by Finn Gray
“They’re bandits!” Cactus shouted.
All was chaos. Sabre saw the world as if through a curtain of mist. The voices of the other pilots were distant things. She kept her Cobra on a collision course with the lead Copperhead. It swam into visual range, identifiable by its quartet of stabilizers at three, six, nine, and twelve, giving it the nickname Crucifix.
And then a warning blared inside the cockpit, jolting her from her stupor.
A missile had locked onto her bird! She swerved and took her Cobra on an evasive course. Damn! Finally a little action and she hadn’t even thrown the first jab before her opponent sent a haymaker her way.
Now that she was locked back in, she flew by instinct while assessing the situation. Her squadron had replied with its own missile salvo. Now, two squadrons of fighters were engaged in a spinning, swooping, dance of death.
Sabre spotted the closest Copperhead, locked in on a collision course, and pegged the throttle to the limit. She fired two bursts, pinging it just behind the cockpit. In a flash she pulled her Cobra into a steep climb, and the missile that had been trailing her struck the Copperhead.
She had no time to savor her victory. Her squadron had scattered, some locked in dogfights with the Memnon-piloted Copperheads, others still evading missiles. Where was Recess? She’d left her wingman.
“Recess! Where are you?”
“I’m easy to find. I’m the only one being chased by two Memnons!” he shouted. “What happened to you? I’m blind here!”
“This is what I’m talking about. The rich kid always expects special treatment.” She spotted his craft heading in her direction. “Don’t worry, kid. We’ve got this. On my order, give me the sharpest dive you’ve ever pulled off.”
Sabre bit her lip as she closed the gap between herself and Recess. Just hold on a little longer. Don’t get your ass shot. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than the pursuing Memnons opened fire. Recess evaded and locked back on course.
“Nice flying,” Sabre said. “Are you ready?”
“Nope.”
“Tough shit. In 3… 2… 1… Now!”
Recess took his Cobra into a sharp dive as Sabre pegged the throttle again. She launched her missiles then opened up with her guns.
The pilots handling the Copperheads were competent, but clearly not active-duty flyers. Their reflexes were slow and they hadn’t adjusted to their birds’ lack of maneuverability. Both missiles found their marks and the Copperheads spun off course, discharging trails of gas, their severed liquid nitrogen and oxygen lines fueling fires in their engine compartments. Sabre reversed course and ran a strafing run past the two lame ducks, both of which exploded in pulsing spheres of fiery light.
“Glad you decided to join the fight, Sabre,” Cactus said. “Luckily we handled it without your help.”
Sabre was on the verge of paying the squadron a grudging but well-earned compliment when something on RADS caught her eye. A single Copperhead had completely avoided the fray and was making a beeline for the fleet!
“Fox in the henhouse!” she shouted. “Dragonfly, we’ve got a bandit headed for the fleet like a single mom on the way to an officer’s convention! I’ll wager she’s got at least one nuke on board!”
“Roger that,” Cassier said.
“Already on it,” Smoke said. “I’m closest.” In the distance, Sabre saw his craft streak toward the Memnon-piloted fighter. An instant later, Cactus followed her wingman.
Seconds later, she heard Smoke cry out.
“Smoked! That’s what I’m talking about.”
“You did not just do that,” Sabre said.
“Lieutenant, I’ve been planning this moment since my naming day.”
“Hold on. Your birth name is actually Smoke? I thought it was just a callsign,” Recess said.
“Let’s just say my parents grew and consumed a lot of herbage,” Smoke replied.
Sabre couldn’t help but laugh. “Good for them. Now, let’s have a quick roll call.” The pilots replied in quick succession and she was relieved that they’d suffered no losses. “I’ve got to hand it to you all. I never dreamed I’d go into combat with a bunch of ice cream sundaes and live to tell about it.”
“Ice cream sundaes?” Smoke asked.
“Cherry on top,” Cactus explained.
“That’s it, exactly. So, do we have any virgins left after that junior academy dance? Were any of you wallflowers just a little too shy?”
“Only me,” Recess said, disappointed. “But I was busy trying not to die.”
“Relax. You’re not going to die today,” Sabre said. She hoped that was the truth.
Chapter 26
Soria, Hyperion
Oates ordered Rory and Marson to stay back. He climbed slowly up a loose pile of rocks. When he reached the top, he paused, listening. Finally, he turned sideways and squeezed himself into a crack that looked far too narrow for him to fit through. Another long pause. Silence. Then, they heard a high-pitched squeak. Another pause. Finally, Oates appeared at the top of the rock pile. He pressed a finger to his lips, then beckoned for them to follow him.
The two young marines climbed the rock pile, then followed him into the crack in the rock. Rory turned sideways, forced all the air out of his body, and squeezed in. He hoped Oates knew what he was doing. The walls seemed to close in on him, the cold stone sucking the heat from his body even as his lungs fought for breath. A burning sensation filled his chest and ran up his throat. He tried to move, but was wedged tightly.
How am I going to get out of this?
Panic welled up inside him and he forced himself to calm down. Relax. Control your breathing. Gradually, he regained his self-control. That was better. Now, if I can just…
His thoughts came to a screeching halt as something yanked at his arm. Next thing he knew, he was lying on the ground with Oates standing over him.
“You were taking too long,” the man whispered.
Taken aback by Oates’ strength, Rory could think of nothing to say. He took a moment to catch his breath, then regained his feet as Marson slipped through the opening.
“This way,” Oates said quietly.
Before them stood a wall, old and pockmarked with rust. It must have been quite old. A seam ran down the center where two panels had been welded together. The bottom halves appeared to have been pried apart. Oates knelt, peered through, then signaled for them to follow. He pushed the halves apart, eliciting another of the squeaks Rory had heard earlier, and squeezed through. Rory and Marson followed.
They found themselves in a basement area. Dank water covered the floor. Black mold grew everywhere. Rory found himself involuntarily holding his breath as they splashed to the far side of the room, where a rust-pitted ladder was anchored to the wall.
The rungs creaked and gave a little beneath their weight as they climbed. Rory wondered how long it had been since anyone had been down here. Maybe Oates had been the last. How long had that been?
Oates spoke softly. “Unless things have changed, no one ever visits the level directly above us. It’s a storage area so old that there’s nothing down there that’s of use anymore. Old machine parts, mostly. Stuff from when the base was new.”
“How long ago was that?” Rory asked.
“No idea. Anyway, let’s be quiet just to be on the safe side. Here goes.”
He spent some time fiddling with the trapdoor set in the ceiling above them. Finally, he managed to work the lever free and push it open far enough to look through. A moment later he jerked his head back, the trapdoor dropping with a loud clang. Oates turned his head toward them, his face contorted, eyes closed.
“Oates? What’s wrong?” Rory asked.
Oates let out a thunderous sneeze that reverberated through the empty room.
“Sorry, boys. It’s dusty as an old lady’s…” Oates trailed off. “It still looks as forgotten as ever up there, but if you’ve got masks, you might want to put them on.”
Perhaps if they’
d been full-fledged marines, he and Marson might have been equipped with some sort of respirator, but neither had anything like that at his disposal. They settled for wrapping strips of fabric over their faces, covering their noses and mouths. Once they were set, they passed through the trapdoor.
The room above was every bit as choked with dust as Oates had said. Crates were stacked everywhere, rusted metal cubes, the writing on them long obscured. Rory wondered how long they’d been down here and what they had once held. Oates took a moment to move one of the smaller cubes onto the trapdoor.
“I doubt anyone’s bothered to come down here since I left, but just to be safe, let’s not tip them off that there’s a forgotten way out. Might need to get out this way if things go FUBAR.”
“Why is that trapdoor even there?” Marson asked.
Oates shrugged. “Probably installed it during the construction phase. That’s been so damn long no one will remember it exists. I just got lucky and stumbled across it while I was hiding down here trying to think of a way out.”
“Why did you stay on Soria after you escaped?” Rory asked. “Why didn’t you go back to the world?”
“Being held captive does something to you. I knew I wasn’t quite right anymore. Even if I’d managed to find a way back home to Vatome, I don’t know that I would have fit in. I didn’t want someone innocent to pay the price if I should ever snap. Remaining on Soria seemed the safer option. The radiation doesn’t affect me and I’d spent enough time ranging that I knew I could survive.” His face fell. “Also, I guess I was hoping Becca would come looking for me.”
“She’s the doctor?” Rory asked.
Oates nodded. “Ridiculous, I know. But love makes you stupid sometimes.”
“Plowboy here can tell you all about that,” Marson said. “He’s in love with a Memnon, too.”
Oates gave him a sharp look and took a step back. “What the hells are you talking about?”
“It’s not like he’s saying. She was raised in a Memnon family, but she doesn’t think the way they do, just like your doctor friend. She helped us fight them for fuck’s sake.” He cast an angry glance at Marson.
“She tried to shoot you,” Marson retorted.
“It wasn’t like that.” He turned back to Oates. “She shot at a drone, but nobody would believe her.”
“I suppose it doesn’t matter now,” Oates said. “We’ve got a job to do.”
“So, now that we’re here, what’s our play?” Marson asked.
“Up above is, or was, a laundry. We should be able to find uniforms that fit us. We’ll blend in and steal ourselves a ship.”
Rory spotted the problem immediately. “Uniforms aren’t going to be enough.”
Oates cocked his head. “No? What else do we need?”
“We don’t need anything, but you, my friend, need a shave and a haircut.”
Oates tugged thoughtfully at his beard. “Damn. I don’t mind short hair but I like this thing.” He barked a rueful laugh. “Hells. It’ll be worth it to get some payback. Let’s do this.”
Chapter 27
Southgull Island, Hyperion
Jude nearly jumped out of his skin when Storen knocked. Could he really do this? This was the sort of plan he’d be more than happy to pay others to execute, but when it was his own ass on the line, it was all just a bit more real.
“Go ahead,” he whispered to Magda.
As she moved to answer the door, he slipped behind the door and picked up the heavy Tiranian vase that sat on a pedestal in the corner.
“Magda, you’re looking fit,” Storen said as he stepped in the door. “You know, we also have an aquatic center of you’d like to bring a swimsuit.”
Jude stepped up behind him and brought the vase crashing down on Storen’s head. The vase shattered. Storen wobbled, dropped to one knee.
“What in the hells do you think you’re doing?” the Memnon snarled. He brought his hand up to the top of his head and it came away bloody.
Vatcher had thought this plan through over and over, taking variables into account. What to say if they encountered Memnons during their flight? What would they do if they arrived at the hangar and found it empty? Where else might they find a ship? He had considered those questions and many others. But not once had he considered the possibility that Storen would not be incapacitated or at least stunned by the massive blow to the head.
Storen made to rise. Jude lashed out with a kick aimed for his temple, but Storen blocked it with his cyber hand. Jude staggered back, limping a little.
“You traitorous son of a bitch!” Storen said, stalking toward Jude, who circled away. “You know what I’m going to do? I’m going to cut your feet off so you can’t run away.” His voice trembled with anger. His clawed fingers receded into his fist; in their place a circular cutting blade extended from the center. “And then I’m going to punish your wife for your treason, and I’m going to make you watch.” The blade began to whir, emitting a high-pitched whine.
Jude couldn’t keep his eyes from the whirring blade. He needed a weapon of some sort, but he knew the flat contained nothing useful. There was nothing left to do but go down fighting. He wished Magda didn’t have to see it. He was in good condition for his age and competent at self-defense, but now he faced a Memnon with a killing tool attached to his arm and all the icy rage any man could muster. He stopped backing up, clenched his fists.
Storen laughed. “You’re going to try to fight me? This should be fun. Come on then. Give me your best…”
His words ended in a squelch as Magda, who had crept up behind him, drove a sharpened fingernail file into his jugular.
A crimson fountain of blood gushed up as Magda yanked the file out of Storen’s neck and backed away. Blood flowed from between Storen’s fingers as he gasped and fought to hold his life in. He stared at Jude, his eyes a mix of shock and fear.
“I didn’t know you had that,” Jude said to Magda.
“Two can only keep a secret if one of them is dead. Seeing how I wish to keep you around, I decided to make it a surprise.”
“You and your roots in organized crime. You never cease to amaze me with the wide variety of skills you have at your disposal.”
“A girl needs to know how to defend herself, especially when she grows up around bad men.” She looked down at Storen, who was thrashing around, already dead but refusing to accept it. “This is taking too long.” She knelt and drove the nail file into the spot just below the base of his skull. “There. Much better!” She stood and offered the file to Jude. “I assume you need this?”
He accepted the nail file and knelt over the dead man, pried his right eyelids open, and carefully slid the file in between the cybernetic eye and the flesh of the eye socket. A deft twist of his wrist, and the eye came free with a sound like a plunger.
“That’s disgusting,” Magda said.
“You just stabbed him in the jugular and brain stem,” Jude said as he carefully detached the thin cable that replaced the optic nerve.
“Those things are not mutually exclusive.”
“Fair enough.” He rose, tapped a few buttons on the back of the eye, and held it up like a talisman.
“Let’s hope this works.” They hurried over to the door and Jude held up the cybernetic eye. He held his breath. And then, the door opened. Perhaps this was going to work after all.
On the horizon, Crab Island lay hidden behind a curtain of fire and smoke. Multiple hits on RADS told the story. The Memnons were pounding the base from the air and the sea, but the command center held for the moment.
“Begin launch sequence, Sir?” Vera asked.
“Our people still hold the base,” he said.
“Not for long. Look at all those bandits on RADS. That center is about to fall.”
“Maybe not.” He had been fully prepared to kill Memnons, but not to slaughter Aquarians, soldiers and scientists who were desperately fighting to stay alive.
“Listen to me,” Vera said. “It’s
already over. The whole gods damned planet has fallen.”
“I want a closer look. As far as they know, we’re just some fellow Memnons in a stolen Mongoose.”
“I hate you,” Vera growled.
When they were close enough to make out the command center, Hunter’s heart sank. The bombardment had ceased and Memnons were swarming the beaches. A mech strode in their midst. A good four meters tall, the humanoid-shaped hulk towered over the others. The things were fearsome!
“Sir, we’ve got spikes at ten o’clock!” Vera warned.
Hunter’s eyes flashed to RADS and he realized what he had missed. The bandits, those in the air, anyway, were identified as old Copperhead model fighters. Which meant a Mongoose definitely did not belong, and the Memnons had sent a few missiles their way.
He took evasive maneuvers immediately, dodging, diving, and then heading out for the horizon at full throttle.
“One missile still on our tail.”
“Dammit. Infrared Counter Measures!”
Vera deployed the IRCMs, heat producing flares designed to draw the heat-seeking missile off course. Hunter held his breath. A single missile wouldn’t destroy a Mongoose, far from it, but it could do enough damage to botch their mission.
“IRCMs failed,” Vera said. “I don’t suppose we could turn this thing around and stay on target long enough to deploy the nuke?”
Hunter glanced at RADS again, saw the missile closing in. “Too late. Hold on to your ass.”
He dodged right, dove.
And then the missile struck.
Chapter 28
Soria, Hyperion
“The lab is two levels up. That’s where we’ll find meds and maybe a doc.” Oates, now clean-shaven with short hair, looked positively bizarre to Rory. The worst part was his two-toned face. His forehead and brow were tan, but the skin where his facial hair had been was a few shades lighter. He’d donned a cap to cover his hair, which he’d roughly hacked off with his knife, but there was nothing he could do about his face. They’d just have to hope no one looked too closely. They walked along the hall with Marson, the tallest of the three, in the lead, and Rory flanking Oates, in hopes that his odd appearance wouldn’t be noticed.