by Graham Brown
“The bastard got off a shot,” James said. “It passed clean through my shoulder.”
“You’re losing blood.”
“I’m okay,” James insisted. “How are we doing here?”
James stopped in his tracks. He seemed stunned by the number of injured and dead. “What are you treating them with?”
“I have nothing,” Bethel said. “The red soil helps the clotting and because of the solar radiation it’s sterile, but there are no pain killers. Truth is, most of them won’t last till sunrise.”
James turned toward the distance. “Sunrise will be here in a couple of hours,” he said. “We have to make our next move by then.”
“How do you know we have that long?” Kamahu asked. “How do you know they’re not coming now?”
James looked at him.
“I jammed the radios from the MRV,” James said. “No one knows about this yet. But when these guys don’t come back home in the morning…”
Kamahu nodded. “So what do we do?”
“We need to get to the warehouses down the road,” James said. “The ones we saw on the way in. I’m pretty sure that’s where the guards camp out during the day. They certainly don’t come all the way from Olympia every night.”
Bethel thought about that. It made sense. The landing site had been a three-hour ride in the big trucks, and Olympia was another ten miles beyond that.
“They’ll probably have medical supplies there,” he suggested.
“And more weapons,” James said.
“What can I do?” Kamahu asked.
“Round up a group of men,” James said, firmly. “Only those who really want to keep fighting. Meet me back here as soon as you can.”
An hour later, James was lying flat on his stomach, peering over the crest of a ridge at the warehouse buildings they’d passed on the way out from Olympia. The road to the Core Unit ran by them on the right hand side, squeezed between the buildings and the sharp drop of a narrow canyon. It reminded him of the cuts and grooves carved by flash floods out in the American West, more proof that Mars had once flowed with water that remained nowhere to be found.
Ten yards back from the road, a high wall surrounded the buildings. The top curved outward and James guessed it was designed to catch and redirect the dust laden winds the way a breakwater redirected the waves, but it was also crowned with razor wire, spike strips and a few towers from which weapons could be fired. It reminded him of the compounds on Earth, and the walls the Cartel hid behind.
The central section of the wall was dominated by a wide metallic gate. Deep tracks in the ground leading up to it told him the MRVs and APCs used that gate. In fact, he could see three other MRVs in the yard beyond. They sat idle with plastic tarps covering their legs and other joints in a vain attempt to keep the fine dust out.
James wondered why they weren’t inside the warehouses. But then he realized the doors to the huge buildings were not quite tall enough to let them enter. He wondered what sat inside those buildings aside from living quarters.
“Looks pretty quiet,” he said, lowering the binoculars.
He felt a tug on his shoulder and turned to see Bethel packing some of the red soil into the bullet wound.
“You’re leaking oil,” Bethel said.
James had to smile. He handed the binoculars to Kamahu, who took a long look.
“How many men do you think they have?”
“Can’t be more than a skeleton crew at this point. And most of them will be asleep. Everyone else would have been out at the worksite with us.”
“Do you think we can take them?”
“I don’t know,” James said, sarcastically. “Maybe if we had a few more people...”
He glanced over his shoulder. A huge crowd stood behind them. Almost all of the former slaves who were still healthy had come along, waiting to charge into battle.
Kamahu shrugged. “You said only those who really wanted to fight. They all wanted to fight.”
James smiled to himself. “I’ll have to be more specific next time.”
He eased back down the ridge and headed for the waiting MRV. “This time you guys wait for my signal.”
CHAPTER 35
On the official maps the warehouse complex was supposed to be a simple staging area, but it was built under contract by one of the Cartel’s companies and like the other outposts they’d turned this one into an armory. If the battle for Mars had ever come, they would have used this base and a dozen others from which to launch their attacks.
As it turned out Mars had been taken without a shot, and the mercenaries who’d expected to fight had settled down into easy duty, working the slaves, maintaining their bases.
The two men assigned to the tower beside the main gate at the warehouse complex were playing cards when they noticed a vehicle moving towards them in the darkness.
“Anyone due in?” the first guard asked.
The second guard checked his board. “Not for a couple hours.”
As the MRV approached they could see it was one of the two assigned to the Core Unit’s work detail. It moved slowly following the curved path that led up to the gate until it stepped into a gap between the high wall and the guard tower.
The armored cab of the MRV was now even with the observation deck, its menacing face all but filling the broad plate glass of the window.
“It’s Vulture Two,” the first guard noted, looking at the insignia.
“What the hell happened to it?” the second guard asked, studying the burn marks. “Looks like it caught fire.”
As the second guard prepared to log it in, the first guard pressed the microphone switch. “Vulture Two, you’re early. Is something wrong?”
A scratchy distorted transmission came back. “Turret actuator caught fire,” the voice said. “Almost cooked us in here. When I find the mechanic that worked on this last I’m gonna beat him senseless.”
“It’s always something with these guys,” the first guard said privately. “Better wake the mechanics.”
As the second guard called down to the personnel bay, the first guard pressed the switch for the gate and a high-pitched tone rang out. Yellow lights around the huge gate started flashing and the gate began to draw back.
“Come on in, Vulture Two.”
The MRV rose up a few inches, as they always did when getting ready to move, and then took a step forward. There it stopped, right in the path of the gate.
“Come on V2, keep it moving, “ the guard said, his hand poised over the gate’s close switch.
There was no response.
The guard pressed the talk switch again. “What’s wrong now, V2?”
As the guard waited for an answer he saw movement in the distance, a group of men running towards the open gate. They were racing at all possible speed. Ahead of them dozens more rode on a flatbed.
They looked like…
“Damn,” the guard said. He reached for the alarm.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice warned him over the intercom.
Both guards looked up. The top half of the MRV had turned towards them and was pointing both of its multi-barreled cannons into the guard shack. The barrels clicked around slowly, ready to fire at a moment’s notice.
Without another thought the guard pulled his hand away from the alarm switch and—not knowing what else to do—slowly raised his hands.
CHAPTER 36
Sitting in Cassini’s grandiose office, Gault took in the view of things. Through the curving line of windows, he could see from one side of Olympia to the other. Its buildings shimmered in a pink hue as their silver walls of tinted glass reflected the dim color of the morning sky.
In the center of the city, the Core Unit rose above them like a protective father—or a looming volcano. Gault knew better than most what would happen if one of those reactors went critical. He’d watched from the outskirts of Shanghai years before when the Black Death, using weapons supplied by the Cartel, had taken
over a fusion plant, murdered the staff running it and then sent the huge reactor into super critical mode.
The plant went off like a hydrogen bomb. And from a distance of thirty miles, Gault’s face had received second-degree burns before he could turn away.
Needless to say, only the poorest of the poor lived around Shanghai anymore.
The door opened, breaking Gault’s reverie and he turned to see Cassini walking in.
“Are you in the habit of letting yourself into other people’s offices?” Cassini snapped.
“You called me here,” Gault said. “I don’t wait in the hall like a schoolboy.”
Gault had no real respect for Cassini. From what he’d seen, Cassini wasn’t a fighter; he preferred to manipulate. Gault despised that kind of maneuvering. There was something cowardly in it.
“I did call you here,” Cassini said, taking a seat behind the desk. “Because we have a problem.”
Gault’s eyebrows went up. “And what problem might that be?”
“We’ve lost contact with the work camp and the armory in sector five.”
Gault had to think for a minute, he’d only just gotten done memorizing the maps and designations on Mars. “The second Core Unit?”
“Exactly,” Cassini replied. “Lucien will have a conniption if something’s gone wrong out there.”
Gault fought to suppress a grin. “Yes,” Gault agreed. “That wouldn’t look good for you.”
“For either of us,” Cassini insisted. “Don’t think I won’t blame it on your lax efforts and weak enforcement of order.”
Gault fumed. He should have expected as much.
“It’s probably solar flares or something,” he suggested. “Those workers are docile. They’re half dead anyway. Where would they get the energy to fight?”
“We recently put another eight hundred out there,” Cassini said. “They came on the freighter with you. That put the total workforce close to two thousand. The numbers may have made these slaves bold.”
Gault knew what Cassini was getting at. Two thousand slaves. Less than a hundred guards. That was not a well-balanced mix. Little events could lead to sabotage, riots or worse. He’d seen that before, too.
“I’ll have it checked out,” Gault said, standing and wondering if he could turn this to his advantage.
He almost hoped it was sabotage or an insurrection of some kind. If he put it down with the requisite brutality, he could crow about it to Lucien and point out Cassini’s weakness. He might even leap frog the manipulator and take over as governor. Spending his days in this fine office in the company of young women instead of out in the field had begun to interest him.
“I’ll launch a pair of recon drones,” he said, heading for the door. “We’ll know in thirty minutes.”
Cassini nodded, but also went further as if he knew something already. “Better get the heavy armor out of mothballs,” he said. “I want those rigs prepared for battle if we need them.”
Hannah was in her office when the call came in from Cassini.
“Governor,” she said in her most polite voice. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I’m sorry,” Cassini said, “this isn’t a social call. You need to get the medical bays ready for possible trauma arrivals.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“A worker’s riot at the second Core Unit. They’ve killed the guards and burned half the equipment…”
Hannah’s emotions rode a wave as Cassini spoke. An insurrection at the Core Unit had to be James’s doing. It meant he had come around to seeing things her way. It meant a slightest bit of hope in her mind. She could tell the others about him now. With a leader they could rally behind, a true resistance could begin. But Cassini’s next statement crushed her spirit even as it began to rise.
“… I’m sending people in to deal with it. If any of these rebels survive, I want them brought back to health so they can be publicly executed.”
She fought for balance. Trying to think of some tactic to dissuade Cassini from ordering the massacre, but she couldn’t come up with anything that wasn’t blatantly obvious. Her response made her sick. “Yes… I understand Governor. Anything else?”
He hesitated, then added, “Yes actually there is. You can come celebrate with me when the traitors are dead. It’ll be just the two of us.”
The comm clicked off before she could answer. Cassini wasn’t waiting for an answer, because it wasn’t a request, more like the whim of a dictator he fancied himself to be.
Hannah shook off the sleazy feeling that swept over her and got up. She had to find Davis and get word to the others. If they didn’t act now, they would never get another chance.
CHAPTER 37
With the sun blazing down outside, injured slaves were brought into the sprawling, hangar-like buildings of the armory. With real therapeutic supplies and some help from two medics assigned to the station, Bethel treated as many as he could and made those who would soon die as comfortable as possible.
While Bethel ran himself near to exhaustion treating the wounded, James and Kamahu, chained the rest of the armory’s skeleton crew to the water pipes in the barracks, leaving them under the watchful eyes of several angry former slaves.
After warning not to take revenge or allow themselves to be tricked, James stepped away and motioned for Kamahu to follow. Together they moved deeper into the complex.
Staring out into the yard, James counted a dozen earthmovers and huge bulldozers but saw only four MRVs. With the one he’d brought in, that made five. “If we’re going to defend ourselves we’ll need men or women who can man those rigs. I don’t suppose there are any more ex-military personnel among our group.”
Kamahu shrugged. “Doubt it,” he said. “Can you teach us?”
“The basics,” James said. “That’s probably all we’ll have time for. Send word around. I want to talk with anyone who has experience operating cranes, bulldozers or heavy equipment. That kind of knowledge will help.”
Kamahu nodded. “So a counter attack is coming.”
“Sooner or later,” James said. “I jammed their transmissions during the battle, but it won’t take long for someone to realize what’s happened. Daily reports. Simple check-ins. None of those things are going to happen and the radio silence is going to be deafening. Once they figure it out, we won’t have much time.”
“But you have a plan, right?”
There was a hopeful look in Kamahu’s eyes, one that said he was trusting James to see them through.
“I’m working on one,” James said. With that, he pried open a locker to reveal twenty pulse rifles in a rack.
“First, we need to find anything we can use to fight with,” he said, prying open another locker to reveal more rifles.
Kamahu joined him in the effort and soon they’d gone through every locker and storage room in the first warehouse. They’d found portable comm units, mining equipment and tools, more weapons and racks of body armor that had never come out of the packaging. As they went, James tried to make split decisions as to what might be useful and what might be burdensome. Kamahu wrote numbers and locations on a small pad, and called in some of his friends to distribute what had been found.
In the second warehouse, they found a fleet of small utility vehicles, all terrain scouts, some with four and others with six wheel drive setups. They wouldn’t last long in battle but they had their uses. Finally, he and Kamahu forced their way into a storeroom secured with a heavy set of locks. As James flicked on the light, he saw the reason for such heavy security.
Stacked like lumber in small pyramids were a series of long tubes. Some of them were missiles for the MRVs out in the yard. But most lacked either a nose cone or fins for guidance. James eased up to them.
“Bombs?” Kamahu asked.
“Next best thing,” James said. “Mining explosives. C-14.”
“This is good?” Kamahu asked.
“Good for us,” James said grinning. “Bad for them.”
CHAPTER 38
Hannah stood on a balcony overlooking Olympia’s main plaza. She was on the south side of the government building, several stories up. The balcony had an un-swept look, red dust covering the chairs and tables, piling up in small dunes in the corners.
Few people came over to this side anymore. Not since the council had been suspended.
From this vantage point she watched a long column of MRVs marching through the city, heading out into the desert to do battle. The parade of deadly armor was impressive. Forty of the hulking machines, fully outfitted for battle. As they departed another twenty or so took up positions all around the city.
It was a show of force, far more than necessary to crush the slaves and their little uprising. There could only be one reason for that. Cassini wanted everyone to see what he had at his disposal, what he was capable of unleashing. He wanted fear to creep in and make a septic home in every soul on the planet. And by the sound of things, his plan seemed to be working.
Hannah had called for the group to meet, but no one had come and she’d been left to watch the display on her own.
Finally the door behind her opened cautiously. She turned, half expecting Cassini’s thugs. Instead it was Davis and of all people, Isha.
She offered a sad smile of greeting. “Any sign of the others?”
Davis shook his head. “No one else was willing to risk a meeting on such short notice.”
“Julian fears he’s being watched,” Isha said. “He sends his regards.”
“He probably is being watched,” Hannah said. “Maybe we all are.”
“We’ve heard about a riot out at the second Core Unit,” Isha said. “Word travels fast.”
“Not a riot,” Hannah said. “An uprising.”
“Is there any difference?”
“Of course there is. A riot is simple reaction, born out of anger. An uprising requires an endgame.” She nodded into the distance. “Someone out there believes they can win.”
Isha ran a finger across the table. It left a trail in the thin layer of dust. “I think you put more faith in whatever this is than the rest of us.”