Spectra Arise Trilogy

by Tammy Salyer

  “Roger. Jeremy?”

  He grabs the radio from Karl. “Yeah, babe.”

  “Love you. Don’t forget that I like the vanilla frosting better than the chocolate when we get back, okay?”

  “I won’t.”

  * * *

  The door only remains closed for a few minutes, the remaining eight of us pacing and holding ourselves back from trying to bum-rush through it and race to the landing field. If V, Brady, and Desto get on Medina’s ship, we may never see them again. The one predictable thing we all know about Quantum is that he doesn’t waste time on sentimentality. The three of them are as good as dead if they’re not part of the plan. And he’d made the plan crystal clear. It’s him and me. No stragglers, no flexibility, no loose ends.

  As our nerves strain, nearing the breaking point, Mason says, “Venus will be able to slow them down. It’s at least one element in our favor.”

  But is it the only one?

  As this thought passes through my head, the door opens, and Zabriskie, flanked by at least two visible guards just outside, steps in. “You all need to come with us. Now.”

  “Why?” David asks.

  “Just come.” Zabriskie’s eyes are lit by an urgency I haven’t seen in him before, and my nerves warn me that our old friend Chaos is about to strike.

  “Whose side are you on?” David says, his stance rigid and ready.

  Zabriskie crosses the distance between the two of them in four long strides. All of us prepare for a confrontation; even the air seems to be alive with coiled energy. I see David’s nostrils flare, but Zabriskie stops short of him, and then—does something totally unexpected.

  “Take this,” Zabriskie whispers and holds out a VDU, then reaches in his jacket and pulls out two more. “Here,” he says, looking at Karl and me, both standing closest to him. “We’re getting you out of here.”

  At the mention of “we” my eyes jerk toward the doorway where the other two guards have entered. Neither of them holds weapons in their hands, but both look nervous as hell.

  “Who are you working with?” David repeats, not yet willing to take Zabriskie’s com device.

  We all feel David’s paranoia. Could this be a setup? Is Medina looking for an excuse to ghost us so it will appear to have been self-defense to the rest of the KLers if they’re brought back here? Why hadn’t Quantum told us to expect Zabriskie if he’s in on the plan? Without confirmation, it’s impossible to guess what Zabriskie has up his sleeve, which leaves us with one last decision-making tool: our instincts.

  Stepping up to the colonist, I take one of the VDUs, then turn to the rest. “What are we waiting for?”

  “Aly—” Karl says, alarmed.

  “We don’t have time to debate this. We have to act.”

  Zeta takes my cue and grabs another VDU from Zabriskie, and the rest’s resistance dissolves like salt in water. Everyone begins grabbing what gear they’ve brought, and we follow Zabriskie out, moving not quite at a double time. The other two men are already down the hallway and at the front door, peering outside. For what or who, we’re stuck guessing.

  Zabriskie fills us in on the way. “Whitmore wanted to set you free days ago while we figured out a plan. Now that he’s dead”—he makes eye contact with the men outside, who nod an all clear, then pushes through the school’s front door without slowing—“we’re just improvising. Medina is making unilateral decisions. Trying to run Bogotan without consensus or even discussion. Quantum says you can help us stop her.”

  “Why should we trust you?” I ask as we rush into the street.

  He opens the rear cargo hatch of a transport truck. Inside, I catch a glimpse of a cargo container about the size of a squad arms locker with the words COMMUNICATIONS BACKUPS stenciled on the side. “You don’t have a choice but to trust us. We’re taking you to the landing field so you can get the hell out of here, and—” He breaks off when his VDU lights up.

  Quantum’s voice: “Zabriskie, do you copy?”

  “Zabriskie here.”

  “Is she in the box yet?”

  “Negative, the crew is loading up. ETA to the landing field is ten.”

  “Affirmative.” My own VDU pings to life and I answer. “Aly,” he says, “your crew needs to get your pilot in action. There’s not much time left.”

  “Roger. What did you mean by ‘is she in the box yet’?”

  My screen goes black without him responding. Not that he needs to.

  Zabriskie and one of the men with him open the cargo container and begin pulling out weapons. Carbines, Dergs, a couple of Sinbads. He motions to the crew. “Get what you want and get in the back. You”—he passes me an AK-80, my always trusted weapon of choice, and a few clips of caseless—“jump inside there once we get everything out and lie down. I’ll get you on Medina’s ship.”

  I swallow hard, checking the action on the ’80 and loading the first clip. My eyes hold his steadily while I shake my head. “I’m not missing this fight.”

  Wisely, he doesn’t argue. The crew grab the guns and get in, Zabriskie pulling himself into the covered bed with us. The vehicle is already moving before he gets the cargo gate closed. “This truck is heading straight for the Kǒngjù, Medina’s ship. I’m supposed to leave you on the city side of the landing-field gate before we go through, and your pilot is supposed to do whatever she’s going to do. The truck is completely armored, so you can use us as a shield until we get to the Kǒngjù. But no one stays inside except Erikson, or we’ll never get her aboard. Everyone clear?”

  No one says a word; the only sound now is the dull whump of the fuel cell engine and the tires humming on the road. I look around at their faces, seeing the same severe dilation of their pupils, the same controlled breathing, the same fierce warrior mask as mine. The kid, Ryan, has been through some shit, maybe even had to kill others to survive, but he looks more scared than the rest of us. This is a real battle, with real soldiers. The kind of bloody razing mess that he’s used to as a scav fighting other scavs, while it was probably always gruesome, would never have had the same methodical, purposeful intent to destroy as what he’s about to encounter. Almost all of us in the bed of this truck, and even more of Medina’s crew, were trained by the best to be efficient killing machines. The Corps never stinted on doling out ruthlessness, and no one kills better than its graduates. I just hope the kid is prepared for it.

  My eyes fall on Zeta, then quickly bounce away. She was a civilian before the war and had left that behind for her own reasons and joined the colony on Spectra 6, but now she’s just a survivor like the rest of us. A fugitive in a system where no one is anything but. Fugitives from reason, stability, maybe even hope. What chance her and Desto’s kid has was already limited, but now…now I don’t want to think about what could, and probably will, happen.

  Zabriskie’s carbine lies across his knees. He leans forward, leaving his hands on the stock and the barrel to keep it from falling, and says, “You know you’re putting the whole mission in danger until you get in that crate.”

  “I told you, I’m not missing this fight.” I don’t bother mentioning that I’m more afraid of being stuck in that black box than I am of being shot point-blank. “Another gun could be the thing that keeps the people I care about alive.”

  His seawater-green eyes stare into mine for several seconds, his face only a puff of breath away. Then he leans back, reaches into his jacket, and pulls free a small plastic bag, which he tosses at me. “Quantum told me to give you those. Vitruzzi asked him for them. Sedatives. If you don’t get killed before you get aboard the Kǒngjù, take three. Quantum will come get you when it’s clear. Save the rest in case it’s longer than…” He shrugs.

  The bag lies in my lap. I look inside at the handful of white pills, then put three in my breast pocket for quick retrieval. If Vitruzzi were here, I’d kiss her.

  Someone from the cab hammers on the divider and the truck slows to a stop—our cue. I promise Zabriskie, “Get to the Kǒngjù’s ramp, I�
�ll meet you there.”

  “Fifteen of Medina’s on the tarmac, looks like the three going to Keum Libre haven’t boarded yet. They’re standing over by the supply dump with four guards on them,” says a voice through Zabriskie’s VDU. He glances around to make sure we’ve all heard it, then slides open the rear door and drops the cargo gate. “Good luck. We’ll keep it slow so you can use our cover.”

  “What about Venus?” Hoogs says. “Shouldn’t she be doing her magic trick right now?”

  We look at each other impotently. Finally Karl says, “We can’t wait. Mason, La Mer, and I will go after the crew. Zeta, just stay low and get your ass to the Nebula.” Karl’s obviously been having similar thoughts to mine. “Aly, you do what you can to help Zeta, and make sure you get back to this truck without being seen. Ryan, you stick with David and Hoogs. Cover us from the rear.” He stands and the rest of us do the same. Giving it one last shot, he gets on the VDU Zabriskie had given him. “Venus, I don’t know where you are, and don’t respond to this message if it will compromise you, but we’re about to come in hot. The Nebula needs to be ready to launch ASAP.” He gives it a second, but there’s no return transmission. Nodding once, he says, “Let’s do it.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Not being able to see anything on the other side of the truck is unnerving. But what’s worse is the lack of surprise, the lack of distraction. The lack of the Venus show. What could have happened? If she’s been compromised or killed, this fight is already over. I may still be able to get aboard Medina’s ship and rendezvous with the Celestial, but it may not help Vitruzzi, Brady, and Desto. If they die, and if Venus is already dead, the fallout will be much, much worse than just shattered morale. They—along with Karl and David—compose the core of my world, the people I most care about, the people I will never hesitate to put my life on the line for. If we can’t keep them safe, the whole hellish fight will be for nothing.

  Locking these fears deep inside, I press forward, following Zeta so closely our hips touch as we shuffle along. The line is Karl, Hoogs, Mason, Zeta, me, David, Ryan, and La Mer at the rear. The truck is long, made for carrying large loads, and conceals us easily. Zabriskie’s collaborators informed us that all of Medina’s squad is busy with loading a resupply cache to take to the Celestial and guarding Vitruzzi and the other two. The cargo brought by this truck is the last expected on their manifest. From our enemy’s perspective, the arrival of Zabriskie is situation normal.

  I’d had a brief look across that landing field after the gargantuan gates rumbled open. The Orika is still where Venus had planted it, its state of disuse and general beat-up condition making it look almost like a monolith from ancient times despite its short tenure in Bogotan. Immediately beside it, only thirty meters distant, sits the Nebula, a slightly bigger craft. Towering behind the two of them looms the much larger battle-ready fleet attack ship, the former PCA Kǒngjù. I’d been a navigator on it myself during the war and know full well its capacity for rendering the Nebula and Orika into scrap without even needing to engage its heavy artillery. Seeing it for that split second had made my guts turn to ice. The only chance Venus has is to outmaneuver it. Karl can fly it if Venus is somehow out of the picture, a thought that sends another freezing stab of anxiety through the middle of me, but he doesn’t have her preternatural, sometimes miraculous, talents for making a craft do the seemingly impossible. Yet if the Nebula makes it into the air, maybe Medina will just let her go. After all, Keum Libre has no defense against a fleet cruiser and its arsenal, all at Medina’s disposal, and she must know that. Whitmore’s men, the ones who had delivered Zeta, then returned with the crew, could easily have reconned KL during their stay and figured this out, and Medina surely debriefed them. Even if part of our crew splinters off in the Nebula and gets to KL in time to warn the settlers of Medina’s coming, there’s nothing, not a goddamn thing, the settlement can do to stop her.

  That part is up to me.

  We can’t be more than fifty meters distant of the cluster, and David, Ryan, and Hoogs disengage and silently run behind a vehicle parked toward the edge of the ship takeoff zone to take up long-range backup firing positions. No shouts or words of warning come from ahead to indicate they’ve been spotted. A relief. The Kǒngjù’s engines start to cycle, sending a low-pitched throbbing rhythm through the ground and up into my feet. The rest of us continue to plod forward, then the truck stops and Zabriskie jumps clear of the back.

  A voice from in front of us: “Zabriskie, is that the last of the supplies?”

  “Yeah, Quantum’s parts.”

  “Okay, one sec and I’ll send the loader over.”

  Where the fuck is Venus?

  Karl turns around to face us, meets my eyes with his for a heartbeat, and I read the go signal coming before he says anything. The slight breeze blowing up from the south feels warm against the coolness of my skin. My nostrils flare as I draw in a deep breath, calming myself and preparing to let the battle-drunk veteran that I usually keep suppressed deep within me once again inhabit my body.

  He turns back toward the front of the cab, peers around, and lifts his hand, ready to wave us into action. Just before he does, the sound of voices raised in some kind of confrontation carries to us.

  “What do you mean ‘shut her down’? The commander wants her up in the air to be added to the Celestial’s armada. I mean, who wouldn’t want this ship, this absolutely gorgeous hunk of machine, among their squadron?”

  Venus? Really?

  Unable to stop myself, I slide up beside Karl and cautiously peer around the cab. He turns to look at me, his eyes shining full moons of surprise.

  It is Venus. Dressed in a mishmash outfit that is part Corps uniform, part civvies, obviously trying to blend in with the bustle of security personnel finishing up the final supply run, she stands less than fifteen meters in front of us, just at the base of the Nebula’s open ramp.

  “Nobody said nothing to me.”

  If it isn’t my old friend Blondie.

  “Hmmm, must have slipped her mind,” Venus replies, her voice as dismissive as if she were a queen speaking to an idiot serf. And then I finally hear what I’d been too keyed up to recognize over the dull thump of the Kǒngjù’s engines—the Nebula, too, is online, her internals whirring into flight mode.

  “Don’t I know you?” Blondie says, leaning forward.

  Those of us who realize the risk Venus had taken to show her face flinch in unison. She must be crazy, but sometimes crazy is the only option. I catch something out of the corner of my eye and turn just in time to reach out and grip La Mer by the sleeve as he tries to pass us and help Venus. Don’t, I mouth, warning him. She may not have played all her cards yet, whatever the hell those are.

  Within sight ahead of us, the pile of supplies Zabriskie’s man had spoken of, where Vitruzzi, Brady, and Desto are waiting to board in the company of three guards, sits forward of the Kǒngjù and just between the Nebula and Orika. A track loader rolls down the Kǒngjù’s cargo ramp. The remaining supplies are small, not requiring a loader, and I realize it must be coming to us. If Venus has a move to make, it has to be now.

  The onetime fugee reaches out and grabs Venus by the arm. “You’re that pilot that came from Eruo Pium, I know it. Come with me.”

  It all happens as fast as the speed of light, and as slow as drowning.

  As I watch, Brady and Desto tackle two of the unprepared guards watching over them, while Vitruzzi opens one of the boxes sitting near her and pulls out several weapons. The cue given, Karl takes aim and fires at Blondie but misses. The guard’s reflexes are sharp, and he runs behind the Nebula at race speed, leaving Venus behind him. She immediately sprints inside the safety of the ship’s hull, out of the line of fire. From behind us, I hear David open up with the rifle he’d taken from Zabriskie’s cache. Hoogs and Mason take up firing positions behind and under our truck, and the squadron of soldiers under Medina’s command scatter or sprint to the only place that offers them any protection o
n the mostly flat, open landing field—inside the Kǒngjù.

  By the time the last bullet’s echo fades Desto, Vitruzzi, and Brady have annihilated their guards and taken shelter in the safety behind one of the Kǒngjù’s external missile chutes. We can’t know for sure how many others are inside the attack ship, but no one is leaving its interior without being in direct line of fire from those three. The squaddy driving the loader, the four guards with Vitruzzi’s group, and three others are down on the tarmac, and we haven’t taken a single casualty. The box of guns Vitruzzi had accessed could only have come from Venus, or maybe Quantum, and while it wasn’t nearly the bang-up surprise I’d been expecting, I’m not complaining about the results.

  But nothing is stopping Medina from calling for backup, which could be seconds away.

  And I still have to get onto first the Kǒngjù and then the Celestial.

  David, Ryan, and Hoogs read the situation and risk closing the gap by running across the space and rejoining us behind the truck. Zabriskie had jumped inside the rear, and his two compatriots are keeping a low profile in the cab, sitting this one out.

  “What do we do?” Ryan asks, out of breath. I can see panic and excitement starting to squeeze in on him, turning his decision-making skills and reflexes into granulated powder. Can’t have that.

  “Calm down, kid,” I say. “We need everyone focused and relaxed. Don’t let yourself get distracted, read me?” His jittering eyes cut to me, and I force myself to grin at him, passively, showing no teeth. Just another day, nothing unusual, no need to worry about it being your last, my expression tells him. “If anyone comes at us, just pick your targets, take a deep breath, and squeeze the trigger. Remember those three steps. That’s all you gotta think about. Okay?”

  He nods. If the kid gets killed, I won’t be happy, but getting shot with a stray bullet because he can’t keep his nerves in check will piss me off even more.

  My focus returns to the team as Karl moves to the truck’s rear and slams a fist against the gate. “Zabriskie, listen up. You have to get this truck to the Kǒngjù. There’s no way that loader is coming our direction. Put yourself in between the ramp and the Nebula so our people can make a run for it.”