by L. E. Thomas
She handed him a black cylindrical tube the size of a pen cap.
“What’s this?” he asked, taking the tube that reminded him of something he would get at the pharmacy.
“It’s quick and painless.”
He stared at the tube that suddenly felt heavier. “I didn’t come this far to kill myself.”
“It’s only for if you have no other option. Believe me,” she said, swallowing, “you don’t want to be interrogated by these people. Understand?”
Austin nodded, his eyes fixed on the tube. “What about the other prototype?”
“It will be incapacitated.”
“And all the files for this fighter?”
“Everything in that room will be destroyed.” She lowered her gaze. “I assure you.”
He stared at her, the meaning of her words coming together. “What about you?”
“I am of no concern.”
He shook his head. “No. You can come with me. You could get onboard and—”
She touched his hand, gently draping her fingers over his skin. “You are the mission now. You are all that matters. Getting you to the Wraith is most important. This is how it has to be.” She raised her eyebrows. “Yes?”
Austin nodded, his pulse quickening. “I understand.”
“Make sure all forms of identification are destroyed. You must be no one—a shadow of a person—to complete this mission.”
“I haven’t had anything on me that was mine in a while.”
“Good.” Val shut down the tablet and tossed it into a trashcan in the corner. The can flashed, and he smelled burning electronics.
“What did you do?” he asked.
“Destroyed the evidence.” She looked around the apartment. “This is the final night I will spend in this place.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, unsure how to react to her statement.
“I’m not. I am glad for this to be over. Very glad you arrived tonight.” She eyed him. “Where are you from, Lieutenant?”
He sighed. “Austin, please. Call me Austin.”
“Very well, Austin.”
“I am from a place outside of Atlanta.” He laughed when she looked confused. “Earth. Quadrant Eight.”
“Ah, Earth.” She tilted her head back and stared at the wall. “A recent pirate attack occurred there, yes?”
Austin nodded slowly. “Yes.”
She paused, studying him.“You are younger than I expected.”
“Oh?” he asked, sipping on the tea.
Her gaze narrowed. “I was told they were sending the best Star Runner, who was close enough to make a difference.” She bit down on her lip. “Can you do this?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “I will do this.”
She held his gaze. “Please do so.”
The vehicle bounced, thrusting Austin’s head against the base of the trunk. He wondered for the countless time why Val hadn’t bought one of those hovering vehicles he saw on the bustling streets of Claria.
Following a restless night of sleep, Austin and Val had left her apartment early in the morning. The cool air woke him better than any coffee, and the gravity of what he was about to do rumbled into his stomach. His hands shook as Val handed him the red coveralls she said maintenance crews wore inside the Zahlian complex. He folded his legs into a tight ball, forcing his body into the compact trunk. She had squeezed his shoulder once before closing the false bottom and securing him.
It only occurred to him later it might be the last time he would ever see her.
The vehicle paused. He heard muffled voices. A guard. Maybe two. The conversation ceased, and the vehicle continued forward on an incline.
They were in.
He felt the car moving up, turning around large curves and finally coming to a stop on a flat surface. As promised, Val tapped twice on the trunk. Now, all he had to do was wait for the signal.
Austin stared into the darkness, his heart thudding in his ears. What was he doing here? He had been so confident when others asked him about his ability to fly the Wraith. Now, the cold realization of doubt crept into his body. There was no time to think about it anymore. The day was here.
Major Braddock and Commander Horace had allowed him to secretly spend hours on board the Formidable learning the basics of Zahlian flight. Austin was happy to find out the differences were small since the early days of the Legion navy had seen engineers trying to reverse-engineer captured Zahlian fighters. Austin had been forced to lie to his comrades about his training, telling them nothing when they asked why he had increased his simulation time. He wanted to tell someone he was learning how to fly a Zahlian Interceptor, but Braddock had sworn him to secrecy. The simulation had been altered slightly based on what intelligence had provided about the Wraith. But Austin didn’t think the reality of the situation hit him until he climbed into the tiny trunk of Val’s vehicle.
He was about to steal the most powerful fighter in the known galaxy, risk starting a war, and roll the dice with his life.
He took a deep breath. He felt for the pen weapon in his chest pocket and the zip ties in his other pocket. The magnetic gloves and knee pads were in place. He was ready.
An explosion ripped through the parking deck, the shockwave rattling against the vehicle. He heard screaming, followed by the jarring sound of machine gun fire.
He hesitated for a moment.
Austin yanked down on the ripcord and the trunk’s false bottom popped out of place. He kicked his legs up and climbed out of the vehicle. Hundreds of other vehicles lined the white garage. Black smoke rolled up from somewhere beneath him.
Find the trash receptacles, Val had said. Find the yellow doors the moment you exit the car.
He searched around the garage. Two Zahlian Marines ran in the opposite direction, their laser rifles swinging over their chest. Looking the other direction, he discovered the yellow doors Val had instructed him to find.
Walking as quickly and calmly as he could manage, Austin made his way through the garage to the yellow doors. Machine gun fire continued rattling his eardrums, echoing throughout the parking deck. A chorus of laser fire joined the noise.
Smoke poured over the black railing to his left. He risked a quick glance down, peering into the level below. There, crouched behind the burning and blackened wreckage of a car, knelt Tia. Her black pigtails bounced as she raised over the wreckage and fired a machine gun. Three Marine guards, their crimson uniforms battered and split by bullets, lay bleeding on the garage floor. Tia’s clip emptied. She tossed it to the ground and pulled out the familiar silver gun.
Tia had provided the first distraction.
Austin wanted to help her, wondering if he could somehow get to the level below and help her escape. He pressed against the railing, the black smoke blinding him, searing his throat.
He saw more Marines rushing from each car while others provided cover fire. He didn’t have much time. But what could he do? He had no weapons, no explosives of any kind—just the pen Val had given him to knock out the pilot.
His eyes darted back to Tia. He jolted back. She gazed right at him, her bright green eyes blinking twice. Her wild makeup smeared on her face, replaced by the grime of gunpowder and grease. How she had infiltrated the complex, Austin couldn’t guess. He held up one finger in a gesture telling her to wait.
She swayed her head, mouthing the words, “Go.”
Austin shook his head.
Tia moved her arms to her side, revealing her blackened and burned chest. Austin winced. The Zahlian fire had hit her.
She nodded slowly, her eyes watering. “Go,” she mouthed again. “Do it.”
Austin lingered at the railing for a moment. Laser fire spit down onto Tia’s cover, igniting a shower of sparks onto the concrete floor. The memory of Tia’s kiss flashed in his mind. He remembered what she had said afterward. He put two fingers to his lips, blew Tia a kiss. She smiled weakly.
He headed for the yellow doors and thrust them open. As they closed, he hear
d laser fire, and Tia screaming.
*****
The black trash receptacles dripped with rotten fruit and what Austin believed to be coffee grounds, scattered at the base of the cans like a gray, pasty mash. The lumbering sound of machinery rumbled in the room, muffling the sound of laser fire in the garage. The room stretched for fifty yards in length but was as wide as he could see. Trash from the entire complex dumped into this room through the countless chutes over the bins, and it certainly smelled like it.
A black tag with a yellow number hung above each can. He rushed through the aisles, forcing his mind away from Tia as the sounds of laser fire abruptly ceased, and then stopped.
Shaking his head, he paused in front of the can labeled thirty-four-B. He took a deep breath and jumped in the trash. Looking up, he stared into the silver chute stretching into the darkness. The trash chute was just out of reach if he stood on the tips of his toes. Val had been right about the size of this chute. It wasn’t much wider than his shoulders. He tightened and activated the black magnetic gloves and stared down at his fingertips. A shimmering blue field of energy emitted just over the surface. He continued activating the knee pads and straps.
I hope these things work, he thought. Here we go.
He leapt into the air, hands outstretched. The gloves attached to the base of the chute. He yanked back twice, checking the grip. Felt good, secure enough to hold his weight. He pulled himself up into the chute, sliding his face along the slimy metal as he did so. The rank smell of rotting cabbage filled his nostrils. He pressed his thumb to the release on his left glove, and the magnetic pull ceased. Stretching his left hand above him, he secured another grip and pulled himself into the chute.
Repeating this process for several minutes, he paused and wiped at the beads of sweat dripping from his nose. When Val had said he would be climbing a trash chute, he hadn’t comprehended what that had meant until this moment. A thin layer of sludge covered his clothing. It might take him some time to get used to the stench, like an eternity.
Focus, he thought. Think of Tia. Think of Val.
“Secure this room!”
A voice bellowed up the trash chute. He heard footsteps rushing into the room of refuse receptacles. He needed to move, quietly.
“I didn’t see anyone come in here, sir,” a different voice called.
“Doesn’t matter,” barked the first voice. “We need to secure the building. That dead terrorist back there might not have been alone.”
Austin cringed, thinking of little Tia. She did this for him to succeed—they all did. From Major Tanner and Major Vakar to Val waiting for him somewhere in this complex, they had all done it for him.
Keep moving, he thought as he pulled himself up.
As he continued moving as quickly and quietly as possible, a memory clicked. It was faint, but the burning in his muscles mixed with the odor reminded him suddenly of the swamps around the Tizona Academy during the Gauntlet. He remembered the stench of the swamp filling his nose and penetrating his clothing. It seemed at the time he would never be out of that swamp, would never be back home again.
He smiled. Today would be the same way. He would make it through this, make it back home to see Mom and Nubern.
Pausing for another breath, he glanced down the chute. He immediately wished he hadn’t. He had climbed so high the opening to the trash room had shrunk to a pinpoint of light. He didn’t think he had a problem with heights until now. The fact his entire body was being held up by a magnetic pair of gloves and kneepads supplied by a woman he hardly knew lingered in his mind. If these gadgets failed, his body would ricochet down the chute before crashing into the trash receptacle.
But he had to trust Val. She was risking her life for him today.
Keep going.
A rushing sound came from somewhere over his head. It sounded like liquid washing around the chute. A few warm droplets hit his forehead. He blinked, shielding his eyes with his hand. Hot, chunky particles hit his face, followed by a flood of the liquid that felt like soup warmed up in the microwave.
And then the smell hit him.
Vomit.
The acrid odor seared his nose, causing his stomach to roll over. He forced down the urge himself, but he couldn’t hold it back. He convulsed, throwing up in the slimy chute.
Wiping his face, he looked up and remembered what Val had said about poisoning the pilots. The pilot above him must have had breakfast.
The plan was in motion.
He had to move now.
*****
It took him twenty more minutes to reach the top of the trash chute. A metal grate blocked his progress, but he was able to pry it open. Climbing past the slippery grate, he settled in place on the sharp incline by securing himself with his left hand and knee. He stared through the small crack in the hatch. He saw a light in the room, but couldn’t make out any details. He saw a shadow of a figure move, but he needed to push back the hatch to see clearly.
He checked his chest pocket, gripping the pen Val had given him. It was now or never.
He paused, listening to hear if anyone had heard. Nothing. His heart pounded in his ears. Sweat poured from his face. Austin pushed the hatch far enough open so he could see inside the room.
The trash chute was apparently in the quarter’s kitchenette. The room itself wasn’t much larger than his quarters on the Formidable. The dim lighting was perhaps on purpose. The white walls looked like a hospital room. A simple cot with twisted sheets flanked one side of the room. The closet door adjacent to the bed was open, revealing a black flight suit and helmet on the top shelf. A holster with a pistol was hanging from the closet door.
A man sat at a table in the center of the room, his body crumpled over as he clutched his chest. He convulsed twice, coughing as he hovered over a small white bucket. He shifted in his seat as if to walk to the trash chute, but vomited again. The pilot held his head in his hands, propping his elbows up on the table as he grunted.
Pushing the hatch far enough open for him to pass through, Austin crawled in and pulled his knees onto the floor of the room. He pulled the pen from his chest pocket as he moved in the kneeling position.
The pilot suddenly stood and turned, his bloodshot eyes growing wide as he stared at Austin. His jaw dropped, a string of spit hanging from his lips. Austin froze, hesitating.
The pilot turned to the closet. Austin squeezed the pen, unleashing a brilliant bright lightning bolt. The flash illuminated the room like a strobe. The bolt hit the pilot in the back of the head, and he fell to the floor. Austin exhaled, standing and leaning against the wall. The pilot twitched twice and remained still, his bucket spilling more vomit across the white floor.
Ignoring the burning in his muscles, Austin moved over to the main door and made sure it was locked. Turning around, he took in the room and planned his next move.
He didn’t have much time.
He turned the pilot over and searched the man to make sure no required forms of identification had been on him. He dragged him over to the trash chute. He pulled the zip ties from his pocket and tied the man’s wrist to the end of the hatch. With a grunt, he stuffed the pilot inside the chute and let him hang.
He shut the hatch to the trash chute and washed off in the sink, happy to get the smell of vomit off his hands. He cleaned the rest of the room, erasing any sign of vomit from the quarters. He stripped off his coveralls and stepped in front of the flight suit in the closet. The flight suit was black with bright red trim. Two identification badges hung from the chest. It was thick like his Tizona suit, heavier than you would first think when you picked it up. It fit perfectly.
The black helmet had a tinted visor just as Val had said. He slipped it on, found the fit to his liking. He grabbed a red folder from the top shelf and sat at the table. The folder contained a thin red tablet and papers written in Zahlian symbols. No doubt the tablet contained flight information just like Legion vessels. He would carry it with him when he made his way to the Wraith, an
d plug it into the fighter when the time came.
He sighed and closed his eyes, a wave of fatigue washing over him despite his adrenaline pumping. He cracked his knuckles. Closing his eyes, he replayed the orders Val had given him the night before.
“The Wraith was very close to the pilot’s quarters,” she had said. “Once you get the signal, walk directly for the fighter. You only have ten minutes to reach the Wraith’s hangar. Ten minutes or all this effort would have been for nothing.”
When he started thinking about escaping the Claria system and his refuel point, he shook his head.
Stop it, he thought. Focus on now. Focus on what you have to do next to survive. It is the only way this will work. You have plenty of time to worry about the rest later. One task at a time.
He suddenly heard Nubern’s voice in his head.
“Take what you’ve learned from today and apply it to your next encounter.”
His ears filled with a hissing sound. “Breakfast will be served cold,” Val’s voice came through his implant.
He stood, buckling the holster for the laser pistol around his belt and sliding Val’s pen into his chest pocket.
The time had come.
Austin Stone tightened the Zahlian helmet into place, locking it into the collar. He pulled down the tinted visor, hiding his face. He latched his gloves and stood in the quarters for a moment, taking in a deep breath.
The door to the corridor suddenly slid open. Austin took a step back.
Two Zahlian Marine guards stood facing him with laser rifles draped across their chests. They stared forward, their eyes not acknowledging his presence. He lingered for a moment, feeling their attention shifting on him. They stared at him, motionless.
Fearing he remained still for too long, he arched his back and marched out of the door and to the right down the white hall, trying to emulate the stroll of an arrogant officer. The guards turned behind him. His boots echoed on the flawless polished floor. The building was so perfectly white; he had trouble distinguishing where the floor met the walls. Footsteps joined his own, and he knew the guards had fallen in behind him.