Resurrection

by Jeffrey Burger

  Steele grabbed Vidas by his jacket, dragging him off his cot, “C’mon kid.”

  ■ ■ ■

  The ship seemed bigger on the inside than it looked from the outside. Of course, when you’re running for your life, it always seems like a long way. Steele was just hoping it wasn’t a frying pan into the fire deal. Because that would suck. And sucking was an understatement. “Who are you?”

  “Keep going,” waved the man, running backward, “no time for discussions.” The ship’s lighting came on to full illumination as the alert sounded, red lights strobing on the ceiling, “Prisoner escape in progress… prisoner escape in progress…”

  Steele’s ribs felt like he’d been stabbed and the pounding of running was an exercise in torture. He grit his teeth, each breath a new experience in agony. The bulkhead door ahead of him began to close, “They’re trying to lock us in!” he shouted, Vidas behind him, Two, covering the rear.

  Two keyed his mic, “Junction door…”

  “One. I’m on it!” Another dark figure in face paint appeared at the door, dropping his carbine into the track of the sliding doors just in time for the doors to meet the ends of the firearm, temporarily stopping their movement. He drew his sidearm as he waved them through the narrow opening. “Let’s go!”

  Shots coming from Cellblock B, behind them, splashed on the face of the bulkhead doors, prompting Two to spin back, taking cover on the secure side of the doors, firing back, flashes of blue lightning streaking down the corridor, the firearm making a sound like electric bees. The carbine jammed into the track of the doors began to buckle and he jumped up, “Go, go! We don’t want to be here when that power cell ruptures.”

  One waved them forward, “I’ve got Cellblock A locked off, let’s get to the shuttle!”

  The group of four raced past a security tower overlooking the landing bay, the bodies of several security agents scattered in and around the tower office. A mesh and steel bar gateway extended across two sets of stairs, one on each side of the tower, reaching to the landing deck. The left door stood open, a jagged hole and donut-sized scorch mark around the lock.

  “Are they dead?” inquired Jack.

  “Electric sleepy time,” shouted Two, slapping the side of his carbine.

  Steele expected the three flights of stairs to the deck to be a unique and new form of pain, but it wasn’t as bad as he anticipated.

  A four-seat Wasp shuttle sat on the deck, piloted, engines warm, the gull-wing front and back door standing open. The landing bay door was all the way up, a stasis field holding the atmosphere in.

  Like a crack of ball lightning, the tower and ceiling of the bay lit up in blue glittering light as the power cell in the Stunner carbine split open, allowing its full charge to escape and run rampant across every surface for a hundred feet.

  “Get in! Get in!” Bodily shoved through the rear door, face first, Steele tumbled into the Wasp, struggling to right himself and get into the seat. The interior was comparable to a four-seat automobile with bucket seats, without a lot of room to maneuver.

  One jumped into the front next to the pilot, flinging a cannister the size of a soda can out over his shoulder onto the deck, “Smoke out!” Gray-black clouds billowed out of the grenade, drifting across the deck behind the shuttle.

  Two jumped into the back next to Jack. “Sorry, kid, there’s only four seats…” Two reached up for the door handle.

  “No! Get in, Vidas! “motioned Jack.

  Bewildered, Vidas indicated the seating, “There’s no room…”

  “He’s not the mission,” Two shouted at Jack.

  Steele elbowed Two back and knocked his hand off the door handle, reaching across him, “Across our laps! C’mon Vidas!”

  Vidas reached for the door and raised his leg to climb in when he spun, pitching sideways, a spray of red appearing on the doorframe. Like hail, shots clattered against the shuttle’s hull. “They are attempting to close the bay door,” announced the pilot.

  Two reached up and grabbed the door handle, pulling the door down and slamming it tight, “Time to go!” Two saw the expression on the face of the man beside him, his demeanor softening, “Sorry, man. Really. Nothing we could have done - he was gone before he hit the floor…”

  The blue veil of the stasis field whipped past and it was dark in a blink as the pilot shoved the throttle. Once clear, the transport shrinking behind them, the shuttle rolled and the stars slid away to one side as the pilot set a new course.

  Concerned about pursuit, Steele looked back over his shoulder. Two patted his knee, “Not to worry, big guy, they have more pressing concerns than us…”

  “Like?”

  “A computer virus we loaded into their system from the guard tower. They won’t be able to control any of their propulsion, communications or weapons systems until they sanitize it. Assuming they can do it themselves.”

  Steele sat back and took a deep breath, “Nice. So, uh, at the risk of sounding ungrateful, which I’m totally not, who the hell are you people?”

  “Sam Daxe,” said the man sitting beside him, “Shadow Team Four. Retired of course. I believe you know, Andrea,” he indicated the pilot.

  “Hello Captain.”

  “And I believe you just might remember, Command Master Chief…”

  “Chief…” growled Steele slowly, his voice darkening, finally recognizing the profile in blackface camo.

  “Chief was Shadow Team Two…” continued Sam, ignoring Steele’s sudden change of demeanor.

  Steele leaned forward, gripping the back of the seats in front of him, the leather squeaking and deforming in the crush of his fingers. Having difficulty holding his temper, his voice turned to gravel, “Let me ask you a question, Chief… was this your plan all along?”

  Daryl Jolly wasn’t bothered by much, but he refused to look over his shoulder, wanting to avoid eye contact, the thought of the blackness he saw previously, chilling him even now. He cleared his throat, “Ahem. No. Um, not exactly, you see…”

  “You see,” interrupted Sam, slapping Jack on the knee to break the tension, “the Chief here, suffered from a severe case of what we call, lookback syndrome…”

  Steele’s gaze shifted to Sam Daxe, “Lookback syndrome?”

  “Yeah, yeah, when you do something stupid and you look back and go; damn, I can’t believe I did something that fucking stupid. Add a generous splash of guilt, stir in a helping of buyer’s remorse for making such a bonehead deal… and there you have it!”

  “Have what?”

  Sam grinned, “A freaking mess, I’ll tell you what.” He tapped the back of the seat, “But Ol’ Chief here, he’s not a bad guy, his integrity’s good, he just made a bad call is all. Nobody’s perfect, not even an angel… am I right? You understand… Once we made sense of who you really are, he realized getting you out was our only option.”

  “Who I really am,” Steele said deadpan.

  “A Knight’s Templar. A Guardian…” Sam lowered his voice, “you know…” He was really trying to refrain from saying the word he was thinking.

  “Of course,” nodded Jack, “a Knight’s Templar.”

  “So, we all hope you won’t hold it against him and we can put this behind us.”

  “We all?”

  “Your crew. There’s six of us.”

  “Huh. So how did you guys…”

  “Well, it’s a funny thing about prisons or prison ships, or even prisoner transport ships for that matter… everybody wants to break out. As it turns out, not too many people trying to break in.” Sam shrugged, “So, most of the security is geared to prevent people escaping, not the other way around. Andrea mixed in with the deck crew loading supply cargo and disappeared. Chief and I ditched some of their supplies and hid in the crates - they wheeled us right in. Then it was just a matter of waiting till they were far enough from the station to be isolated. Once they were, we made our move.” Sam dug into a gear pouch, “That reminds me, after we cleared their security tower, I l
ocated this…” he handed Jack a plastic bag containing his MOBIUS and two ITC cards. “Thought you might like them back.”

  “Yes, I would, thanks…” The whole thing was a bit puzzling to him and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it. On one hand, he was still angry with the Chief for selling him out, but on the other hand obviously grateful for them freeing him… he was torn between punching Chief in the mouth or patting him on the back. Maybe he could do both.

  Andrea indicated their current heading, “The Drake was far enough out that it would not be considered a threat. It ran a parallel course.” She checked her calculations. “We will rendezvous with it in ninety-six minutes…”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  MUERTO CANYON SILVER MINE, SANDORRA : POP TOPP

  The weathered, battered, hand-made sign standing in the rough scrub alongside of the dusty, two-lane road, read; Muerto Canyon Silv… the rest of the sign missing. Chase brought the rented truck to a crawl, the hum of the off-road tires dropping to a low growl.

  “Please tell me it’s not up that way…” commented Mercedes, looking up the dirt road on the right. “I don’t get a good feeling about this.”

  Chase wheeled the vehicle off into the dirt, pointing it up the rugged trail. “Well, it’s a mine, not a spa.” The rut-laden dirt road wound its way through hills and swales, disappearing into the mouth of a canyon in the distance, several miles away. “Looks like it snowed up here a little last night…”

  Mercedes examined the scattered traces of frosting, “Hard to believe the temperature difference between here and town.”

  “We’re three hours away and about forty-five-hundred feet higher here,” he replied, shifting to a lower gear. “By the way, did you bring all the documentation?”

  Mercedes looked at him sideways, “Pretty late to ask me that now, isn’t it?”

  He shrugged it off innocently, “I just now thought of it.” He glanced at her then back to the trail, wrestling with the wheel, the truck lurching and swaying.

  Mercedes grabbed onto the door handle, “Geez, take it easy, will you?”

  “Yeah, I’ll get right on that Princess… maybe get out and smooth that right up for you…” he joked sarcastically. “So, did you? Bring the documents?”

  “Yeees,” she sighed, exasperated.

  “See, I knew there was a reason I bought you along,” he chided.

  “Because without me you’d forget your own head?” she snapped back.

  “Funny,” he replied, deadpan. “But that only happened once - I’ve never forgotten it again…”

  ■ ■ ■

  Two steps from the truck and the wind sweeping down the canyon cut like a knife, their frosty exhales swept away in an instant. “Holy shit,” grumbled Chase, hiking up the collar of his leather coat. “I didn’t expect it to be this cold…”

  Mercedes glanced up at the grey sky, “I think it’s actually starting to snow.”

  “Weather can change fast up in the mountains,” commented Chase, steering her by the elbow toward the main building - a gray and blue modular structure with rounded corners and narrow horizontal windows.

  She nodded towards a network of tarpaulins, woven together as awnings and wind breaks near the canyon wall, “Mine entrance?”

  “That would be my guess…” he reached for the door’s control panel, mounted on a pedestal, hastily wrapped in clear plastic to protect it from the weather. The door slid open into the wall, protesting with a grinding squeal.

  “Hey! Close that freaking door!”

  Pausing just inside, the door closed lethargically behind them, fifteen pairs of eyes regarding them suspiciously. Dirty, unwashed, disheveled, the crew of the Muerto Canyon Silver Mine sat silently around the mess hall tables. Chase nodded an acknowledgement, “Hi guys…”

  “Who the hellion are you?” demanded the man at a table nearest to them.

  “We’re here to see the mine boss,” replied Mercedes.

  “That may be, but that doesn’t answer my question, now does it?” He rose, unfolding his bulk from his seat, standing a good five inches taller than Chase’s six-foot-three-inch frame. “Now how about you answer my question, mister. Unless your bitch speaks for you…” he stepped forward.

  Still clutching her long coat around her against the weather, Mercedes let it fall open and swept it back, clearing a path to draw the slug-thrower strapped to her thigh. Chase unzipped his leather coat and folded his arms across his chest, his right hand dipping inside, resting on the butt of the slug-thrower hanging in the shoulder holster under his left arm.

  Mercedes had her thumb tucked in her belt, her fingertips touching the front of her holster, her elbow holding her coat open. “I’m sorry. Maybe I didn’t make myself clear; we - are - here - to - see - the - mine - boss,” she said through clenched teeth. “Did I say that slow enough for you to understand?”

  Three more miners stood up, each and every one, larger and taller than Chase. What the fuck… “What is this, a giant convention?”

  An evil smirk crept across her face, “Mmm, big targets. Hard to miss… Y’know… it would be a shame if I had to kill one of our employees just to get a straight answer to a simple question,” she announced loudly. She watched the confused looks and the furtive glances.

  “I think you got their attention now, Mercy,” whispered Chase.

  “What the hellion you talking about, lady?”

  “What I’m talking about,” she grinned sardonically at the man, “is you work for us. We are the new owners of this mine.”

  “How did you get this mine? Who are you?”

  Mercedes eyes narrowed, “Are you the mine boss?”

  “No.”

  She shrugged, “Then I’m not at liberty to discuss it with you. We need to speak with the mine boss. And if he decides to tell you, then that’s on him.”

  The room got instantly noisy with crosstalk where nothing was discernable other than a dull roar.

  “Well that went well,” Chase shouted to Mercedes.

  A side door burst open, slamming against the wall, a slightly-built man framed in the doorway, “HEEEEEYYY!” he screamed, “I can hear you assholes all the way down in my office. What the hellion is going on in here?!” The room fell silent.

  The big man motioned toward Chase and Mercedes, “They say they’re the new owners… what’s going on Darcel?”

  “It’s none of your concern right now, so get back to work.”

  “Our time isn’t up yet…” the giant objected, sounding a little like a scolded child who’d been ordered to bed early.

  “It’s up, if I say it’s up,” Darcel pointed at the back entrance. “Now all of you, get back to work…” He waited until they filed out the door, a blast of icy air and floating snowflakes billowing in past them. Dressed in something more office fashionable than warm, he shivered and rubbed his arms, “Damn, it’s too early in the season for that,” he nodded toward the exit. He stuck his hand out, “Darcel, I’m the mine boss. Sorry about the boys, they can be a little territorial.” He waved them into the corridor and pointed them to the end office. “But they work hard and they’re loyal…”

  “When you say territorial,” began Chase, eyeing a stocked gun case in the corridor, “do you mean you’ve had trouble out here?”

  “Not lately. But it has happened. We mine precious metals… silver mostly,” he gestured to a sofa as they entered the office, “but we’ve also brought up gold, quartz and last year we hit a small vein of diamonds. It wasn’t very big, but then again, with diamonds, it doesn’t have to be…”

  “We weren’t aware of anything but the silver…”

  “Well, like I said, it’s primarily silver - about ninety percent.” He rubbed is hands together, “So, uh, I’m not going to ask about how much you paid for the mine - it’s none of my business… but any chance Mr. Stenich will get the mine back?”

  Mercedes pursed her lips and shook her head, “No. It’s done. We allowed him more than he owed to us and
thirty days to pay it off and buy it back…”

  “With interest I suppose?”

  “Of course. And he lost it all in three days…”

  “He was up at one point,” offered Chase. “Enough to pay us off, and have a little left over…”

  “And he blew it all,” sighed Darcel. “It’s sad…”

  “I take it this wasn’t the first time?” asked Mercedes.

  “Not even close.” The mine boss rubbed his hands together and steepled his fingers, “Stenich treated it like a cash machine. Now mind you, we’ve never missed payroll or equipment payouts, but sometimes it was close… I guess since he won it gambling, he figured it was his lucky charm. Although it wasn’t so lucky for the guy who lost it…”

  Mercedes leaned forward on the edge of her seat, “Who did he win it from?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It might…”

  Darcel shook his head… “Some guy, a high roller, supposed to have had several mines. I think he owned a casino too…”

  Chase and Mercedes exchanged a quick glance. “Think,” she urged, almost off the sofa in anticipation.

  Darcel stared at his desktop in thought, “Mmmm, don’t remember the first name… last name was Topper or something…”

  “Topps?!”

  “That might be it…”