by Lucas Bale
‘We can do that from one of the transmitters we placed on the ridges. We get the civilians safe, then you and I can make the climbs.’
‘The APT then.’
‘We can’t leave them defenceless,’ Carrel said, turning back to the huddled mass of silent townsfolk. Few had spoken since they’d left the town, although Neilssen had noticed that some had begun to cough. Now they stood wordlessly, shoulders hanging, faces drawn. ‘Peacekeepers will soon be in this sector,’ Carrel continued. ‘If they are found—’
‘Yes. The only option is to take them with us.’
‘It makes things complicated.’
‘They need to learn to fight. They won’t survive this without the resolve to defend themselves.’
‘They’re cold, hungry,’ Carrel said. ‘Hardly in any state to take on Peacekeepers. Let alone what may come from those ships.’
Neilssen was firm. ‘Then the sooner we reach the APT and get them properly clothed, armed and fed, the sooner they’ll be able to fight back.’
‘I don’t need to say that it’s a tactical problem. Low down, in a valley. Surrounded by forest and half into the river. With no proximity scanners—’
‘It presents challenges.’
‘An understatement.’
‘Could any of the platoon have survived the crash?’ Neilssen asked.
‘With their armour on, it’s possible.’
‘Nothing from Eldridge?’
‘No.’
‘Then we separate into two groups,’ Neilssen said. ‘Hobbes and his squad will protect the civilians. We will advance to the ridge overlooking the valley and recon from there.’
He was abruptly aware of a child standing beside him. How it had come to be there, he didn’t know. He looked down and regarded the grubby face that stared back up at him. It was a girl’s face beneath a mess of curls. There were smeared tracks in the dirt on the cheeks and the eyes were rimmed in dark pink. Eyes wide with fear. He indicated with one hand for the child to be quiet, then looked away and continued to watch the battle in the sky. More gunships fell. More rail gun rounds were sucked around the hull of the huge ship and tossed away.
The child reached for his hand and wrapped its small fingers around his. He felt the soft pressure of her grip squeezing through the lightly armoured fabric of his suit. He nodded slowly, not knowing what else to do. Then he took his hand away and replaced it on his weapon.
‘Take her back to the others,’ he said.
Carrel took the child’s hand and walked with her. Neilssen watched the smaller craft disappear behind the mountains. Soon Sigma would be fighting on the ground. Perhaps there, they might even the odds a little. He doubted it.
‘Dayton.’
She looked up and came over to him. Her sniper rifle was still in her hands.
‘I want you in position on the other side of the valley. You see anyone or anything, you take it out. Stay in comms.’
She nodded. There was no hesitation. She turned away and replaced her helmet. Within seconds, she had evaporated into the shadows of the forest.
He gazed after her. Did she truly believe, as he did? Or was she simply conditioned to follow his command? She’s here, he told himself. Fighting. She understands. She believes. You have to trust.
Dayton’s voice came over the comms. ‘Something’s coming along the river. I can’t make it out yet, but it’s big and it’s really moving.’
‘Air or ground assault?’
‘Ground, I’d say.’
‘How long, Dayton?’
‘Two minutes and it’ll be on me. I can take a shot, but if it’s armoured, I don’t know if my rounds will penetrate—’
Neilssen glanced back to the wreckage of the APT. Hobbes and the rest of his squad were handing out packs and light weapons to the civilians. Most had already pulled on coats.
‘Egress immediately. Drop back to the APT.’
‘En route now.’
‘Hobbes, get them moving. There’s no time to take anything else.’
‘What about our own?’ Hobbes asked.
Neilssen shook his head. It had never been about honour or code—that wasn’t why Hobbes had asked. Peacekeepers never left their own behind because the technology they carried, implanted within them and inside their armoured suits, was too valuable. Yet Neilssen felt a rush of sadness at their death, at leaving their bodies to whatever was coming for them.
But there was no time.
He turned to Carrel. ‘Set charges on the drives. Two-minute timer. Then we go.’
Carrel nodded. He disappeared into the APT, towards the armoury.
Dayton came sprinting through the trees. ‘It can’t be far behind me. It was moving fast.’
‘Hobbes—’
‘We’re ready to go,’ Hobbes replied.
Carrel appeared through the personnel door of the APT and said, ‘Charges set.’
‘Take them,’ Neilssen said. ‘I’ll catch up.’
Carrel’s eyes narrowed. He regarded Neilssen carefully. His expression was dark. ‘It’s no good plan to stay.’
‘We need to see what we’re dealing with,’ he said. ‘We need to know something. Anything.’
‘Then I’ll go.’
‘Stay with them. Protect them. They’re the mission.’
Carrel hesitated, then nodded.
Neilssen watched them go for a moment, then turned away and ran through the trees to the bank of the river. He knelt there, his heavy rifle resting on a knee, and waited.
It hove into view from beyond the bend in the river. Sleek and dark, an armoured beast hovering above the river, kicking up a squall in its wake. A haze gathered beneath it, like the shimmering air in the heat of a flame. Weapons systems extended from a low turret on top, but he had no way of knowing what they were until they were engaged.
It, whatever it was, slowed as it approached the wreckage of the APT and pulled alongside. Then it hung still. Wind and spray curled around it, hissing amid intense downdraft heat. Neilssen watched, but there was no movement to be seen. No troops emerged, and the turret remained still. There was no hint as to what it might be doing.
The seconds ticked away on the timer in his peripheral vision. He couldn’t wait any longer. He turned away and began to sprint through the forest. Perhaps his movement gave him away, or perhaps it had always known he was there and only now considered him a threat, but the forest lit up abruptly.
Blue-white streaks cut through the foliage around him. An intense cry came with them, like a stricken animal howling. He ignored it and ran, ducking low even though he knew it would make no difference. Chance. That was all it was now—pure, ridden luck.
Trees splintered, scattering shards of bark and sapwood over him. The air reeked of burning. Still he ran, jumping over fallen trunks, punching through vines and branches with his rifle. There was no cover, nothing to protect him. Only distance.
Neilssen heard the explosion, then felt the ground shudder a half second later. He felt the air waver as the shock wave surged through the forest. The firing stopped, a moment of quiet in the chaos, but he didn’t pause. Didn’t stop to see how effective the explosion had been. What damage it might have caused. Instead he seized the chance and kept running.
By the time he caught up with them, they were already a good way ahead. Hobbes and Carrel kept the townsfolk moving quickly, reminding them of the urgency, even though they were clearly exhausted. Dayton had taken a line away from them, covering them with her sniper rifle. The rest of the squad hung back, taking up positions at the rear.
Soon the forest gave way to barren steppes—tall, ochre grass now long gone, replaced with dirt hardened by glistening hoarfrost. Beyond them lay the mountains. The wind tore at the weary townsfolk as they trudged, and many stumbled on the rough trail. Neilssen noted with some satisfaction that the members of his squad stopped to help them along. It was happening, he realised. They were changing, just as he and Carrel had.
Eventually, when he was
satisfied he had found the place he was looking for, Neilssen stopped them.
The cave was cold but dry. Airflow within allowed smoke from fires to dissipate. It was deep enough that they could escape the wind chill. High enough that stalactites gave them room to move around. Secluded enough that they might not be found.
‘They’re safe,’ Carrel said. ‘For now. How long that can last, I don’t know. We have some provisions, but they won’t last forever. Winter could last many months more. Some are sick, and we don’t know why. We don’t have any medicine beyond basic military meds.’
‘I know.’
‘Have we saved them from one death only to lead them to another?’
Neilssen didn’t answer. He looked at the townsfolk as they worked to set up places to sleep, laid small fires. Comforted each other. The child watched him as he regarded them. Studied him as much as he studied them. Surviving, he thought. That’s all they care about now. That’s what they’re doing. As long as they’re alive, they have hope.
‘Evart,’ Carrel said quietly. Neilssen felt the man’s hand on his arm. ‘What’s our next move?’
Neilssen turned. ‘First we set up an open transmission line to Orchid,’ he replied. ‘Something we can attach to the WTP data stream already in place.’
‘Then?’
‘We’re reconnaissance,’ Neilssen replied. ‘We do our jobs. We watch and learn. Gather intelligence. We work out what it is we have to fight. We find their strengths and weaknesses. We survive. Then we leave this planet behind.’
C H A P T E R 55
WEAVER WOKE to a squat, serious woman who regarded him through hooded eyes. Through the fugue of stim-dampened pain and exhaustion, it was a half second before he realised who she was: his grey-haired host at the theatre. The chary follower of the satyagraha, for whatever that was worth.
He took in his surroundings automatically then: a dimly lit room with rough-hewn stone walls. The air was cool. From the muted echo and the faint smell of damp, he thought he might be underground. They were alone.
When his eyes fell back on her, when he saw her watching him, he had a jarring flare of memory: Peacekeepers crashing through the door of her theatre, projectiles snapping through the willowy body of a girl as she fled along the walkway. He felt a stab of pain in his chest and tried to push it away. You can’t hide from the things you’ve done.
‘I had an ugly feeling I might see you again,’ the woman said. She studied him through flinty eyes that held no sympathy. He supposed he didn’t ask for any, nor did he think he much deserved it. ‘You’ve lost a lot of blood. Were it not for your implant regulating that blood loss, you might easily have died.’
‘It isn’t the first time.’ His voice was harsh and raw, quiet too, barely above a whisper. He tried to move, but his muscles were weak. His bones ached.
And he was tied down.
‘No, I suppose not,’ she said. ‘I warned you what I would do if your actions threatened my people.’
‘You didn’t do much,’ he said. ‘I’m still alive.’
A fleeting wave of anger crossed her face; then it was gone. She didn’t reply.
Weaver relaxed his body, but inside he was tense and raging. ‘What happened wasn’t my intention. I was deceived. Those people weren’t meant to die, and neither were yours.’ Then, after a pause: ‘I saw them take the theatre. I’m sorry.’
‘At least you have the decency to say that.’
‘Handing me over to the Quorum is not going to protect your people.’
‘But you think harbouring you here is?’ she said, raising her eyebrows. ‘Concealing an insurgent—you consider that to be good for my people?’
‘What is it you want? You didn’t come here to taunt me.’
She held his gaze. ‘I can get you away from Theia.’
Weaver smiled thinly. ‘But you want something in exchange.’ It must have killed her to want or need anything from him.
‘What do you really intend to do when you find the privateering company?’ She canted her head as she regarded him.
Weaver snorted. ‘Elias told you. He’s slack-lipped for a spy.’
‘That may be,’ she said, leaning in closer. ‘Nevertheless, I want to know your intention.’
‘I think you already know. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.’
‘I want to hear it from you,’ she said. Her contempt for him was so strong, so deliberate, it bled from her in waves. ‘I want to see it in your eyes when you say it.’
‘I’ll bring their ship here and take as many of your people as I can with me. That’s my intention.’ She didn’t reply, and her old face stayed empty. ‘Well? Did you see what you wanted to see?’
She turned away from him. ‘Your implant is damaged.’ A lie from a woman used to secrets and deceit.
‘What do you mean?’ he said evenly.
‘We have to remove it.’ She didn’t turn to look at him.
Weaver shook his head. ‘No, it’s not damaged. You want to see what I’ll do. You want to know if I’ve really turned my back on them. If I’ll allow you to remove it.’
She turned to him, eyes hard. ‘Can you blame me? Skoryk lays the dead from that bomb at your door. Rankin thinks you’re a traitor, and so do the Magistratus. Right now, the entire Bazaar has received instructions to kill you on sight.’
So you are part of it, somehow, he thought. You seem to know them—Rankin, Skoryk, the Bazaar. You know what’s been going on. You’re connected. Yet here I am, still alive. She had warned him off, back at the theatre. Admonished him against the course Rankin had personally set him on. This confused him—how could she know of Skoryk and Rankin, and what had been said of Weaver’s involvement in the Conduit bomb, but be against their plan?
He said finally, ‘I’m old and tired, and my implant is the only thing keeping me going.’
‘Every moment it’s inside you, you’re a risk to us.’
Who is ‘us’, exactly? he thought. But he said, ‘Then screen it. I thought you’d done it already.’
‘It’s an imperfect solution. There are ways round screening; you know that.’
‘And if you remove it? What then? Suddenly all will be forgiven?’
She paused before she answered, scrutinising him again. ‘The preacher always believed in you. I never did. Over the years, living here on Theia, I’ve come to learn that trust is a luxury I can’t afford. Everyone has a weakness to be exploited. I need to ensure you’ll come back.’
‘My word’s not good enough, I imagine?’ She didn’t answer, so he shrugged and said, ‘What’s your proposal?’
‘You’re right about your implant. If we remove it and do nothing, the effects on your physiology would be too debilitating. We would have to replace it with a bio-engineered organic unit. It would have physical limitations—it wouldn’t be anything near as augmentative as your current implant—but it would sustain you for a time and wouldn’t appear on scanning systems.’
‘For a time?’
‘As I said, trust is a luxury.’
‘This way you ensure I return.’
‘I can get you to Samarkand, but I want Elias to go with you. From there, a man like you will be able to find that ship. I have little doubt of that. You come back and help me get my people out, and we’ll replace your implant. That’s the contract between us.’
‘Where are we?’
‘We’re safe for now.’
‘That’s not what I asked.’
‘We’re beneath Brauron. Even before it was destroyed, the canton sat on top of a warren of tunnels and underground chambers. They were gassed as part of the destruction of the canton. We’ve reinforced them and we use them now.’
‘We?’
She smiled thinly at him. ‘I don’t sit alone on that wooden throne.’
‘But you don’t agree with Rankin or his ilk? Why else would you have tried to warn me off?’
‘You think Rankin and his kind, sitting in the palms of a Consul, are men to
be trusted?’
Of course they couldn’t be trusted. Weaver agreed with her on that. ‘But I’m supposed to trust you?’
‘No, you don’t have to trust me—because I don’t see that you have any other choice in what comes next. You say you want to help us, to make amends for what you’ve been a party to. Prove it.’
Weaver stood among the sunken faces of men he didn’t know, a dozen of them in a line, all dressed as he was, in grubby labourers’ overalls. He watched the lilac sun set across the sea, bathing the mountains in the far distance in soft lavender. Elias was behind him, a handful more lifeless faces between them.
The cool air on the docking platform pricked his skin, and he shivered. He felt the loss of his implant more keenly with every passing moment; old wounds ached and new ones stung. He felt sluggish and old. The scar from the recent surgery felt tight and tender.
Ahead, a Marmara star carrier awaited them. At the ramp to the passenger bay stood more Peacekeepers, but there would be no search now. The scanners had been swept over them already a half dozen times at the entrance to the port. Weaver’s bio-engineered implant had evaded their scrutiny because there was nothing there to draw their attention. His identification, his permits, and his implant all matched perfectly. His synpol mask had been formed with great care to resemble the individual from whom the implant had come. Weaver wasn’t told what had happened to the man whose face he now wore, and he hadn’t asked.
The evening air was still and cool, and the line moved slowly, just as he did now. Neither he nor Elias spoke, both seeking to hide their knowledge of the other. Once aboard the star carrier, they sat away from each other, clipped into their seats, and waited for the heavy ship to take off. It would take just over a day to reach Samarkand. From there, Weaver and Elias would have to escape the loading docks and the port and evaporate into the dusty heat of the city.
As the shivery aches trembled along his body, Weaver wondered just how he would be able to do that. How he would find the privateers and then take them down, weakened as he was, like a frail old man.