“I...sure.” George nodded and forced his legs to carry him to the waiting flyer. He was empty inside. There were no tears left to shed, no passion left intact. Just the determination to see the day through.
They were airborne and circling ever higher above the convoy when Doomes spoke next. “You’re the key. You know that, don't you?”
“Key to what?” George’s shell-shocked brain struggled to grasp what Doomes was getting at.
“O’Brien didn’t tell you?”
“That I’m the only one who can warn him on Mars? That without me this whole exercise is meaningless? That the only reason your people are dying out here is to get me and my dad’s machine back to Slinker? Right?” He said in a resigned monotone.
“Essentially, Captain,” Doomes answered respectfully, “O’Brien ordered me to get you there, still functional.”
“You expect morer trouble?”
“The hills are crawling with the enemy. I believe they expected this attack to wipe us out, but all they did was slow us down. They are determined. This day will not pass quietly.”
“I can’t hide in a hauler.”
“You have no choice.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Stay aboard with me then.”
“Fair enough.”
Doomes nodded to the pilot. “Let’s get on with it.”
The pilot brought the craft about and dove. Dozens of fur-cloaked figures scurried over the hills below, friend and foe locked in a struggle neither could afford to lose. George pocketed spare charges and powered up the lasrifle handed him. His own death loomed in his mind, but he swallowed the vision and sighted along the weapon. “By god, the enemies of mankind will be vanquished this day,” he muttered. “Count on it.”
Chapter Seventeen
16:41 Hours July 23, 2386 - Earth
Distraught over Heather’s death, Lauren could not bring herself to eat. She tried to blunt her melancholy with beer, but only succeeded in lapsing into drunken stupors. From these, gruesome nightmares would wrench her awake before she could complete a sleep cycle. It left her groggy and snappish, and brought on Farrell's patronizing concern. After a few such episodes, she turned to sneaking beers whenever he was either occupied with the ship’s systems or asleep. For breakfast, she downed the last of the dark ale George preferred. Growing quietly desperate, she went for the pharmaceuticals stored in the med closet, but Farrell had changed the access code. Too despondent to fight him for it, she considered, but rejected, lasering the damn latch off. Sullen and morose, she sought solace recalling endearing moments with George, but it did little to salve her aching heart.
A com signal blinked to life on Wendell’s vid. Hunched over the sensorcon, she jerked upright, then glanced around for Farrell. He must still be working on the drive interlink. Routine maintenance he told her, but the system was too new for that. It was a dodge, pure and simple.
“Acknowledge.” Husky voiced, she cleared her throat and slipped from one chair to the other. Her fingers trembled. She keyed on the receiver. The comcon vid blinked to green slash white, indicating audio only.
Lauren, Farrell.
“Go, George.” Flushed with relief, she gave voice to a heartfelt sigh.
Bring Slinker in. I repeat, bring Slinker in.
“Roger that. Everybody okay?”
No. We’ll be at your location in twenty, thirty minutes. Expect trouble. Don't go topside without body armor. Underline that.
“Yes, yes, oh dear God, yes.” Lauren hugged herself, trying with all her might to keep from choking up. She had to ask him something…oh yeah. She dredged together scattered thoughts. Anything to keep him talking, to hear his voice, so strong, reassuring. “Sensors picked up an energy discharge...a really huge one. I thought you were gone.”
That was a shot from Nayork’s pulse cannon. Took out a Cargan ship.
“Nayork? Cargan? Cargan what?”
I’ll explain later. Don and Owen are gone. Just me and Baider now. See you soon. The com signal blinked out before Lauren could gather her wits and reply. She stared at the blank screen yearning for more, then covered her face and cried.
Farrell entered the control room. “Don't you think you ought to clean up?” The blatant reproach in his voice jerked her from an ensnaring web of gloom.
“Whaa...oh, Farrell.” Though tear blurred, her mournful, red-eyed reflection stared back at her from the blank vid. She cringed inside. How long since she last looked in a mirror? Normally robust cheeks were now pale and sunken, her auburn hair tangled and listless. If it weren't for the material, her uniform would be disheveled, and stained from slopped beer.
“You’re a mess, girl.” He tugged at her arm and she rose from the chair.
“You don't look so good yourself.”
Though shower fresh, hair combed back and his uniform crisp, his sallow skin, and sunken, blood-shot eyes aged him far beyond his twenty-six years.
“You stink too.” He scrunched his nose and wrapped an arm about her shoulders. “Like stale beer and sweat.”
“I...uh...I know...I know.” She laid her head on his chest and screwed her eyes tightly shut to stop the flow of tears, but it didn’t help. A sob escaped and she hugged him with all her feeble might. She had tried to be strong in George’s place, but her perceived failure made her even more miserable. Unabashed, she cried, washing away her pent up frustrations, her fear and anger. Logic could not explain their current predicament, but worse, people she cherished were dead.
A minute passed, then two. She shuddered, sucked in her breath and let it out with a long, mournful sigh. Despite it all, she prayed George would turn up okay. If not, she would collapse into a hapless retch. She pushed away from Farrell’s loose embrace and wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. “Okay, okay, I’ll...I’ll get ready. George is coming back. I...I...he can't see me like this. God, I could use a drink.”
“You don't need it now. He’s fine. You’ll see.”
Farrell’s encouragement bolstered her flagging resolve. She had little time to prepare for whatever was to come before them this day. “You’re right, I know. You have the bridge, sir.”
“Aye, Captain Ma’am.” He cocked a brow and saluted.
“Okay, silly.” She smiled with sad eyes. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“Take all the time you need. I’ll get us into the harbor.”
She hesitated. Her hands were trembling. “Thanks, thanks for being here...for me.”
“You’re welcome, Captain Ma’am.”
His asinine grin infectious, for the briefest of moments she thought they just might have a chance, but as she turned away, conviction melted. The specter of death blackened her thoughts. At least she would see George again. That was more comfort to her than a keg of forgetfulness.
17:54 Hours July 23, 2386
Within the safety of the dark tower’s walls, George locked in his last powerpak and reinitialized his lasrifle. Piker landed beside him, face bloodied, gray coat torn and muddy.
“Why the hell do they keep coming at us, Piker? We’ve mowed down hundreds! There’s only a handful left. So, why?”
Out of breath, Piker spoke in a rush. “Dey be beleivin’ dey be dead soon ‘nough. Yeuns git ta the ocean, yeuns call up the devil hisself from outta the sea. He be makin’ Earth his kingdom.”
Every yard taken had cost lives. Down to two flyers and the three haulers, out of meds and running short on ammunition, they could muster less than three squads. The last transport ferrying wounded to Nayork had been destroyed an hour before, leaving their trail littered with the dead and dying. Thus short, Doomes had pulled the security detail protecting George and allowed him to join in the fight.
“You seen Baider or Doomes?” George looked into a face as weary, as battered as his.
“Yesum. Dey be out there,” Piker waved to their left, “almost ta da water. It be over soon ‘nough.” Fur coat torn across the shoulder, blood and gore from his would-be killers staine
d his sleeves and chest. Neck and jaw were purpling from the swipe of a rifle barrel.
His certainty encouraged George. “You...”
A fusillade of bullets ricocheted off the Polycrete walls and whined through the semi-darkness inside the monolith. One of Piker’s men, at the edge of the northern portal, grunted and slid to the floor. His rifle skittered away, raising a trail of dust. A black armored soldier dragged him to safety. It was all he could do.
“Yeuns ready?” His jaw set, Piker’s weary eyes glinted with determination.
“I’ll lay down covering fire.”
“Yesum.” Piker pointed three of his men to the right, three to the left. They struggled to their feet without complaint and waited for Piker’s signal. As cool a bunch as George ever knew, to a man they were bloodied and exhausted, but just as determined to succeed as the enemy they faced was in thwarting them.
George lurched to his feet and snapped a quick glance around the edge of the portal. A bullet clipped the wall above him, showering him with jagged shards, but he’d seen the muzzle flash coming from the ruin where they’d been captured by the hill people.
“Go!” Piker bellowed and leaped from cover. George blasted the ruin with a sweep of his lasrifle. Bricks exploded. Stunted walls crumbled. Piker’s men sprinted across the polyphalt clearing, holding their fire to conserve ammunition. A gunshot clapped off the ruins and the bullet spent itself on the tarmac close to Piker.
Sucking in a deep breath, George stormed after Piker’s men, angling to the right to keep a clear field of fire. More shots echoed off the ruins, but went wide. Piker’s men reached the remains of the structure George just leveled, took cover and returned fire. George knelt and swept the next target, his lasrifle’s narrow yellow beam exploding pockets of superheated air, turning brick and mortar into deadly missiles. Dirt and debris burst into the frigid air.
Down by the waterfront a lasbeam sizzled. Guns boomed and cracked. Men cried out. Walls rumbled and collapsed amid mushrooming clouds of debris and fiery tendrils. Rotten wood smoldered, spewing columns of dirty gray smoke that a gentle ocean breeze spread into a thin haze. The fighting, sporadic now, gave George hope they would soon reach Slinker.
With Piker’s men several yards ahead, George loped down the hill. Out on the water, through the drifting gray haze, he glimpsed Slinker gliding into the harbor, felt a mental nudge as Slinker activated his bioneural implants.
Major Doomes, leading a black-clad squad, stormed a ruin. A flurry of rifle shots rippled off the hills. A yellow beam struck back, felling trees and walls. Except for the towering dark structure on the hill, the town was essentially leveled, nothing visible above the tall grass. Mighty oaks and pines and willowy poplars lay shattered among smoldering bricks, discarded weapons and seared or punctured corpses. He was numb to the sight of death now, but far from immune to its fearsome psychology.
Slowing to a fast walk, George closed his eyes for only a step or two, reached out for Slinker’s reassuring touch, and stumbled over a furry body. “Arrr!” He thrust his lasrifle out in a vane attempt to block his fall, but snared by the folds of the dead man’s cloak, the weapon twisted from his grip. For a long heartbeat, he wavered, precariously balanced on the ball of one foot, then slammed to the ground. Nausea swept over him. Searing pain lanced his shattered arm. He clamped down on an agonized scream and lay still lest his flurried actions caused a moderate injury to be much worse. He drew a harsh, pain-racked breath as strong hands pulled him to his feet. Fresh waves of excruciating torture punctured his bowels. Involuntarily, he emptied his bladder. The warm liquid collected at the blouse of his pants leg and quickly cooled.
“It be over George. It be over.”
Turning into himself, George recognized Piker’s voice, but not his meaning. He no longer cared if he lived or died, and sought relief in an all encompassing blackness.
18:18 Hours July 23, 2386
“We’re in the harbor, in anchor mode, Captain Ma’am.”
Lauren, protected neck to crotch by an olive green torso shield, stepped through the hatch. Though gaunt and pale, her auburn hair, brushed into a neat ponytail, shimmered. Her uniform jumpsuit was clean and smooth.
“See anything?” She felt much better, though her mouth was gummy despite repeated use of the dentamask.
“Yeah. Lotsa smoke. There isn’t much of the town left. I can see people out there, but I don't know if they’re good guys or bad.”
“Time to go topside. Did you see George?”
Farrell looked up, his face an emotionless mask. “Like I said, I can't tell.”
“Suit up.”
“Aye, Captain Ma’am.” His face broke into a grin. He leaped to his feet and hurried aft.
Before her, the main vid was on, consuming the entire forward bulkhead. She leaned over and tapped the control pad. The periscope lens zoomed in and panned left to right. She saw several figures, some in bulky gray or fur coats and others in black body armor. Behind them, up on the hill beside a dark and foreboding monolith, she saw huge silver haulers lumbering down the slope, bulging with equipment.
Columns of smoke caught up by a temperate ocean breeze flattened out into a haze that dimmed the sky. She tapped the con and the image froze, then slowly zoomed in on a small group nearing the water between piles of smoldering bricks. They were supporting a man in combat fatigues and body armor. She tapped again. The image enlarged until she could see his face. It was George! His was limp and his left arm was strapped to his chest with medstick. Was he dead? His head lolled to one side. He was alive!
“Thank you, Lord.” She crossed herself in a long absent habit and mouthed a silent prayer. Joy lifted her heart. She rushed to the cargo hold and grabbed a lasrifle from the open weapons locker beside the hatch.
Farrell reached her just as she was activating the lift. “Hold on, girl!”
“Come on, slow-poke,” she chided. “God I feel great! I saw George!”
“How about Baider?” Farrell jumped onto the lift, already several inches off the deck, and steadied himself with the handrail.
Lauren blushed. “No. I...I didn’t think to look for him.”
“Take it slow on the up, Captain Ma’am.”
Senselessly irritated, Lauren made to snap at him, but held her tongue. She depressed the lift control. The deck opened overhead. She sucked in the frigid air and gasped, but quickly clamped her mouth shut. Farrell scrunched down. They rose slowly until her head was just above the deck and she could see the town. The lift purred to a stop. She brought the eyespy up to pan the harbor. Besides the men with George, she saw a powerful looking man all in black standing atop a flat ledge at the water’s edge. There were others in black armor forming a defensive perimeter. Walking beside the first hauler, was Baider.
“Thank God! I see Baider! His head’s bandaged, but he’s on his feet.” She pocketed the eyespy and touched the lift control.
“Lauren, wait.” Farrell stayed her hand, but the lift rose a few more inches.
“Farrell...”
Two shots crackled. Lauren staggered back and collapsed into Farrell's arms. Her lasrifle clattered to the deck. She moaned and went slack. Tasting coppery, pink blood frothed at the corner of her trembling lips. She could see herself sprawled on the lift in Farrell’s arms. He screamed at her, but she couldn’t hear him. Had death taken her when George was so close? At once, she was filled with peace. Darkness swept in. She floated in a void, but wasn’t alone. There was a presence exuding warmth and love. A bodiless face. A man’s face. Old beyond all time. He spoke to her without words. Jumbled thoughts forced themselves upon her, pushing aside her endemic gloom.
Cold hit her like a fist. Pain radiated from her armpit. The deck closed above her, blocking out the day. She choked on her own blood and gasped for air. Now she could hear Farrell desperately exhorting her to hold on as he dragged her into the lounge and struggled to lift her limp form onto the couch.
He separated her torso armor and peeled back
her jumpsuit. Warm hands on her skin. A laser blade flashed before her and she felt her clothes fall away. Intense pain immobilized her. Farrell’s face came and went. His lips moved and he smiled reassuringly. She fought to hear, but his words remained meaningless. A pinch to her arm, all but lost in the fury consuming her chest. The fury in her chest subsided. She gazed at the ceiling, seeing, yet not seeing. There was someone else beside Farrell. Was it George? Opiates drowned her in serenity.
Chapter Eighteen
22:34 Hours July 23, 2386 - Earth
George woke with a start. He remembered falling, and fragmented moments of being dragged or carried. And pain so intense, he couldn't breathe. His arm throbbed and his side still ached, but he could manage it. Cautiously he raised his head and looked around. Bunks and the narrow walkway were crowded with royal-blue blanketed bodies. Though the lights were out in the cabin, illumination spilled across the deck from the control room. Warmth surrounded him, yet currents of cooler air brushed his face. A woman in a tattered, blood and mud-stained white blouse and dark blue slacks entered from the control room. She wove her way carefully to the aft hatch of Slinker’s bunkroom.
“Miss,” he whispered.
She stopped mid-step and kneeled down beside him. “George.”
With a surge of relief, he recognized her.
Linda smiled and brushed her hand over his forehead as if tending a child. “How are you feeling?”
“Groggy...and tired.” He tried to sit up, but nausea welled in his throat and he lay back, chilled, quivering.
“Don't be alarmed. Just relax for a while and let that nasty old narcotic settle.” Warm and soothing, she radiated good cheer. “In a little bit I’ll give you something to help you pull yourself together, but you aren’t needed just yet.”
“We made it?”
“We did. Professor Schumer’s aides are assembling the time machine as we speak.”
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