Resurrection

by Jeffrey Burger

  Brian paused in the doorway of the tower, touched his earpiece and keyed his mic, “Are you sure of that pattern, Lieutenant?”

  “Affirmative, Commander.”

  “Lieutenant, that is an Earth signal called Morse Code, the message is a repeating SOS distress code…”

  “SOS?”

  “Save Our Ship, Lieutenant. And it’s a pretty solid indication our package is the originator of that signal. Have the team search the area for the package and recover it. Please ask them to use all due caution, we don’t want any mistakes.”

  “Aye, Sir.”

  ■ ■ ■

  Dropping to a knee at the top of the Raven’s ramp, the team leader activated his comm mic, “Security Team One to the bridge; Lieutenant, we have the sound of small arms fire in the direction of the front gate…”

  “Did you say gunfire, Marine? Please confirm.”

  He sighted through his rifle scope, the three other members of his team doing the same, scanning the area for possible threats. “Affirmative, Lieutenant. Definite gunfire. That organized chaos with the trucks at the front gate has turned into a full blown shitfest, there’s guys running all over the place…”

  ■ ■ ■

  Raulya palmed the alert button on the command console, “Yellow alert people,” she announced, yellow lights flashing throughout the ship. Fearing subterfuge or a possible diversion, she decided not to take any chances, keying her comm, “Gunners watch your quadrants. Raven to Team Three, get the Commander back here, immediately. Team One, move out to cover the Commander and Team Three. Team Two, cease inspection and move to the ramp.”

  Independent of the turrets which stayed immobile, the gunners used camera systems to observe, scan and magnify anything around the ship, maintaining full awareness and readiness.

  Fingers dancing across her command console, the keys chirping, Raulya called up a zoom of the forward cameras on the big screen to see if there was anything visible. The men who had been conducting inspections on the trucks entering and leaving the space port had all but abandoned their duties. “Raven to the Reaper…”

  ■ ■ ■

  Hovering at fifty-feet above the jungle floor just outside the electrified fence of the Byas-Kuyol landing field, the jungle canopy extended far above the Reaper’s position. The soft blue glow of the antigravity would be the only telltale sign of its presence, if anyone could actually see through the dense undergrowth of the jungle. As it was, in full darkness with the ARC system turned off, it was Lisa’s only way of seeing the outer edges of her ship - its dark shape blotting out most of the light below, giving Lisa a silhouette for reference. She glanced out over her forward canards, first on one side then the other at the glider monkeys perched on them, casually regarding her through the cockpit canopy. Well isn’t this special…

  Lisa’s headset chirped indicating an incoming comm, “Raven to the Reaper, do you have eyes on the gate?”

  “So we’re on open comm now?” she asked Draza Mac. “We’re not even trying to be stealthy?” She keyed her comm, “Negative Raven, we’re altitude deficient, too much jungle…”

  “And we’re busy entertaining the Mon-Key family,” joked the Marine.

  “Ssshhh!!”

  “We need your eyes, Reaper, we have detected small-arms fire near the gate. We are pulling the Commander and teams back to the Raven until we’re clear…”

  “Reaper, copy.” Lisa gingerly twisted the antigravity actuator, taking the Reaper out of altitude hold, ascending gently. “Watch the right, I’ve got the left.” She eased past overhanging branches and vines.

  “Got it.”

  “Dammit Jack,” she breathed.

  “Why do you assume it’s your brother?” he asked.

  “When is it ever not my brother?”

  Draza Mac nodded inside his helmet, “True. He does have a certain knack for finding trouble…”

  “Ya’ think? He’s like the damn King of Chaos…”

  He tapped on the back of her seat, “Overhang, slide left.”

  “Sliding left.” She edged the stick, angling around obstructions, tapping on her rudder pedals to move the tail, maneuvering jets nudging the Reaper to her commands.

  “What about our hitch hikers here?”

  “They’re not going to like this… activating ARC,” she flipped the switches, the system that had been sitting on standby quickly initiating, the skin of the ship smoothly changing from solid to transparent as she cleared the trees.

  “Whups, yep, that did it… hey, look at that, they fly!”

  “This side too,” she noted, “interesting…”

  “We’re out - we’re clear, Skipper.”

  Lisa nudged the throttle, “Alright, let’s go see what kind of mayhem my brother stirred up this time…”

  ■ ■ ■

  Darkness was a double-edged sword; if he couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see him - but of course, the flip side of that was the whole getting lost in the dark thing. He could only hope if he got lost, they couldn’t find him either.

  Jack figured on having to lose one or two pursuers, maybe three… but somehow it felt like he was trying to escape an entire crowd. A crowd that kept growing in number. The space between the buildings was about as narrow as he could fit into and he was grateful for a moment to catch his breath in the inky darkness. The space was damp, musty, the air tasting like iron rust and urban decay. He couldn’t stay there for long, he had to get back to Rikit’s apartment - but he could ill-afford to lead anyone in that direction. The problem was, he was less and less sure which way that was.

  As much as he wanted to get to the Byas-Kuyol tower, it was going to have to wait another night, it was a complete hornet’s nest.

  The question that was nagging at him was, why there seemed to be so much scrutiny in the area, tonight of all nights, when it was all but deserted the night he and Rikit used the tower’s equipment to send out an emergency signal? Were they actually looking for him, or was he just being paranoid? And if they were, how would they know when and where to look for him? Unless one of the control tower’s traffic controllers decided it was financially beneficial to share the information of his visit. The very thought of it made his stomach roll because it seemed to be the most logical assumption. If that were true, he was going to have a hell of a time getting to a ship even if he saw it land… One problem at a time, he had to get moving again.

  He worked his way to the back, away from the street, sliding out from between the buildings, the twin moons providing him enough light to see. Turning right, he wanted to parallel the main street opting to stay in shadows of the dense maze of the neighborhood. It didn’t take him long to realize true parallel wasn’t possible without some application of parkour. Hitting his second dead-end, he jumped a wall, trotting down a slope that wrapped around a small courtyard where he walked along the top of a wall, the terrace sloping away from it, till he reached a corner, having to drop down on the other side so he could maintain his view of the main street, landing in an alley of sorts. Or maybe it was just a narrow gravel street…

  Soft light spilled out across the gravel from what looked to be a garden on his left and Jack did his best to soften his steps, confining himself to moving through the shadows on the opposite side of the alley, away from the voices that filtered through the leaves of the hedgerow that bordered the garden.

  “Who dat?”

  “Somebody out dere?”

  Jack froze in the darkness, holding his breath, confident he was not visible; waiting. Nobody out here. Just us cats. Go back to your booze and cigars…

  Nearly parallel from the garden’s iron gate, Jack could hear the hinges protest with a squeal as it swung open, a stocky man pushing it open, his silhouette clearly visible, what looked to be a firearm in his left hand. Steele tried to shrink deeper into the shadows, but he was as deep as he could get and dared not move. To his horror, the man switched on a handheld light and swept the alley, the beam of light moving in
his direction.

  “See anything?” called a voice from the garden.

  “Nothing out he…” The beam of light lazily crossed Jack before snapping back, “Hey you! Watchu’ doin’ out here?!”

  “Who out dere?” called the voice from the garden again.

  Jack had already leaned into a sprint, his long legs pumping, gravel scattering as he got up to speed, running flat out, the man calling after him, “Hey boy, you in the wrong neighborhood…”

  The rest of it dropped away, drowned out by his boots pounding through the alley, his heart hammering in his ears. The distinct pop coming from behind him caught his attention, sparks and a defined pockmark appearing in the masonry of the building on his right, exploding in dust and miniature fragments - pelting him as he ran past. He cut hard left, another pop and another pockmark farther forward, another shower of sparks and grit.

  There were at least three of them back there, chasing him, taking pot-shots… predators on the chase. Steele cut hard right then darted left around the corner of the next building, sliding to a stop as soon as he was out of sight. It was not a place to make a stand, it was a place to discourage further pursuit. He dropped to a knee as the slug-thrower came cleanly out of its holster. Switching to a left-hand grip, he leaned out, away from the corner just enough to clear the firearm and get a sight picture, three men charging in his direction, a fourth trailing a good distance behind. Two times the slug-thrower barked, unhurried shots, echoing across the alley. The first man went down face-first with a scream, the slug crashing through his hip, the second round passing between the two men behind him who tromped to a stop near their fallen friend. “That was a mistake, boy! You’re a dead man! You hear me?! DEAD!” A slurry of rounds, the pops echoing back and forth between the buildings flew past, some hitting the corner of the building. Steele waited for a pause and stuck the slug-thrower around the corner, firing blind, sending several more shots up the alley. There was another scream, muffled, but Steele was already on his feet, sprinting away, re-holstering as he ran.

  Headlights coming toward him made him cut right, vaulting a chest-high stone wall, cutting through what looked to be a yard of sorts. Shouts and footfalls seemed to follow him. Cutting through a stand of scrappy bushes he crossed an alley through a group of people milling about, sending them scattering. Gathering their wits, they gave chase - if for no other reason than the excitement of the chase.

  He was in the maze now; turning left, turning right, running between buildings, through yards, across streets, down alleys - and there were people everywhere, lights, cars; more activity than he’d seen on the main street during the daytime. He had no idea where he was, where he was heading, or where he could hide. The boots were ill-fitting, they weren’t made for running, he was sore, exhausted and dehydrated. Desperation was starting to wash over him as he looked for something familiar - anything. He couldn’t even tell where the main street was anymore. Everything looked the same. It was exactly what Rikit had warned him about.

  Lightheaded, huffing, heart pounding in his ears, Jack took a moment to look for a taller building, anything with two or three floors - if he could get higher, he might spot something identifiable, something that could help him get back on track…

  ■ ■ ■

  Jack Steele collapsed on the roof of the two-story building, laying on his back staring at the stars, defeated. Darkness stretched in all directions from his vantage point, scattered bits of light punctuating the darkness, cars roaming the neighborhoods - presumably looking for him. It all looked the same from up there, he couldn’t even see the Byas-Kuyol control tower, maybe it wasn’t lit? If he had any moisture left in his body he probably would have cried.

  To complicate things, humidity had doubled and tripled, a fog dropping down and filling lower areas, effectively blurring things in a panoramic way, preventing any identifiable detail.

  Steele sat up and took a deep breath, the humid air filling his lungs, carrying with it a scent of trees, the first time he could remember the city air not being objectionable. It made him think of Rikit’s farm. “Get off your ass,” he muttered, “you’re not accomplishing anything feeling sorry for yourself.” He rolled over on his hands and knees, standing up, his legs protesting. “You have a wife and son you need to get back to, and you’re going to kill whomever stands in your way, to get there…”

  He drew the slug-thrower from its holster and swapped the magazine for a full one, putting the partially depleted one in the empty mag pouch. Sliding the gun back into its holster he headed for the roof ladder.

  ■ ■ ■

  It wasn’t more than two-minutes back on the ground when the headlights of a car rushed up behind Jack, sending him into a sprint, shouts following him as he cut left between buildings, plunging him into darkness. Legs on fire, his feet pounded across the ground, into an open space between shantys, over a fence, across a street in front of a vehicle full of men racing in his direction, diving over a low crude stone wall head first, slugs smacking stone, fragmenting with sparks, stone and metal tearing through his pants. He summersaulted and rolled to his feet, ignoring the fresh pain in his calves and sprinted again. On the street behind him, the vehicle slid to a stop, men pouring out, shouts coming from multiple directions. He was in a pocket and he needed to get out before they closed him in. Crossing a pathway-sized alley, he caught movement on both sides of his peripheral vision before dashing between tenements, cutting right at the closest opening, a round clanging against the edge of the metal building next to him.

  “Over here! Over here! Somebody go around to the other side! We’ve got him!”

  Steele looked back over his shoulder as he pushed on, his body screaming in pain, legs failing him, his lungs scorched. His head whipped back around at the sound of footfalls in front of him and he fought to maintain his footing as he slid to a stop on the wet soil the fog hanging low, knee-deep, a large figure, square in the center of the passageway blocking his escape. A mere ten-feet apart, his blood ran cold, the man in mercenary armor held a long-gun, leveled at him in a low ready position.

  Jack slowly raised his hands, his legs so fatigued they failed, his knees buckling, dropping him to one then both knees, leaving him leaning against the rough-cut brick wall to his left for support. “Don’t shoot - don’t shoot…” he panted.

  “Sons of Liberty…” The man’s voice was deep, low, hushed. Despite his helmet, his voice was clear, the bottom of his face exposed.

  Steele was having a hard time holding his hands up, his body giving up on him. His mind was almost as exhausted as his body and he blinked hard, his head tilting to one side. “What?” he asked through huffs, his oxygen-starved body laboring to suck enough of it in.

  “We are; the Sons - of - Liberty,” the man repeated slowly, deliberately. “Who-are-you?” he prompted.

  Steele’s mind rolled, rummaging through data, information, facts and trivia… the key to the code suddenly popping into his head, clear as a bell, “Paul Revere! Paul Revere!”

  The mercenary’s free hand touched the side of his helmet, “Red One, Paul Revere confirmed. Repeat, confirmed. Extracting package.” The mercenary jumped forward, covering the distance on one stride, pushing Jack behind him as two men rounded the corner entering the end of the passageway Steele had entered from. A sudden exchange of gunfire sent rounds ricocheting off the buildings, the mercenary’s armor deflecting the slugs as his carbine fired full-auto, a pulsing whine that seemed sharp in the confines of the passageway, the fog illuminated with strobing neon blue lightning that cut the men in half, abruptly ending the fight.

  “Red One, two tangos down. Moving Paul Revere to extraction. Have Doc ready.”

  “Red Two, I’ve got the back door, you hit?”

  “Maybe. I think my armor caught most of it. But the package might need some attention.” The mercenary casually slung the carbine over his shoulder before hooking his hand under Steele’s armpit, hauling him, none too gently, up off the ground, “
Up you go.” Drawing a sidearm, he nudged Jack ahead, controlling him by the grip under his arm, offering some support while checking the passageway over his shoulder.

  “Red Two, I copy that, I’m heading your way.”

  “Understood. Red One to Red Three, give me a sitrep.”

  “Red Three, on overwatch. We have incoming hostiles to the extraction point…”

  Red One cursed under his breath, “Red Three, you make the call.”

  “Red Three, copy that. We’re going big, Red One …”

  ■ ■ ■

  Red Two met Red One and Jack Steele at an alley that intersected the passageway, separating buildings that looked like shanty tenements. He stepped in and picked Steele up in the same manner as his teammate, leaving Jack pedaling weakly, hanging between them as they hauled him along. Red Two maintained his carbine, wielding it one-handed, tethered by its sling to a hardpoint on his armor. They didn’t run but they hustled, a brisk pace, the mercenaries leading and clearing any area of concern by gunpoint.

  A group of people approaching on the left froze when barrel-swept by Red Two’s carbine. Seeing their response, he held fire, watching intently as they finally broke and ran en masse. “Clear…”

  Red One could see a dim glow on the main street ahead, knowing they were nearing the extraction point, “Red Three - what’s the sitr…”

  “Stand by, Red One - you might want to duck and cover…”

  Partially obscured by short buildings, the nose of a ship appeared from the left, like magic, materializing like the head of a dragon, chilling Steele even as it breathed fire, roaring with a chain-like metallic sound. To the right, somewhere up the street, a flash accompanied by a thunderous boom so loud it shook the ground, sent flaming pieces arcing through the air, fiery bits and embers drifting lazily down. The dragon’s head rose up and disappeared, vanishing into thin air.