Without realizing it, he had drawn closer to her. He pulled back, looked away. “I wish I could’ve done something. I wish I could’ve somehow stopped her from being transferred.”
“She put in for the transfer. She wanted it. You couldn’t stop her; it was her decision. Her decision, and bad luck. That’s all.” She clapped a hand on his arm. “It’s not your fault.”
She meant it. That was the great thing about Jaden: she didn’t give you shit just because she thought you wanted to take it. She spoke the truth, or at least what she believed to be the truth. He couldn’t believe her that Ilana’s fate wasn’t his fault. But he loved her for saying so.
The urge to kiss her again came on him again, stronger this time. He had to look away from those luscious lips to keep from giving in. “Thanks, Jaden. You always know what to say.”
“You’re a good guy. Sometimes I think you forget that.”
He wasn’t a good guy. He couldn’t be, not if he wanted to cheat on Ilana, not if he wanted to betray her when she was afraid and in pain.
They went back to the others, who were arguing. “I told you, I checked out everything I could when I was on my own. There’s nothing growing in the desert that looks edible.” An looked to Jaden and Garner. “Guys, tell him we need to eat.”
“We do,” Jaden said, sitting, “but we don’t have anything to eat.”
An leaned forward. “But there’s a whole farm of crops growing within sight of us. We could sneak in, steal some stuff, no problem.”
“What if what we steal isn’t edible for humans?” Garner asked. “We have no idea what the food on this planet is like. Maybe we can’t eat any of it.”
“They have to be feeding the prisoners something.”
“He has a point,” Garner said.
“Yeah,” Jaden said, “but we don’t know what they’re feeding them.”
“I know,” An said. “When I was figuring out how to rescue you guys, I saw them preparing food in the kitchen. They put the prisoners’ food in yellow crates.”
“Okay, but if we stole from that supply, we’d be stealing from the prisoners.”
“That’s what I said,” Fault said.
“Yeah, but they grow what the prisoners eat right there at the farm. They have more than enough to spare. There are twenty human prisoners on that farm; they packed ten times what they’d eat in those yellow crates.”
“What do the Snappers do with all that food?” Jaden asked.
“They eat some of it, and they store the rest in a big freezer. Come on, guys, we can do this. I know where they store the food. We can fill our packs and get out of there before anybody knows we were there.”
They thought about it. If the next hangar did end up a bust, Garner thought, they’d be in it for the long haul. They needed to find food in case that happened.
An had a plan. They went into the compound the way he had come in when he’d freed them; he’d crawled under a spot in the fence he had dubbed his “secret spot” (which sounded vaguely obscene to Garner), and the aliens had yet to find it. It was located close to the prison cell block, near the kitchen. Once they got out from under the barbed wire, they were able to sneak up to the building and hide behind one corner.
An took point. He glanced around, then turned back to the others. “The storage hut is about five meters west of where we are. There’s only one guard.”
“Okay,” Garner said. He had An’s pack as well as his own. “You ready?”
An nodded.
“Let’s do this,” Fault said.
An took one more precautionary look around, then darted out of cover and right in front of the alien guard, snatching the guard’s rifle as he went past. The Snappers, they had found, couldn’t run as fast as humans could, probably because of their short legs; and An was arguably the fastest of the four humans. As long as none of the other guards got in on the action, he could keep the one Turtle busy.
The rest of them ducked low and made their way to the storage shed, hiding behind scrub and rocks. Fortunately, it wasn’t locked, and they slipped in without any trouble. Large amounts of various foodstuffs were stored on shelves, in boxes, and in crates, but they concentrated only on the food in the yellow crates. They jammed their packs and An’s with as much food as they could manage to carry, then risked a look outside.
An had started parading around, flaunting the rifle he’d stolen. The Snapper guard, worn out from chasing a swifter quarry, stood panting and cursing. A few other guards had taken notice; but instead of helping their comrade, they laughed at its expense.
Or at least Garner thought it was laughter. It was a little hard to tell.
The team took their chance and ran out from within the storage shed, back to An’s “secret spot.” An caught sight of them, gave the Snapper guard one last taunting wave, and followed his teammates. None of the other guards bothered to stop him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
On the alien planet
Fault, Garner, An, and Jaden had sneaked back under the fence surrounding the alien-populated slave farm and hid now among the trees and undergrowth not too far from the road that wound into the camp from outside. Dawn crept over the horizon, turning the blue-grey twilight into shades of gold, scarlet, pink, and violet, the colors bleeding into one another, flowing across the dew-laden crops.
“God, it’s beautiful,” Jaden said, her voice hushed. Fault watched a rose gold beam of sunlight play over her face and thought the same thing about her. But she caught him looking, and he had to divert his eyes.
“There’s the supply truck,” An said. They could see it trundle along the rough road into the camp and stop in front of the main building, from where they’d seen numerous Snappers coming and going; abutting it was the building where the produce was stored once the slaves had finished picking and cleaning it. The truck driver got out of the vehicle with a pad in its hand, opened the back of the truck, and strode into the main building, presumably to make arrangements for the delivery.
“Go, go, go!” Jaden said from between her teeth, and they all made for the back of the truck, keeping low and running for all they were worth, guns drawn just in case things went south.
They leapt one by one into the truck, Fault keeping lookout while the other three got in, then following. Layer upon layer of a hay-like material covered the bottom of the cargo space, muffling the sound of their bootfalls as they moved around. The hay-like stuff smelled odd to Fault, but not unpleasant: grassy and sort of spicy.
Half the cargo space had been filled already with crates of the root vegetables from the human slave farm, so the team worked their way between the boxes to the back, where they eked out a bit of room where they could stand unseen. They had to slouch to keep the aliens from noticing their heads above the crates, and it was cramped—Fault, who possessed a somewhat more athletic build than either An or Garner, could barely squeeze in next to An, and none of them was comfortable.
Presently the driver returned with a group of slaves to pack the rest of the cargo space with crates of red vegetables, which were laid atop and in front of the crates of roots. Then the doors closed, and the vehicle began moving.
Fault took a breath, preparing to wait it out until they got to the compound. The truck stopped at several intervals along its route and gathered more produce until it was filled to capacity, and then it kept on going, the road growing less bumpy as time passed. Fault took that as a sign they were nearing the city where the compound lay, and at the next stop, he risked a peek out the door, cracking it open only enough to see out.
They’d reached the city. He signalled to the others, and they hopped out of the truck and into the back lot of a large, oddly-angled building bristling with spires. Something that might be a giant trash bin squatted next to the building, and the four of them ducked behind that to get their bearings.
They gazed out at the city, the buildings of which boasted unwieldy corners and unnecessarily sharp edges, their construction so unlike a
human aesthetic that it was difficult to tell sometimes which was the front and which was the back. Glass tunnels connected one structure to another, and high-powered, covered escalators followed the curves and bends of various buildings, swooping and crooking as the need arose. Most everything was black—the metal, the glass, both of which showed up in abundance—but garish lights in an array of colors blared from various surfaces, competing with the young sunlight.
Including the ebony supply truck they’d rode here in, the vehicles in the city were almost uniformly black. The exceptions seemed to appear in police cars, of which they saw two red ones, and in public transport, which gleamed silver.
The city was well-populated and busy. Snappers roamed the streets even at this early hour, rushing to and fro, presumably on their way to work or off to do the day’s errands, their round heads held high, their eyes forward, their movements quick and succinct. They still wore form-fitting clothes, but these had intricate patterns and far more variety of color than did their uniforms.
“Da-yam!” Fault said as he drank in the alienness of the city. The strangeness of it, the bizarre quality of its structures, and the crowds of beings who looked nothing like humans made him feel very out of place and alone.
“You said it!” An said.
“We’ll have to be especially careful,” Jaden said, and pointed out a sharp-eyed military patrol.
“Don’t much matter if it’s military that sees us or a civilian,” Fault said. “We’re caught either way.”
“Maybe,” Garner said, “but at least the civilians aren’t carrying weapons.”
“All right, Fault,” Jaden said. “Where do we go from here?”
He produced the map the Snapper slave had drawn for them and studied it for a few seconds. “Okay, we’re here . . . So the compound lies just south of where we are.” He traced a path on the map with his index finger.
“Okay,” An said. “Next question: How do we get there?”
Fault peered out again at the throngs of Snappers. There was no way the team could travel by normal means through the city all the way to where the compound lay. Then his eye caught a spot of sandy color amidst all the black, and when he took a closer look, he saw that a military vehicle was parked across the street.
An saw it, too, and gestured to it. “Wonder where that’s going next?”
“I say it’s goin’ wherever we want it to go.” Fault held his pistol up to make his point.
“We need a distraction,” Garner said. “Come on.” He led the way back to the supply truck, where they all took cover, and then he fired at the oversized trash bin. It made a loud bursting sort of sound and went up in flames. The noise and the fire drew attention from all the nearby Snappers, and while they were distracted, the team ran across the street.
Fault had never felt so vulnerable in his life. The team stood out like a gaggle of knitters at a football game, and all it would take was one Snapper to glance their way, and they were done for.
But somehow they made it to their destination and climbed into the back of the half-truck without being noticed. They huddled down and waited, sweating with the heat and with anticipation, until a soldier returned from whatever business it’d had in the city and got back behind the wheel. The minute the Snapper started the truck, Fault pressed his pistol to the back of its skull. “Act normal. Got it?” God, he hoped it understood. If it didn’t, they were in deep—
“Understood. What do you want of me?”
So it was true that all the Snapper soldiers had been taught the human Common Tongue. That made things a hell of a lot easier. “Take us to the compound.”
“Which compound?”
Good god, if it was fucking with him . . . ! “The Phryxx Compound.” He mangled the pronunciation, but the alien backed the truck up and turned onto the street, headed south. Fault ducked down but kept his gun barrel poked into the Snapper’s side. “You fuck this up,” he said, “you won’t die slow.”
The alien gave no indication that it heard or understood, but they drove the whole way without incident. When they reached the compound’s checkpoint, Fault scrunched down even farther, wishing he and the others had a tarp or something to drape over themselves, but they simply had to hope that no one looked too deeply into the truck. Whoever it was, their driver played the good little alien and produced its ID for the checkpoint officer, chatting about the weather as it did so.
And then they were in the compound.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
On the alien planet
“Take us to the hangar,” Fault told the Snapper. He risked a cautious peek out the window to see if the alien was doing as it was told. Winding, intersecting roads covered the landscape between buildings that only looked official because of the number of uniforms coming and going. The Turtle drove down a slight slope to a flatter area where what could be the hangar awaited, and pulled up in front of the door. “This it?”
“Yes.”
Fault’s inclination and desire was to slit the creature’s throat so it wouldn’t call attention to them too soon, but the impulse frightened him, so he struck the alien unconscious with the butt of his gun instead and jumped out of the truck alongside the others. Afterwards, he cursed himself for second-guessing—the damn thing was the enemy; he should have killed it, and his worry over going crazy was threatening to make him weak.
But he didn’t have time for self-analyzation now. He trailed after the others towards the hangar door, which happened to open just as they reached it. A Snapper wearing a flight uniform stepped into their path and had just time enough to start with surprise before Garner pistol-whipped it into oblivion. They bounded over the prone body and into the building, where they were met with a large foyer that branched off to the left and right.
In the fore of the entry was another checkpoint with what Fault could only guess was a metal detector, manned by an armed guard, and a collection of cubby holes, presumably for storing any weapons or personal items unqualified visitors might carry in. at the back of the entry stood a many-edged desk complete with computer, something that looked like a cross between an old-fashioned landline telephone and a modern-day radio, and a clerk. The clerk’s mouth hung open—bewilderedly, Fault supposed, although the emotion didn’t quite translate the same to Snapper features. A pair of unarmed but uniformed Turtles strode towards them from the hall on the left.
The team fanned out and opened fire before the checkpoint guard could draw its weapon, working together for efficiency; Garner, being more or less on point, took out the biggest threat first—namely, the guard, who crumpled into a smoldering heap behind the metal detector, its hand on its pistol. Jaden fired on the clerk, her laser flashing blue and reflecting off the glossy black desk; and Fault took care of the two unarmed aliens in rapid succession, his reflexes being faster than a normal human’s. An got a shot off, too, but a millisecond too late—one of the Snappers died with a surplus hole in its body. But the alarm had been tripped—the damn clerk, most likely, Fault thought—and warbled loud enough to make talking difficult.
The team ran down the corridor opposite to the one the aliens had been walking down, only to be met by another group of Snappers, these with guns. The two sides exchanged fire, colored beams of light zipping past in both directions. The quarters were close, only allowing two humans to stand side-by-side, or one wide-shouldered alien to fill up the hall and another to fire over its fellow’s shoulder—which made for faulty aim, as they soon discovered.
The Snapper in front would have hit them but for aiming slightly high, but the one who aimed over its shoulder fired wide, striking the wall and singeing the plaster. Garner shot twice, both blasts hitting the front alien’s torso; the creature spasmed, then fell back into its fellow, who had to wrestle with the body before it could get an arm up to fire again.
Jaden, who stood next to Garner, got a shot off, which burned the alien’s firing arm. The Snapper screeched, a thoroughly inhuman sound, and fell to the floor, clu
tching the wound.
Now another Turtle took the place of the front one, placing one large foot on the other side of its fallen companion and firing straight through the middle of the human group. They dodged, An and Jaden both narrowly escaping terrible injury, or worse. Jaden’s next shot went to the Snapper’s chest and upper arm, putting it instantly out of commission.
Fault ached to be part of the fight, but there just wasn’t room enough for all of them to fit next to each other. He didn’t have to wait long, however, because suddenly a laser few past from the other direction, and Fault spun around to find still more Turtles coming up from behind. “Got company!” He got a shot off, hit one. An turned to help, missing the first time around but scoring a hit the second time. Two Snappers down. But they were still coming, and from both directions.
Garner went for the nearest door, discovered it unlocked. “In here!” The four of them dashed in, lasers flying past them. Fault hoped some of the stray shots would take out Snappers on the other end of the corridor.
“Lock the door!” Jaden said.
Fault, who was the last one in, scanned all around the door, but he saw nothing. “There is no lock!”
“Great.”
“Take cover!” An said. The chamber appeared to be a meeting room, with numerous chairs grouped around several unusually long tables set with small computer screens at each place and what might be a communications device in the center of each table. At the far end of the room stood the exit, but it was a long room, and the aliens were already banging open the door the team had come through.
Garner and Fault each pushed a table over onto its side, knocking over the heavy chairs and spilling the little computers to the floor, where they made brittle sounds, their screens cracking and their inner workings spitting electric fire. Jaden took up a position beside Garner, while An and Fault hid behind the remaining table, all of them with their weapons primed. It pissed Fault off that Jaden always seemed to end up next to Garner, but he pushed his jealousy aside in favor of survival and hoped no more Snappers came in through the exit while their backs stood unprotected.
Suicide Mission: Unity War Book 2 Page 13