Retaliate

by Alex Albrinck

  “Apparently not. Seems she faked her death and has been living among the residents of the space station for the past few decades, hiding on the few occasions Deirdre traded natural gravity for the artificial variety. When the explosions began aboard the space station, she decided it was time to launch the attack in the East. The Eastern Ravager swarms are… well, swarming.”

  “Dammit.” That meant his family had escaped one batch of Ravagers—the one now inactive—only to waltz right into the teeth of another.

  “That was the last thing she did, though. In freeing his ship, Micah triggered a massive explosion that ripped apart the hangar and the transport corridor outside. Many are dead, killed by the explosion or the sudden loss of breathable air and air pressure.”

  “Huh.” He paused. “I guess it's better Deirdre didn't know her mother was still alive; losing her again would be cruel.” His nose wrinkled. “Even for her.”

  “The bad news from the explosion, beyond the loss of those innocents who truly believed the Cleanser story, is that Micah's accomplice was near the hub when the blast occurred. While we don't have official confirmation, Micah believes there’s no chance the woman survived.”

  He'd never met the woman they spoke of, but given their description of her exploits and obvious courage… “I wish I'd gotten the chance to meet her. She sounds like she was a remarkable woman. I hope her selfless act of sacrifice isn't in vain.” He wrinkled his nose and chewed the inside of his lip. “She sounds so different than Deirdre, who'd apparently sacrifice the entire world to have things just as she wanted them. The memories I have of her now stand in such contrast to women like Mary, to the woman you just described… how cruel that the world will be left with Deirdre rather than Micah's confidant and…” But he couldn't let himself finish the thought. “That's harsh, isn't it? I married her. I think that, when my memories were gone, when I forgot what true love was… I think I really did feel something for her then. But now? Here I am, wishing she’d died in the place of a woman I've never met.”

  There was a long pause. “Mom? Dad?”

  Jeffrey cleared his throat. “We didn't tell you this, because we believed the merging of old and new memories would be difficult enough, at least for a time. But we… we captured another person wandering toward New Venice while the Ravager swarm still moved, around the same time that you arrived.”

  He sucked in his breath, reaching the obvious conclusion. “Deirdre? But… how?”

  “She left Diasteel headquarters just before activation and never made it back before the swarm began swallowing the cityplex. She'd stowed a mechanical suit in your apartment, an exoskeleton made entirely of Diasteel, one which included air cleansing units and mechanical assists to move the heavy weight. Being made of Diasteel, it was immune to the Ravagers. She knew about New Venice and walked here; we pulled her in, because nobody was supposed to be out wandering in that swarm, especially not in a Diasteel suit. It was obviously suspicious. And it took a while for us to realize it was her. She was… living inside that metal can for a week or more before she showed up.”

  Roddy's nose wrinkled again. “I can’t picture her walking all that way. But there’s more to this story, isn’t there? Something I won’t like?”

  “There is,” his mother replied. “She became… quite difficult to deal with while she was here. She broke out of her containment cell when the door opened from the outside for food delivery, and made a run for it.”

  Something clicked. “Deirdre was the prisoner you spoke of earlier?”

  “She was. She became… troublesome. Threatening. Wanted to report us to her father, get him to level the entire fortress with everyone inside.” She paused. “You must understand, Roddy. The lives of thousands of people were at stake.”

  And then the truth hit him. “That's why you asked about what I'd do in that situation. You… you…”

  “She's gone, Roddy. I'm… I'm sorry.”

  He felt waves of emotions flow through him. He didn't know which were the correct ones to feel. Should he be angry that his second wife—or was she his ex-wife?—was in the same facility he’d been in and he’d never been told? Should he be angry that she’d threatened the lives of the people living and working there? And he didn’t know what to feel at hearing she’d died. Should he be angry at the death of someone he’d once loved, or thought he’d loved? Should he be happy that a woman capable of evil, who’d violated what she believed to be genuine marital oaths, had died? Should he feel some type of vindication that her crimes had eventually resulted in the ultimate punishment?

  “Roddy? Are you okay?”

  “I… don't know. Yes. Maybe.” He took a deep breath. “I'll process it later, let my feelings on the matter fall where they may. Right now, I'm getting close to the island. I need to focus on finding Mary and the kids before the Ravagers do, and getting them home safely.”

  “Micah analyzed images from the island and the large boat they commandeered. He finally identified one of the two men traveling with them. Someone who worked for Micah. Said his mind had been scrambled by Phoenix, that he's quite a capable man possessed of many useful skills, but his mental imbalance makes him… unpredictable. There was a second man, but we aren’t sure of his identity or his relationship with the others.”

  He felt his heart plummet. “Mary found… someone… else?”

  “We don't have any reason to think it's more than a platonic relationship, Roddy. You, Mary, and the kids aren’t the only people who’ve fled New Venice for various reasons. Many of them would act as personal protectors for your family if the opportunity arose. There’s no reason to think the second man isn’t from among that group.”

  He felt his blood boil. While it was technically true that he'd cheated on Mary, he hadn't known at the time that he was married.

  If she'd cheated on him…

  No, he thought. I can't assume that. I can't project Deirdre's behavior on Mary. It's the greatest insult I could ever voice.

  He took a deep breath. “I understand. I'm going radio silent now. The next time you hear me will be when I find them all.”

  “Good luck, Roddy.”

  He turned the radio off and pushed thoughts of Mary with another man from his mind. Focus on the children if you must. You have a mission to complete, soldier.

  It seemed to take an eternity, but he finally saw the island on his view screens.

  The parts undamaged by Micah's rogue Ravager attack were pristine and breathtaking, weaving modern, opulent dwellings into the sand dunes and trees so adeptly that Roddy had to look twice to be sure that he was looking at white marble buildings rather than natural rock formations. That beauty stood in stark contrast to the areas scarred by the Ravagers, where the soft sand was charred and matted with dried pools of blood and partially dissolved human remains. He couldn't see the missile, just a massive crater in the beach. He could only imagine the frightened cries and screams as the missile descended upon the beachgoers. They’d likely been baffled at first, until the oily black mass oozed from the crater and began devouring everything in sight.

  He wondered if, because they knew what the Ravagers were, they’d experienced greater terror than the innocent and ignorant who’d died in the Lakeplex and other Western cityplexes.

  He noted a hint of smoke through his peripheral vision and turned to his left to investigate. The sphere seemed to understand his intentions, adjusting speed and direction to move in the direction of interest.

  The dock had once been large, a two-tiered monster able to accommodate both small personal boats and giant watercraft that could transport hundreds of people. There were gaping chasms in the dock now, charred wood showing that some destructive event had turned impressive structure to little more than flaming embers. The remaining pier legs looked naked without the flat connecting timbers running between them. He could see flames dancing from what had once served as a fuel storage tank, and the ends of the hoses used to pump fuel from the tank to the docked boats
resting on the shore or atop the water.

  The few details provided him suggested that they’d commandeered a boat from the top dock, a boat capable of holding hundreds, and which certainly had sufficient room to transport a group of between three and five people in perfect comfort. And in separate cabins.

  Stop it, he ordered his overactive imagination.

  He altered course and flew due north, racing low over the frothing whitecapped waves, watching the fish and aquatic mammals swim and dance and play in their fashion, immune to and unaware of the devastation now running roughshod over their land-based counterparts. He let his mind wander as he watched the peaceful interplay, breaking from the stress of the non-stop worry about the people in the East—no more his enemies now than his next-door neighbors had been just a few weeks earlier—who were now running for their lives… or about the only three among them whose lives truly mattered to him.

  He reached the coast, and his attention snapped back to his eyesight when wave gave way to sand and grasses and trees. To his right, to the east, he could see on the horizon the illusory shadows cast by the mammoth mountain peaks of this part of the world. He spun his ship around to the west and flew low and at high speed along the shore, watching, searching. He flew for a quarter hour, then reversed course, retraced ground already covered about a half mile off the coast, and continued for thirty additional minutes to the east beyond where he’d started.

  This was going to take a while. He had no way to know if they’d altered course, or if they’d even reached the shore yet.

  A thought tickled his mind. “Hey, um… ship?”

  Yes, Roddy?

  “Do you have sensors that can detect large boats in the water?”

  Yes, Roddy.

  Damn. He'd been wasting time. “Can you fly me to the nearest one?”

  Certainly.

  The ship jerked violently around and headed back toward the west, racing at a higher speed than he'd been willing to try when scanning the area with human eyes. They flew past the edge of his original search zone for another ten minutes, and then he saw it: a large, luxurious passenger boat—his parents said they'd been called “yachts” back in the day—that a crew of five somewhat inexperienced sailors had done a serviceable job of anchoring a quarter mile off the coast. He studied the craft as he drew closer, comparing it to the images transmitted by Micah's now-destroyed security cameras. It matched; the flying sphere had found the missing boat. “Land on the deck, please.”

  Certainly, Roddy.

  Moments later, he leaped from the cabin of the flying sphere and raced around, shouting for Mary, for Jill, for Jack. He opened every door, went to the lower decks and opened every door there as well, hoping he'd find all of them there, fearful still that he'd find Mary doing what he’d imagined Deidre and Stephen Clarke had done in desecrating his bed, and became angry himself that his merged memories were projecting the truth of the guilty wife upon the innocence of the other.

  The only evidence he found of their presence were blood trails, which led him to the bridge. The blood ended at the captain’s chair. He found pillows, blankets, empty water bottles, and wrappers from sandwiches and other food, suggesting that all of them had camped here and cared for the man who’d been shot.

  He also found residue suggesting an extremely large weapon had been fired from the boat. Perhaps that was how they’d destroyed the dock, or the fuel tank, back at the island.

  After his thorough search failed to turn up any creatures, living or dead, he realized they’d abandoned this ship, heading ashore in search of anything that would let them contact friends who might be able to send help, rescuing from their predicament here on the other side of the world.

  He could only hope he wasn’t too late.

  He ran back to the armory he'd found during his search and stocked up, selecting a pair of knives, two small side arms, and a rifle-like automatic weapon that he slung over his shoulders. He rummaged around and found a supply bag, adding one of the side arms, plenty of ammunition, and a pair of grenades. He jogged to the galley and added several bottles of water, some dried food rations, and then moved again, this time to the infirmary, where he sealed up a small first aid kit and added that to his pack. He slung that over his back, made certain he could move and operate the rifle in front of him, and then climbed the steps back to the main deck and headed to the ship.

  He found the powerful remote for ship operation that came with each of the Golden Ages-era vessels, the one his mother had given to him in the hangar hidden beneath New Venice. He found a small strap attached to one side and used it to fasten the device to his forearm, then covered everything with his sleeve. Satisfied that he was ready, he climbed into the flying sphere. “Ship, are you also able to detect human life with your sensors?”

  Yes, Roddy.

  “Good. I'm looking for a party of five, three adults and two children.”

  There was a pause. I've located a party matching that description. The estimated flight time to reach their present location is seven minutes, fourteen seconds.

  Roddy nodded. “Then let's get going.”

  The ramp door closed and the sphere rose from the deck of the yacht and headed to the northeast, skimming low over the trees, and Roddy tried to control the rapid beating of his heart.

  In mere minutes, he’d finally be reunited with his wife and children.

  —25—

  WESLEY CARDINAL

  TRAVEL UPON THE HIGH seas proved a remarkably relaxing endeavor when you did so aboard a luxuriously appointed ship, fully stocked with all manner of food, and in which the ship did all the work with relation to navigation.

  They’d all slept for several hours. Wesley, the first awake, noted that they’d made extensive progress toward the mainland, but the ship had maintained its new easterly route while they’d slept. He changed course, targeting the more northern reaches of this minor ocean, along the eastern edge of the subcontinent where it joined the large landmass. The maps showed promising demographics there; some small cities, not large enough to warrant serious consideration for Ravager launches, but with sufficient numbers to ensure they’d find communications towers.

  And then, he hoped, they’d figure out how to send word to answer survivors who’d be able to find them.

  If not? Well, there were worse fates than living aboard this vessel.

  They set up a sleep rotation. The children were permitted to sleep as needed, with the adults awake in overlapping shifts. They explored the interior of the ship and found more comfortable sleeping options than the floor of the bridge. They found a second, larger galley with a greater assortment of foods and food preparation equipment, a gym, and, to Wesley’s amusement, a small swimming pool.

  The automation kept their workloads low, which helped as they’d boarded the ship with only Mary fully healthy. Wesley had burns and other injuries from the explosion. John had a gunshot wound. The twins weren’t injured, but were constantly fatigued after trying to erase any sign of ailment in the injured men.

  As they approached their destination, the ship’s navigation systems saved them from a fatal mistake. It detected sea level changes and reversed the engines, stopping the vessel before it ran aground at a distance from shore where Wesley wouldn’t have thought it necessary. The anchor dropped without human intervention.

  Wesley made his way to the bridge when he detected the changing sounds from the engines, and was only too happy to accept the ship’s recommended course of action. No matter how injured he might still be—and the twins’ treatment sessions had made a tremendous difference—he could certainly tap a button on a screen.

  They celebrated, standing on the top deck, dancing at the sight of the mainland, mostly because they could see living things like trees and the occasional furry critter slinking through the brush near the shore. And there were no Ravagers around.

  Not yet, at any rate.

  Though they were eager to get ashore, Mary urged them all to get one more rou
nd of sleep, noting that they’d been moving without pause for quite some time and were all recuperating from something. Wesley didn’t like it; the longer they waited, the greater the odds that the Ravagers in the East would begin their assault. And then they’d run the risk of not only missing out on a chance to hack into the local communications towers, but of encountering the Ravagers as well.

  He doubted they’d find a helpful robot directing them through a door to the other side of the world this time.

  But the recent memory of the warm blankets and comfortable mattress drowned out his desire to keep moving, and in the end they all agreed with Mary’s plan. They set alarms on communicators and separated into separate quarters to catch some sleep. He wondered if he’d doze off or not; tired as he was, his mind was active, thinking of all the things that could go wrong. But he fell asleep instantly, roused all too soon by the chiming of his alarm.

  They straightened up, masking their usage of the separate rooms, donned footwear discarded while sleeping, and made final use of the ship’s restrooms. After checking their packs one more time, they climbed aboard the speedboat. Wesley activated the motorized winch, then escaped back below deck, found a rope, attached it to the side rails of the ship, and scampered down. He was proud of himself, right until Jill pointed out the horizontal metal rungs that could be used as a ladder for boarding and leaving the ship.

  Wesley hung his head in mock shame, his face and neck reddening. Everyone laughed.

  They moved ashore, pulling the motorboat up the sandy beach and hiding it beneath large branches. They all did a quick weapons check, ensuring that the firearms were clean and properly assembled, that the knives were sharp and properly stowed. Wesley looked around, trying to assure himself that they weren’t being watched, wondering if they’d regret not leaving the boat out in the water. John voiced the same concern, and the two men dragged the craft back out into the shallows and threw down the anchor they’d ignored previously. Wesley started the engine just to be sure.