Roshan muttered and reset the screen. “All hands! Round two!”
One after another, the small but deadly cannon destroyed the rear end of every shuttle, during which time they took heavy fire.
After she ceased firing, Roshan flipped down her visor, grateful to feel clear oxygen clean out her lungs. She coughed a few times and was about to turn to the young man next to her, wanting to commend him on assisting her, when she felt him jerk, then slump to his side against her.
“Hey, you all right? Timis?” Frantically, Roshan tore her gloves off and felt for the pulse on his neck just below the visor. She thought she could feel faint and rapid pulsations, but wasn’t sure; she was so high on adrenalin since firing the cannon that her fingers trembled against Timis’s clammy, pale skin. When she withdrew her hand, it was covered in blue blood. He’d taken a hit to the side of his neck and was hemorrhaging badly. “Man down! I need help here!” she called out, and got the attention of the woman next to Timis. “He’s been hit. It’s bad.”
“Damn,” the woman cursed. “Gods of Gantharat, not another one.”
“I have to keep the fire off us so you can drag him up the slope. We’
re not going to make it otherwise.” Roshan hardened her heart and didn’t let doubt or worry infuse her voice. Routine set in and she fed off it, striving for composure.
“Yes, ma’am. Don’t worry. I’ve got him,” the woman said. Roshan had gone so far into battle mode that she didn’t have space left in her brain for her team member’s name. Sliding backward, the woman dragged Timis’s listless body with her.
Roshan felt her upper lip curl into a feral grin as she pulled the plasma-pulse rifle from her shoulder and pressed the sensor to turn it on, its hum reassuring. Flipping her visor open with her free hand, she got up on one knee and raised the weapon to her shoulder. She pressed her eye to the sight, where a small screen outlined the individual firing on her team, seeing him through the smoke whereas a humanoid eye couldn’t.
She pressed the release sensor repeatedly, taking out one Onotharian after another. Her hands seemed guided by someone else, someone with perfect aim and no hesitation. Roshan could only pray that most of the Gantharian rebels in the compound were well hidden, and she made a point of shooting only at the people in her sight who were positioned in a firing pose.
“Jubinor to Paladin. Confirming mission accomplished.”
“Affirmative, Jubinor. Keep going. I’ve got you covered. All teams, fall back. Fall back!”
The first rays of the sun were beginning to glimmer between the trees, and soon she and her team would be completely visible. Roshan fired until a hand on her shoulder made her jump.
“Come on, Paladin,” Jubinor said close to her ear. “You’ve destroyed or injured most of them. Let’s get out of here.”
Only then did Roshan notice that hardly any enemy response was coming from the compound.
“Damn,” she whispered and looked up at Jubinor. “If they’re all gone…we can save—”