Project Columbus: Omnibus

by J. C. Rainier

  Cal smirked and shrugged as Tom gave him an incredulous look. “What do you remember about the ship?”

  Gabi sighed and leaned back, trying to think about the craft that brought her to Demeter. Only a couple minor details came to mind. “We left Earth on rockets. That’s when we got to the ship, I think. I remember it being really big when we first got off the rocket, but after we crashed and it was on the beach, it looked really small.”

  “Beach?” Tom asked. “Where was this beach?”

  “We came from an island. The beach was close to where the town was.”

  Cal leaned sideways toward his companion. “ESAARC?” he muttered. Tom nodded in agreement, though he held up his hand to stem further comment from Cal.

  “Where the town was? Did something happen?”

  Gabi nodded and hushed her voice. “It was destroyed by a hurricane about a year ago.”

  The older man’s excitement dissipated, and a slight frown formed at the corners of his mouth. “I’m very sorry to hear that. That must have been terrifying.” He paused slightly. “How many more survivors are there, do you know?”

  “Just me and Diego, and two more that we left back at the other town. Marya and Aidan.”

  “Town?” Tom asked, slightly puzzled.

  “Rust Creek,” Cal clarified.

  “Four? That’s it?”

  Gabi thought about this for a moment. She knew that at least one of the other two ships that had left Camp Eight had foundered. Though bodies hadn’t been found, the debris had been found far enough offshore that survival would have been impossible. The second ship was farther ahead of them, but could have taken a different route. With no trace of their journey, Gabi had no idea whether they were alive or dead, and without knowing which ship was destroyed, who might possibly be left. Then there was Will.

  “Maybe another four,” she guessed, assuming that Will had come to his senses.

  “Where are they?”

  “I don’t know. We… we got separated,” she lied. “Just a few days away from Rust Creek.”

  “I know this is a hard question, but I don’t want to make any assumptions. What happened to your parents? Did they survive the landing?”

  Bursts of memories flashed through her mind, though clouded as if they were glimpses of an interrupted dream. Terror. Fire. Running. Then the first clear post-Earth memory she had hit her. It was the image of Lon Carney standing over her father’s body. A stout branch was clutched in his right hand, dripping with blood, and a cruel smile twisted his lips. Gabi wanted to scream, just as she had done as that defenseless girl six years earlier, but her lungs felt paralyzed. She dug her fingers deep into the arms of the chair and took in a huge, gasping breath.

  “Gabi? Are you okay?” Cal asked, concern written on his face.

  She sprang from her seat and bolted for the door. “Gabi!” Diego called after her as she flung it open and hurried down the hall. Her lungs heaved as she drew in breath after breath. The walls seemed to close in on her as she scrambled to the top of the stairs. She stopped there, hearing the excited jabbering of dozens of strangers down below. A hand closed gently around her arm. She tore away from the grip, spinning around and backing up to the wall.

  “Hey, hey,” Cal soothed, pulling his hand back. The commotion seemed to disturb his daughter, and she began to whimper softly. Diego arrived just a second later, taking his place at Gabi’s side. He threw his arms around her, squeezing as tightly as he dared.

  “Don’t touch me,” Gabi warned, glaring at Cal.

  “Take it easy. Tom didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Why does everyone want me to remember all the bad shit that’s happened to me?”

  Cal sighed and knelt in front of her. “We don’t know what all has happened to you. When we got to the planet, Raphael was gone. All that was left was its landing beacon and a distress call. No emergency transmitters. No follow-up radio contact. All these years it’s been assumed that the ship blew up on entry, and that there were no survivors.”

  “But we did survive,” she growled. “And no one came for us. We had to come to you.”

  “If we had known, we would have sent help. But you’re here now, and Tom’s going to want to know what happened. If you want to take it a little at a time, that’s fine. If you’d rather talk to someone else, I can make that happen too.”

  “I don’t want to talk to anyone!” she shouted.

  The din coming from downstairs subsided somewhat. Gabi shrank against the wall; her careless outburst had attracted the attention of the people in the main hall. She slammed her fist into the wall in frustration.

  “Come back to the room with me,” Cal smiled warmly. “I’ll make sure Tom doesn’t ask you any more questions. You can sit and relax. Eat more if you need to. It’s a nice quiet place to spend some time while we figure out all the messes going on today.”

  Gabi nodded hesitantly. They returned to the room and took their seats again. Cal leaned over the desk and whispered a few sentences to Tom. The older man glanced at Gabi a couple times, then nodded.

  “My apologies, Gabi,” Tom said. “We will discuss this at a later time. Please let me know if there is anything I can get you.”

  She grabbed some more fruit from the platter and curled one knee to her chest as she began to eat it. Diego quickly got bored of his chair and resumed his thorough inspection of the room. She found herself lost in thought, wondering if Will had actually snapped out of his funk. After considering the worst possible outcome, she wanted nothing more to do with contemplation.

  “Did he give you any idea why Young wanted those computers so badly?” Tom asked Cal in a hushed voice.

  “There’s something big on them. Young himself said it was the opportunity of a lifetime. Controlling the world,” Cal replied. “And he’ll kill anyone to have it.”

  Tom nodded and scratched his beard. He took a pen from one of the desk drawers and began to scratch something down on the paper in front of him. “This man is a threat. A renegade. Having him on the loose isn’t good. For anyone.”

  Cal cast his gaze down at the paper. “What’s this?”

  “Devereaux’s orders. And an arrest warrant for Young. Last I heard he’s still onboard his ship. The CVM marches as soon as they’re mustered.”

  “Good. The sooner he’s brought in the better.”

  “Who is this Young guy?” Gabi asked.

  The two men looked at her, unaware that she had been listening in on their conversation. Tom stumbled for words, but Cal beat him to the punch.

  “The man who wanted me dead. He’s a criminal.”

  “So you’re going to stop him?” Gabi returned.

  “Yes.”

  She smiled weakly. “I hope you get him.” She considered telling them that Young was a cornered animal, and that he would fight like one. But it wasn’t her fight.

  I hope their hunters are good, she thought.

  Capt Frank Devereaux

  27 July, 6 yal, 18:20

  Mercy

  Only a sliver of Persephone hung in the sky. Barely enough for the CVM to distinguish Mercy from the surrounding plain, it was not enough to reveal their movements as they closed in. At least, that’s what they were counting on.

  Too late to go back anyway, he thought.

  Another heavy boot was planted in his hands. He heaved upward, even as his knee ground painfully into the dirt. Private Inouye pulled himself upward, gaining a foothold on the emergency ladder built into the side of the ship, and he started the climb that his squadmates had completed before him. Next up was Sergeant Josephson. She was to be the last of the Militia members to climb to the top. More importantly, she was in command of breaching Mercy from above, with the bulk of the platoon. Without fuss, she accepted the boost onto the ladder and began her scramble.

  Frank sighed. Godspeed, Sergeant.

  He turned to the darkness, away from the ship. He had one squad with him for the second breach. Frank could only see a coup
le of the men—Private Smith and Corporal Wright—but he instinctively felt the presence of the others. There was something else he felt. It was an almost palpable sensation of fear. He could feel it shroud him and cause his fingers to tremble ever so slightly. And that bothered him almost as much as his orders.

  These kids aren’t ready for battle, he thought. They’ve only fired at targets, not enemies.

  The veteran of the Battle of Laramie had no choice but to shrug off his concerns. The time for action was at hand. He clicked his tongue three times; it was a signal to his squad to stay close. Frank lowered his M4’s aim toward the ground and clicked on the flashlight attached to its receiver rail. They moved swiftly through the darkness, moving forward from the flank of Pod Four. His heart thumped harder in his chest with every beat until he thought that Young and his men could hear it inside Mercy’s walls.

  The ground dropped away suddenly, exposing a dark pocket underneath one of the cargo pods. Frank clicked once and motioned his light toward the depression. Corporal Wright turned on a flashlight before scrambling head first into the hole. The others followed him in quick, silent procession. Smith. Hamilton. The Brandt twins. Eight men plunged into the darkness underneath the ship before Frank slipped in behind them.

  Unevenness in the ground led to tunnel networks of varying sizes and lengths underneath any ship on Demeter. The colony’s children called them “rabbit holes”, but until this day they had been little more than nuisances to the parents of adventurous youth. And while both Michael and Gabriel had settled into the ground far enough for the rabbit holes to mostly disappear, Mercy had not had the time to do so. It was this detail that Frank was hoping to use to his advantage.

  When the tunnel reached the main hull of the ship, the raised centerline under the hull allowed them more freedom of movement. They could stand up, albeit hunched over. Frank led his men toward the front of the ship.

  Gunfire erupted above, deadened by feet of air and steel. Josephson had made her breach, and was fighting the renegade crew. Her platoon would be exposed to fire on their way in, and casualties among the Militia were sure to be high. Frank shoved aside thoughts of his men being slaughtered. They would do no good if he failed in his mission.

  Moments later they reached their target, just behind the forward cargo ramp. Frank reached up, jamming his fingers into the crack of the emergency airlock access port. He grunted and wheezed as he tried to part the two halves of the access door. His first bid was unsuccessful, but he was joined by Wright for the second try, and the panel jerked and slid open. Just inside the access port was the outer airlock door. Its locking wheel turned slowly, though the protective outer panel had managed to keep it from seizing during the journey. After a few turns, the door dropped suddenly, knocking Frank off his feet and sending him tumbling.

  “I’m alright.” He shrugged Wright off as he regained his feet. “Get the inner door.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Frank assembled underneath the airlock with the rest of his men. The inner airlock door creaked open, and was followed almost instantly by two loud blasts. Wright cried out in pain, and dropped to the ground. His flashlight came to a rest next to him, shining its light on the wounded soldier. He clutched at his shoulder, which leaked blood from a gunshot.

  “Hamilton,” Frank barked as he dragged his squadmate away from the opening. “Get up there. Use the hatch for cover and clear the hall behind it.” He turned back to Wright. “Stay low and don’t move. We’ll come back for you.”

  Frank had his M4 over his back and was climbing the ladder into the belly of the ship before any of the other soldiers reacted.

  “Come on, Bravo Squad! Move out!”

  Hamilton discharged a short burst from his carbine down the hall then heaved his body up into the hallway. He ducked around the cargo hatch and took cover just as an unseen assailant rattled off three more shots, narrowly missing Frank’s head as it emerged from the airlock. Hamilton’s weapon belched in response, and a body fell to the floor a few feet away.

  “Clear sir,” Hamilton shouted, though the ringing in Frank’s ears nearly drowned out the report.

  Frank pulled himself onto the lower gallery floor and quickly took up a defensive position behind a structural brace. “Move it, Bravo, move it!”

  The Brandt twins were the next ones through the airlock, taking their position at the next set of beams. Private Smith barreled down the hall toward the main stairwell, but was cut down by enemy fire just beyond the Brandts.

  “Damn it! Covering fire! Move it, Hamilton!”

  Echoed gunfire from farther aft was shortly overpowered by staccato bursts from the Brandts’ weapons. Hamilton charged past them, coming to a stop at the first turn of the stairwell. He raised his carbine and let loose a barrage, which was returned in kind. Frank gritted his teeth as Hamilton’s body jerked twice from hits. One of Mercy’s crewmen fell over the deck railing above, slamming into the stairs and rolling to a stop at the bottom, motionless.

  “Hamilton!”

  “Shit,” he bellowed. “Fuck, I’m hit!”

  Frank glanced behind him. No more squad members were left in support.

  “Trask, Elliott, Jacobs, get your asses up here on the double!”

  No response came from the airlock. Frank had little time to process that he was down six men; three casualties, and three that were likely cowering under the ship. The mission was getting out of hand and he needed to press forward with force, but he couldn’t ignore the wounded men.

  “Damn it,” he cursed, his eyes returning to the front. “Sean, get Hamilton out of here. And send those useless pricks up here if you find them. Steve, you’re with me. Take point.”

  The twins moved swiftly. Sean made his way to Hamilton, looping his arms under the wounded man’s pits to drag him away. Frank followed Corporal Steve Brandt closely, keeping his M4 trained at the top of the stairwell the entire time. They emerged into the upper gallery and made for the protective cover of a bulkhead. Shouting and gunfire burst out every few seconds in the rear section of the ship where Josephson’s platoon had made their breach. Their target was in the opposite direction; whatever trouble the sergeant and her men were in, he could not help them.

  The two men hustled toward the bridge, stepping over the bodies of both renegades and civilians, checking the connecting corridors of pods one and two. Each connecting corridor hid one of Young’s men, but Frank and Brandt weren’t so easily fooled. They took down the crewmen, then pushed forward toward their objective. They paused outside the bridge airlock for just a moment.

  Remember the mission, he told himself, cycling a deep breath.

  Frank nodded at Brandt, who crossed the threshold first. Frank was on his heels, mounting the three short treads to the top of the bridge’s stairs. Harcourt Young was waiting for them. The billionaire’s eyes only squinted slightly as the light from Frank’s tactical flashlight fell on his face. The teenage girl whom he held tight in front of him, however, had eyes wild with fear. Young’s pistol was held up to her chin, its barrel glinting menacingly.

  “Drop the weapon!” Brandt commanded.

  “Ah, ah, ah!” Young warned. “One more step and you get to clean her brains off the walls.”

  The sounds of fighting grew closer. The disgraced billionaire must have heard it too, as he licked his lips once and glanced quickly behind the two Militia members. A wicked grin crossed his face.

  “You’re smarter than I thought,” Young continued. “Not just a brute force attack. No, your main attack was a diversion. You somehow found a way in, didn’t you?”

  “Drop it and let her go, Young,” Frank ordered firmly. “You can’t escape.”

  “No? No hope at all?”

  A massive explosion ripped through the belly of the ship. Frank was caught off balance for a moment, and Brandt reeled from the shock. Young fared little better, and he was only able to steady himself and reposition his hostage in front of him.

  “Drop it,” Br
andt repeated as the pistol returned to the girl’s chin.

  “I see your men found the servers,” Young sneered. “Too bad. I wonder if any of them survived, or if you’re all alone now.”

  Frank lowered his weapon’s sight a couple inches, drawing its angle in slightly. His eyebrows arched as his thumb discreetly moved the selective fire switch to full automatic.

  Remember your orders.

  The renegade’s eyes darted between the two men. His smile waned for a second before he flashed it again. “You know, there is one saying you guys have that I like. Dum vita est, spes est.”

  “Don’t do it,” Frank growled.

  Frank read the billionaire’s intentions even before he moved a muscle. Harcourt Young retrained his weapon on Corporal Brandt, but never got off a shot. Frank squeezed the trigger on his rifle, tearing the desperado and his hostage to shreds as the rifle’s magazine emptied completely.

  Without thought or hesitation, Frank reloaded his weapon. He stepped forward, nudging Young’s lifeless body with his boot.

  “Captain!” Brandt shrieked. “Captain, you killed the hostage!”

  “I did,” he murmured.

  He dragged his feet down the stairs, put his back to the wall of the airlock bulkhead, and slid down the wall until he was seated. A short burst of gunfire echoing through the halls barely registered through the post-adrenaline haze.

  Brandt paced over to the opening, towering over his commanding officer. “What the hell? You totally blew her away. You didn’t have a clear shot. Why the hell were you on full auto?”

  “I did what I had to do,” he croaked. His throat constricted as he met the condemning gaze of the corporal. “Go help Josephson. If any of these bastards are left, flank them.”

  “Yes, sir,” the younger man sneered as he stepped through the airlock.

  Frank placed his rifle on the ground after Brandt left, burying his face in his hands. His closed eyes could not block out the terrified face of the blonde girl as his rounds tore into her chest. She was innocent. She deserved better than instant condemnation. He didn’t need to read the orders that were in his breast pocket again. He had memorized all the words, but they were of no comfort.