by Alex Kings
“Well,” said Srak. “Now we both have a grievance.”
“We can mourn later,” said Moore. “Who were these guys?”
They set to work investigating the bodies. In the background, the robot rolled back and forth chaotically, utter small fragments of phrases: “Please note … SuperDocks! … Hello, Customer.”
They had little on them apart from armour and weapons. A tattoo on the leader identified him as being from Sweetblade. But aside from that, there was one other thing.
The lead Varanid had a tablet under his armour. Moore took it out carefully, and gave it an expand gesture. To her surprise, it was unlocked. The contents were in Isk. A lot of it was jargon, a lot of was irrelevant data. Arka's name was mentioned. Only one bit was clear: A set of co-ordinates. By the look of it, they were only a few hours away. She copied the data to her own tablet, and memorised it too, just in case.
“I think this is it,” she said, standing.
“Good. Then let's going before someone else turns up,” said Srak.
“Dock … locked down.” the robot burbled.
“Not a problem,” said Srak, grabbing the lift doors.
Chapter 41: Farming Zone
Fragmentary images:
Earth set ablaze. Swarms of spiky black ships closing in on it. Its oceans boiling, its forests replaced by inferno.
An infinitely long platoon of Blanks marching down the streets of London, New York, Shanghai, between the burning buildings. Their helmets off, their staring lidless eyes and pale, waxy skin on show.
In the midst of a burnt-out field, he saw Agatha. She watched him back. She held the young girl in front of her, knife at the child's throat. Hanson tried to beg her to stop, but the words wouldn't come. Agatha just pointed at the burning city in the background.
“Your choice,” she said.
*
Hanson woke with a gasp. The air was rich, sweet, scented with with unfamiliar pollen. He choked on his first breath, then eagerly inhaled another. His eyes were watering, allowing only a view of a blurry blue sky. The ground against his back, the air against his skin, felt uncomfortably warm. His hands and feet throbbed.
The nightmare stayed with him, feeling so real that for a few seconds, he expected to look around and see a burning city in front of him. Then the reality came back. The sky he thought he saw was just a roof, covered with white lamps. The ground against his back was a metal grating. To either side of him, big sapphiroid tanks held aeroponically-grown plants, their naked, pale roots misted from pipes.
He was in the farming zone. He struggled to sit up.
A globe of water floated towards him. Vyren. “Captain,” he said. “Try to remain still. You've suffered mild hypoxia.”
Hanson nodded, and took another breath. On the walkways between the aeroponic tanks, he could see the Petaurs lying. Some with sitting up, others gasping. There was a hole in the ceiling about ten metres away. Ivis and Eulen were helping to lower the remaining Petaurs down with their effector fields. Vyren went to join them.
Hanson waited. The feeling came slowly into his fingers. Dull aches, mixed with sharper pains. He checked his right hand. First burnt, then frozen, then skin on his knuckles was beginning to blister.
When he was well enough, he managed to stand. Some of the Petaurs were getting up too. Vyren had brought his armour and weapons, which were laid out beside him. Slowly, he got suited up.
He caught sight of Yilva a little distance away. She'd put on her normal gown and armour (also brought by Vyren) over the prison uniform. Some of the Petaurs came up to her and (presumably) thanked her in the Albascene language. After a while, she sauntered over to Hanson, grinning.
“I figured out what was wrong with the code I gave you!” she said.
“While were were suffocating and freezing, you mean?” said Hanson.
“Thinking about it kept my mind off the cold,” she explained. “Anyway, I made a mistake. There's a variable right at the beginning – on the fifth line. It's called Antichain. Set it to zero instead of one, and it should work.”
“Well, that's a huge help, and very timely too,” Hanson said, smiling at her.
Yilva shrugged, smiling and looking slightly abashed.
“Glad to have you back,” said Hanson. He looked around. “So what are we going to do with all these?”
“Uh … I did not think that far ahead. I suppose there is not enough room on the Dauntless.”
Hanson sighed. “In a pinch, I suppose we could fit them in,” he said.
Which reminded him. He activated his comms and called Moore's team.
“Moore here.”
“Sergeant, sit-rep.”
“We've had an … interesting time of it,” said Moore.
“Same here.”
“We didn't find Arka … but a bunch of rather unfriendly Varanids did find us. We found a set of co-ordinates on their bodies. I think that could be our next lead.”
“Just … on them?” said Hanson.
“Yes, sir. Why?”
“It seems a little convenient.”
“Sir, I don't know how things are for you, but on my list list of things that are convenient, fighting three heavily-armed Varanids does not hold a high place.”
Hanson smiled. “Perhaps not. Anyway, head back to the Dauntless. We may have caused some problems, and I'd feel much more comfortable once we're off the planet.”
“What about Arka's ship?”
“Once we're out of the dock, we can stay in-system and decide whether to watch his ship, or go after these new co-ordinates.”
“Understood, sir.”
“See you there, Sergeant. Hanson out.”
Hanson looked around. The Petaurs were all up, and most seemed ready. As for himself, he wasn't feeling too bad, aside from his hand.
He switched to Isk. “Alright. Listen up! The Albascene will be looking for us, so we have to move quickly. I'm willing to get you off this planet using my ship. But first, we need to get there. It's too far to walk, and the transport pods won't fit us all of inside. Anyway, a group of this size will be conspicuous, so we'll have to split up.” He looked around the sea of white cotton. “Better clothes would also help.”
There was a short whistle, followed by a thud. One of the Petaurs went rigid for a moment. Something bounced off him. Then he collapsed.
“Get down!” shouted Hanson.
As he ducked, he caught sight of the object that had bounced off the Petaur. A harmless-looking bolt of plastic, with four prongs at the end. It hadn't even broken the skin. It was a variant of the stun-prod, he realised, adapted for use as a projectile.
Well, at the very least, the Albascene were aiming to capture rather than kill. It wasn't hard to see AC3's reasoning: They wouldn't do this out of mercy – it was just that this many prisoners would be too valuable to kill.
He spun round to see where the projectile had come from. A rank of Albascene were advancing down the walkways between the aeroponics tanks.
One turned its lower segment to aim right at him. Hanson rolled to the side as it fired. The projectile glanced off his armour. His right shoulder, where it had hit, tingled with pins and needles and went numb.
And that was just from a glancing blow. If one of those projectiles hit him properly, his armour wouldn't protect him.
He took cover behind one of the tanks. The Petaurs were panicking behind him. Some scrambled away, breaking formation, and went down as they were hit.
Hanson leaned out, carbine ready, and fired a brief burst at the closest Albascene. It was armoured, but not significantly. Its top segment broke open after a brief burst. Elsewhere, another Albascene went down under someone's laser fire.
“Vyren!” Hanson called. “How did you get in?”
“Service shaft a hundred metres east of here,” answered Vyren. “The coast is clear.” He send a map of the area with the location marked to Hanson's armour.
“Get the noncombatants over there, now! I'll hold thi
s lot off. Anyone who wants to stay and help is welcome to join in.” Another projectile came arcing from above. He shifted out the way as it bounced off the opposite tank. Then he stood, caught sight of the nearest Albascene, fired, then ducked back down as a couple of projectiles came his way.
Vyren cajoled the Petaurs. “This way, this way.” In his effector fields, he picked some of the unconscious ones.
With all the tanks in the way, it was hard to see who was staying. Hanson could see Eulen. Another crack of laser fire told him Ivis was probably there too.
And – there was Yilva, crouched on the floor. She'd picked up one of the projectiles and was fiddling with it. A moment later, blue sparks arced between its prongs. She threw it back toward the Albascene.
A couple of the Petaurs had stayed. Hanson leaned out from cover, fired again, then leant back. He got the Petaur's attention, then held out his pistol. “Can you use this?”
One of them nodded. Hanson slid the pistol over.
The Albascene advance seemed more cautious now. They didn't seem to have anticipated armed resistance. They'd already lost – at a glance – five of their team. Possibly more. Hanson leaned out again, and gave another burst of suppressive fire between the tanks, just to scare them and keep them back a bit longer.
The Petaur he'd given his pistol to was using it with trained ease, even though its grip wasn't designed for her hands. She punctured an Albascene's suit and ducked behind cover before a projectile hit her. Hanson was glad she'd decided to stay.
Vyren's voice came over the comms: “We're at the hatch now. I'm guiding the Petaurs inside.”
“Go first,” Hanson said. “Make sure the coast is clear.” Then, switching to an open channel, he said, “Ivis, I want you to bring up the rear. You know the lay of the land. Both of you: Keep them safe, get them to the Dauntless!”
“Okay,” said Ivis.
They just had to hold the Albascene off a little while longer. Hanson fired again. More were coming from further along the farming strip. They made to push forward again.
“Pull back!” Hanson called. “Five rows of tanks. Move towards the east.”
Stun-projectiles flew overhead, coming down in between the tanks. It was a scattershot sort of strategy, but it could hit someone in cover.
“Captain, we're all through,” said Ivis.
“Understood,” said Hanson. “Everyone, pull back and go for the hatch!”
Projectiles rained down from above, their electric blue glowing tips buzzing. Out of nowhere came an immense crack like a thunderbolt. The Albascene had finally broken out the lasers.
Hanson ducked between sapphiroid tanks as fast as he dared, stopping occasionally to fire and hold back the Albascene. He kept track of his allies as best he could, between the tanks.
At last they came to an access shaft. It was a square hole in the floor, about a metre across with a metal hatch opened beside it. Ladder slots were arranged nearby.
One of the Petaurs who had joined him dived into the hold. Yilva followed, coming out of nowhere. Hanson looked around, then headed for the hatch.
Crack-crack-crack. The hatch lit up in painfully bright light three times in quick succession. In just over a second it had gone from dull grey to glowing white hot and sagging, almost melted.
Hanson leapt back behind the nearest tank. The hatch would be impassible until it cooled down.
On the other hand, he knew the Albascene with the laser must be in a line of sight of the hatch, given the regular arrangement of the aeroponics tanks. Which meant …
He leant out, caught sight of a beefy armour suit with a thick laser aperture, and fired directly into it. The suit withstood his fire, but the laser aperture didn't. Far more fragile than ordinary sapphiroid, it fractured under an attack from his carbine.
That dealt with, he ducked back. More projectiles flew past.
“Anyone with me?” he called out.
“Here!” came a scratchy, female voice. She came into view a moment later, holding a pistol, chest heaving. A moment later, he saw Eulen.
“Anyone else?”
That was all.
The Albascene were still closing in. “Vyren?” Hanson said over the comms. “We're shut out. Please tell me there's another way down?”
“There is a disused lift shaft twenty-six metres further along,” said Vyren. “It is easy to spot. Should we wait?”
“No. Get everyone to the Dauntless as fast as you can.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Hanson looked at his two new team-mates. “What's your name?” he asked the Petaur.
“Viache,” she said.
“Well, Viache, we're nearly there. Eulen, are you with us? Good. Let's go.”
Chapter 42: Bad at This
Eulen followed Hanson and the escapee Petaur, Viache, between the aeroponics tanks. He held up a weak effector field all around him, to try and deflect any falling stun-projectiles. When he had a clear shot, he fired back at the Albascene pursuing them.
Two attempts and two failures. If he had legs, he would have been kicking himself. And now he'd been dragged into into this battle zone. None of his other marks had been this much trouble!
But now he had one final shot. Hanson was nearly alone with him. He just had to worry about the Viache – she was armed, and Eulen guessed she'd have no problem gunning him down. Especially since he was an Albascene. She was already giving him occasional dark glances.
They reached the lift shaft: A pair of sliding doors set against the wall of the canyon.
Hanson grabbed one door. “Viache, take the other,” he instructed. “Eulen, try and pull open the gap with your effector fields.”
They did so, and the doors slid open without too much effort. Inside the shaft, a ladder led down.
Eulen waited, tense.
“You first,” Hanson said to Viache.
Perfect.
He could shoot Hanson here, blame it on someone else as Viache came up, then, in her distraction, kill her.
Viache was in the shaft and descending a moment later.
Eulen quietly rotated his middle segment so his laser was pointed at Hanson. He powered it up.
Viache was about to drop out of sight …
Something pushed through his weak effector fields and thumped against his suit.
An electrical pulse danced through the water inside. His control systems and visual field went dead. Trapped inside his suit, a numbness flowing through all his component fish, he managed to complete one more thought: By the ancestral abyss, I'm bad at this. Then he lost consciousness.
*
Eulen's suit dropped a couple of inches to the floor with a clang. The stun-projectile that had hit him bounced back and fell to the floor.
Hanson swung round. “Damnit,” he muttered.
Viache cocked her head. Her ears radar'd around at the approaching Albascene. “Leave him?” she said.
“No,” said Hanson. He took cover behind the nearest aeroponics tank, and glanced behind them. There was still time, just about. “He didn't have to come on this mission, but he chose to help. I won't leave him behind unless we absolutely have to.”
He fired a burst of suppressive fire at the approaching Albascene, and Viache chimed in with a few well-aimed shots from the pistol.
Then he ducked out from cover, and grabbed Eulen's suit.
“Bloody hell. He's heavy.”
More projectiles continued to rain down. Hanson managed to tip Eulen over and roll him laboriously towards the shaft.
At the lip, he frowned. There was no way they could carry Eulen between them and descend. He was just too heavy and too unwieldy.
And the Albascene were nearly on top of them.
“Just drop him in!” said Viache.
Hanson stared at her.
“Really!” she spoke at lightning speed. Even Yilva had never talked so fast. “The lift shaft is angled, so it won't be a straight fall. Albascene suits are tough enough to survive a fall. And t
he individual organisms are lightweight, so they'll withstand acceleration. Trust me!”
There was no time to argue, and the only alternative Hanson could see was leaving Eulen to get caught.
He put his foot against the inactive suit, and pushed it over the edge into the shaft.
There was a moment of silence while it fell into the darkness, then a startling crash as the suit hit the angled wall of the shaft. After that the suit made a continuous clattering, clanging noise against the wall of the shaft.
Satisfied, Viache was already descending. Hanson followed her, closing the shaft doors behind him.
Going down by hand would take far too long. Fortunately, they both had their individual solutions.
Viache leapt from the ladder, opened her arms wide, and glided on a steep trajectory on her skin flaps. When she reached the far end of the shaft, she wound in her arms and legs for a moment, then kicked off, and glided back to the ladder. The whole motion was accomplished with practiced, acrobatic ease, and in a couple of seconds allowed her to descend.
Hanson pressed his feet against the sides of the ladder. With his hands also against the ides, he eased his grip slightly, and let himself slide down. As soon as he began to fall too fast, he increased the pressure and slowed himself again. Without armour, such an action would have taken the skin off his already-injured palms, and probably strained his wrists too. But with it, he barely felt any discomfort at all.
They reached the bottom of the shaft to find Eulen's suit lying on its side, slightly dented and heavily scuffed, but intact. There seemed to be no sign anyone was following them. Hanson suspected that AC3's security forced had been caught off-guard and were still having trouble adjusting to the situation.
Before opening the doors, he called Vyren on the comms. “We're at the bottom of the shaft.”
“There is a transit pod access less than ten metres away,” said Vyren.