The Soldier: Escape Vector

by Vaughn Heppner

  “Stretch yer hands airborne if you understand me,” the pirate with the biggest belly said. The man spoke with an outrageous accent, but he was understandable, which seemed incredible.

  Nevertheless, Cade raised his hands.

  “Ye be our prisoner,” the man said. “Do ye agree?”

  Cade said and did nothing, trying to decide if he should try resisting.

  “If ye don’t agree, I’m going to shoot thee.”

  “I’m your prisoner,” Cade said thickly. “Can I ask where you’re taking me?”

  “Let’s fly him to Lord Magnus,” one of the others said. “He’s sure to be worth thousands of ducats.”

  The leader shook his red-kerchiefed head. “Lord Magnus be damned. You saw what this varmint did, crawled out of the spaceship, he did. No, by Cletus. This one be ours. The Rhunes will pay us even more for the likes of him.”

  “The Rhunes?” the other asked. “Ye can’t mean that. Why, that be treason.”

  “T’aint treason, you daft fool. This be about wealth for the rest of yer miserable life. Ye have a problem with vast wealth?”

  Cade had a problem with the plan, although he didn’t say so. With the stims surging through his system, it was hard staying still even with his weary muscles. He lowered his arms and crouched as if spent—it wasn’t all an act.

  Obviously suspicious, the leader re-aimed the long rifle at him.

  Cade made a show of panting heavily, dropping his head as he gathered his resolve to act.

  “I don’t like this, Mael,” the other said. “The Rhunes hate us. You know that Lord Magnus said—”

  “Magnus be damned!” big-bellied Mael shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. Had they been drinking? Was that why their eyes were red? “This be about wealth. Besides, I’m sick of taking orders from the fallen Eagle-Duke. He ain’t nobler than the likes of us anymore.”

  From his crouched position, Cade drew his boot knife. He hurled it underhanded, a flickering motion. The seven-inch blade twirled, the razor-sharp metal sliding into Mael’s throat. The man grunted wetly, stumbling back.

  “Mael!” the other shouted, turning to the knifed man.

  Cade uncoiled, picking up a rock as he flung himself at them. He hurled the rock. It struck a man’s face with a thud, and that one staggered back. The other swung his long rifle, maybe to line up a shot at the attacking spaceman. Cade grabbed the barrel and wrenched the weapon out of the man’s hands.

  “Mercy!” that one cried, dropping to his knees and holding up leathery hands, each one missing part of a finger.

  Cade reversed his grip so he held the long rifle normally. The rock-struck man had righted himself, with blood dripping from his wide nose. The man raised his rifle to fire, pulling back the lock holding the flint as he did.

  Cade did the same with his rifle, but faster, and he shot from the hip. The trigger-freed striker slammed the flint against the frizzen, creating sparks in the pan, which caused gunpowder to flash and discharge the bullet. The bullet sped from the barrel, catching the other shooter in the face. This time the man went down—dead, his brains leaking from a shattered forehead.

  Cade looked at the kneeling man with his hands in the air.

  The man was staring back at him in shock. “I’ve never seen anyone move so fast. Who ye be? What be ye?”

  “Who are you?”

  “Chom, men call me Chom. Ye slew Mael and Palo, veteran Crag Raiders.”

  “That makes you a Crag Raider as well.”

  Chom nodded, his hands rising higher.

  “What are Crag Raiders doing here?”

  Chom blinked, his features crumpling. “Please,” he whispered. “Don’t kill me. I beg ye—”

  Cade heard a booted foot scrape against rock—the sound came from behind. He turned just in time to see a rifle stock rushing at his head. He shifted, the stock catching the edge of his left cheek. The cheek exploded with pain, but it did not debilitate the soldier. A man in pirate gear holding a long rifle stumbled past. Cade shot out a foot, tripping the booted fellow, who went sprawling on the rocky ground.

  Cade turned back toward Chom as Chom jumped up, drawing his cutlass. The soldier jabbed with the long rifle, using the end of the barrel, catching Chom under the chin against the throat. Chom grunted as he lost his hold of the cutlass. Cade drew back and thrust with the barrel once more, driving the end so hard it crushed part of Chom’s throat. The man dropped onto the rocky ground, gurgling.

  The one who had fallen face forward on the ground scrambled up without his rifle. “Get up, Chom!” he screamed, drawing a cutlass. “Chom!”

  Chom raised his head.

  Cade moved in, kicking with his boot, kicking Chom in the head, causing the man to flip over onto his back.

  The cutlass man roared, charging, swinging the heavy blade back and forth, driving Cade away from Chom. The soldier used the barrel of the long rifle, blocking two cuts that would have severely wounded him.

  Even with stims, Cade was flagging by this point. Over a thousand years ago, he’d been a Centurion Grade super-soldier, but that didn’t make him invincible. He was reaching his physical limit. Unless he stopped the cutlass man soon, that one would open him up.

  The cutlass man used two hands now, swinging the heavy deadly blade back and forth. Cade backed up. The cutlass man charged. Cade dropped to his stomach. The man tried to check his rush, but failed, tripping over Cade. He kept going and screamed as he stumbled over a boulder on the ledge. He shrieked until he hit rocks a hundred meters below, making him meat for alien alligators.

  Wearily, Cade climbed to his feet. Chom was dead, looking as if he’d choked to death, unable to get enough air through his ruined throat. All four Crag Raiders were dead.

  Did these four belong to the burned airship? It seemed likely.

  Cade surveyed the area. He did not see any others. He stumbled to the three dead men, finding two canteens and one small metal flask. The canteens held water, and the flask held hard, harsh grog. What was the correct move now?

  Their garments weren’t large enough for Cade. He would stick to his torn spaceman’s gray. He collected and cleaned his perfectly balanced boot-knife, putting it back in place, belted on a cutlass scabbard and weapon and took the best-made rifle and bag of gunpowder and lead bullets. He surveyed the area once again but didn’t see anyone else.

  What had happened to the rest of the anchor team? Or had these four been it?

  “Enough,” Cade whispered.

  He drank water, ate some hardtack and slowly began trekking upward. The long rifle, cutlass and canteens would mark him as a looter. He knew very little about what was going on here. It sounded like it would be a good idea to talk with a man named Lord Magnus. It also seemed that a Rhune outpost was close by.

  He studied the sinking sun. It would be twilight in another hour. He was exhausted and alone, and he had clearly made enemies of the Crag Raiders.

  Despite that, he was free, not a prisoner. The others had badly underestimated him. He began using the easiest route up the rocky hill. Below, the lagoon and ocean beyond seemed serene and lonely. That was an illusion, if the alien alligator was any indicator.

  Step by step, Cade climbed until he spied brown to the left. That brown did not match the green ferns and yellow lichen-covered stone. He kept going up, the way becoming harder. He should rest before he made a mistake.

  “That’s far enough,” a gruff-voiced person said.

  Cade looked up.

  A young fresh-faced man with a flintlock pistol aimed down lay on a cliff eleven meters higher up. The youngster wore a leather cap.

  “Hands up,” he said. “Hands up, or I shoot.”

  Cade debated even as he grunted. An insect must have bitten him on his arm. The spot stung sharply before the sensation faded away. Several second later, he swayed. Before he could decide about the command, the super-soldier from a different space-time continuum fell in a faint.

  Chapter Twelve

&n
bsp; Cade woke to the sound of crackling flames. He was disoriented and groggy. That was unlike him, he realized. Normally, he awoke fully alert. Why should he…? Oh. He remembered the space crash, airship, sky-raft and alien alligator. There had been Crag Raiders as well. He—

  Cade opened his eyes wide, dancing flames helping him to see. He heard fat sizzling and smelled cooked meat. The smell tantalized his taste buds and caused his stomach to rumble.

  Across the fire, a face turned toward him. He recognized it—the fresh-faced young man. Only…the person sitting on a flat rock turning the spitted meat over the fire was a woman, a rather beautiful one at that.

  She had long dark hair that fell well past her shoulders now that it was loosed from under her leather cap. She had green eyes and white skin. The Crag Raiders had also been white, but tanned with leathery skin. That they spent their days outside under a hot sun showed. This one—this beauty—must have spent most of her time indoors. Her features were not delicate, but strong and white as porcelain. She was lovely, but not a wallflower, as the old saying went. She seemed well knit and was certainly busty, and wore pantaloons like the Crag Raiders. She must have been a tad taller than the tallest Crag Raider he’d faced earlier.

  “Why do you stare at me like that?” she asked. “Am I ugly?”

  “No,” Cade said. “Definitely not.”

  Her lips parted into a smile as if he’d given her a great compliment. She had bright white teeth, and intelligence shined in her eyes.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Marcus Cade.”

  She nodded, turning the spit. “That is a strong if odd name. Both your name and accent pronounce you an off-worlder. I saw you fight the others earlier and defeat four. Are you a champion-at-arms?”

  “I’m a soldier from Battle Unit 175.”

  Her head shifted back and the smile disappeared. “A soldier? You’re a vat-generated fighting thrall then?”

  “Vat? No. I was born normally.”

  “By a woman?”

  “Of course,” Cade said with a laugh, bemused by the question. His mother had been beautiful and strong, teaching him his earliest lessons.

  The woman seemed relieved by the answer. “I’m Velia De Lore, a princess of Val Dal Rock. Have you heard of it?”

  “No,” Cade said.

  “Lord Marek the Third has given us his colors.”

  “Is Lord Marek an Eagle-Duke?”

  Velia frowned. “That’s an old-fashioned way to say it. But I suppose you’re right.”

  “You’re his daughter, is that it?”

  Velia blushed, putting color in her cheeks. “What a thing to say. My father…was a warrior, a great one, you can be sure.”

  With a groan, Cade sat up. He was on dry sand in what looked like a cave entrance. Past Velia, it was dark, without any stars to illuminate the night. The flames in the cave jumped and flickered, casting a play of light and shadows on the walls. He spied half a dozen long rifles on the sand together with gunpowder and pellet pouches. Had the woman brought those here?

  “Are you sick?” she asked.

  Cade began shaking his head. That brought his headache into focus. He touched his forehead, biting back a groan. He realized his mouth was dry.

  “Is there any water?” he asked.

  From the other side of the fire, she pointed at two neat rows of canteens. He noticed that she had long, red-painted fingernails. Raina had never painted her nails.

  He dragged himself to a canteen—

  “Not those,” Velia said.

  He looked up at her.

  “The others drank from those.”

  Cade didn’t understand.

  “The others died after drinking. You don’t want to die yet, do you?”

  “No,” he said. “Is there a good canteen?”

  She pointed at the second row.

  Cade uncorked one of those canteens, sipped, swilling the water, and gulping hesitantly.

  “That water’s fine,” she said. “I give you my word.”

  He decided she could have slain him earlier when he’d been unconscious. Thus, he drank until he’d drained the canteen.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I feel better already.”

  “Don’t thank me,” she said. “You’re the one who rescued me. I should be thanking you.” She stared into his eyes, smiling provocatively.

  Cade blinked several times, ingesting her obvious hint. While Velia was a buxom beauty, and clearly willing, she was not Raina. I’m fighting against the universe to get home. Thus, I can’t lie with this beauty and say I’m being faithful. So, although he appreciated the thought and the idea itself was pleasant to contemplate, he would refrain from any sexual dalliance with her.

  “Did I say something wrong?” Velia asked, the smile slipping.

  She’s a quick one. You’d better be careful, Cade. You know what they say about a woman scorned. “Why do you have poisoned canteens?”

  “Oh. I see,” she said, relieved. “You don’t find me hideous. You just can’t believe that a princess like me might poison her kidnappers?”

  There, you go. “It is unusual,” he said.

  “Certainly so,” she said proudly, raising her chin. “But then, so am I.”

  Cade managed a chuckle.

  “Are you mocking me, sir?”

  She’s touchy. What in the hell does she really want? “Not at all,” he said. “How did I get here?”

  “I carried you.”

  “Uh…you did? I’m not light.”

  “Nor am I weak like most princesses of the storybooks. But you’re right. I found you astonishingly heavy, having to drag you at times. Why are you so heavy? You don’t look as if you should be.”

  “My bones and muscles are denser and thus heavier than usual.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Is that a joke?”

  “I don’t understand the question.”

  “The fighting thralls from the man-makers are like that. Are you suggesting you’re like them?”

  “Are these fighting thralls creatures, animals?” he asked.

  “Not creatures. They’re men, modified men. They obey and fight with valor, but that is their genetic duty. It isn’t the same with a warrior. He fights for glory.”

  She’s talking as if the thralls are Ultras. But that can’t possibly be, or they would run the planet. “What about the Crag Raiders?” he asked.

  Velia spat into the fire where her saliva sizzled. “The raiders are pirates and slavers. They kidnapped me to become a harem girl for a fat sheik of the Eastern Isles. Can you believe that?”

  Cade wasn’t sure what was the correct answer for that, so he said nothing.

  “They said you fell from the heavens.”

  “Who said?”

  “My kidnappers. Were they right?”

  He nodded.

  “That makes you an off-worlder like I said. Are you from Graven Tarvoke, then?”

  “No,” Cade said, surprised she knew about the free trader.

  “Do you think I’m a stupid harem girl? I watched your face when you said that. Why do you lie to me?”

  “I’m not lying. I’m simply surprised you know about Graven Tarvoke. He tried to destroy my spaceship, and we raced here to Coad to escape him.”

  “That could be true, I suppose. I doubt anyone will believe you, though. I’m not sure I do.”

  “Why?”

  “I told you I’m a princess, a well-informed one, you’ll find. Atticus said your spaceship was going to strafe the surface. Just before your arrival, Tarvoke gave us an ultimatum, threatening the planet with stolen cyborg bombs. Atticus said the Southern Eagle-Dukes unlimbered their ancestral railguns to teach you a lesson, and through you Tarvoke. Atticus said much of the planet watched your spaceship plunge through the atmosphere. He wanted to get to it before the Rhunes came. He badly miscalculated, and now I suppose Atticus and his Crag Raiders are all dead.”

  “They were in the airship?”

&nbs
p; “Storm Rider,” she said.

  “That was the airship’s name?”

  Velia nodded.

  “How is it you’re so well informed if you were kidnapped to become a harem girl?”

  Velia turned the spit, examining the meat, perhaps using the seconds to think. “I listen and pay attention. You’d be surprised how much you can learn by doing that. Besides, Atticus hadn’t decided about selling me. You see, he was becoming fond of me.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh?” she repeated, as if mocking. “You think Atticus and I slept together? Is that what your ‘oh’ means?”

  Cade shrugged.

  Velia scowled. “Do you think I’m a whore?”

  Cade’s eyebrows lifted. He had thought that, but now he wasn’t sure. No. She was more than she said, maybe much more. He considered the poisoned canteens, and that he’d fallen unconscious when she’d first confronted him. An insect had bit his arm, he’d thought. He touched the arm, feeling the spot, a tiny mark. Maybe she’d used a knockout dart or something similar like he’d used on Durdane II when he’d attacked a Group Six station. This was definitely a dangerous, cunning woman. It would be foolish to antagonize her needlessly. She seemed willing to help. Why not keep her willing…if he could?

  “If my words offended you,” Cade said, “I’m sorry.”

  “You did offend me…but I accept your apology.” Velia turned the spit, appearing thoughtful. “Tell me. Is it wrong for a warrior to use his skills to escape his captors?”

  “No.”

  “Is it wrong for a cunning man to lie to his captors in order to win his freedom?”

  Given the right conditions—Cade shook his head.

  “Why then is a woman considered a whore for using her feminine wiles and inducements to manage her escape?”

  “Your logic is flawless,” Cade said. “And yet, you raise a point.”

  “What point?”

  “Many men consider it wrong for a woman to do as you suggested, no matter what. At least, they would no longer want to marry her after she slept with her captors in order to trick them.”

  “And you? What do you think?”

  Cade squinted into the flames. “I wouldn’t fault her tactics. At the same time, I myself wouldn’t have intercourse with someone in order to win my escape. Sexual intimacy is for marriage alone.”