Colony B Box Set

by Michael Campling

  “You’re breaking up, Connor. What do you want me to—”

  The signal cut off, and Connor stared at his comms unit. “Phoebe?” He tried switching to the backup channel, but it was no use. The set was dead.

  “Problem?” Mac asked. “Want me to look at that for you?”

  Mac held out his hand, but Connor slipped the comms unit back onto his belt. “There isn’t time. It’ll be quicker if I just go and get the soldering gun for you. It would be foolish for us all to go trooping back down the hill, and there must be something you can be getting on with while I’m gone.”

  Mac tilted his head from side to side. “I suppose I could start rigging up the antenna.”

  “Sounds good,” Connor said. “So, where will I find this soldering gun?”

  “Well, I think I left it on the counter at home. It has a black plastic handle, about so big.” He gestured with his hands. “I put it on to recharge, so it might still be connected. You’ll need to be careful and make sure you disconnect it. And you could bring my spare power pack too.” He smiled wistfully. “Ah, it’s a damned shame. And while you’re gone, I doubt I’ll get much help from your buddy. When it comes to this kind of work, I don’t suppose he knows his ass from his elbow.”

  Connor studied Parry’s expression. His friend’s face was pale with restrained rage, the muscles in his jaw twitching. “You’ll help Mac, won’t you, Parry?”

  “Of course,” Parry snapped.

  Mac looked Parry up and down. “You any good at stripping down multi-cored coaxial cable? I’ve got a whole bunch of the stuff that needs prepping, and it’s got to be done right.”

  “How hard can it be?” Parry asked. “I’m sure I can learn.”

  “That’s not the attitude we want,” Mac protested. “This is precise work. We’re setting up for interplanetary communications, not some cobbling together a half-assed rig for radio hams. One bad connection and the damned thing won’t work at all.”

  Parry’s mouth went tight for a second, then he held out his rifle to Connor. “Here. You stay and help. You know your way around this kind of thing much better than I do. I’ll go and get the damned soldering gun.”

  Connor hesitated, but he took the rifle. “Okay, that sounds like a good idea. You’ll make faster work of the trip than I would, that’s for sure.”

  “You’ve got your sidearm?” Parry asked.

  “Sure.” Connor patted his pistol in its holster.

  “Right,” Parry said, then to Mac: “Anything else you need while I’m there? Tools? Equipment?”

  “No, just the soldering gun and the power pack.” Mac dipped his chin. “I must say, I appreciate this, Parry. Maybe I was a little hard on you earlier.”

  “Save it.” Parry turned to Connor. “I’ll be as quick as I can.” Then without hesitation, he headed to the track, climbing down quickly and disappearing from view.

  “Right, we’d better get started,” Mac said, smiling. “Could you grab me a roll of coaxial cable? The longest one you can find. I’ll need you to hold one end steady while I unroll it and measure it out. It’s got to be cut just right.”

  “Sure.” Connor crossed to the plastic crate and bent down to examine its contents. There were at least a dozen rolls of cable, all held in neat coils by short lengths of twisted wire. Some of the cables were thicker than others, but he couldn’t tell which one was the longest. He laid his rifle on the ground, leaving his hands free for sorting through the box, then he selected a heavy duty cable with white insulation. “Okay, I think this one looks good.” Behind him, he heard Mac moving, his footsteps quick and heavy. Connor began to turn, standing up at the same time, the cable in his hand. “Is this the right one?” he asked, but his question died on his lips. Mac was advancing toward him, his teeth bared, his eyes alive with cold malice. Mac raised his arm, and Connor glimpsed something dark clenched in the man’s fist. Connor reached for his pistol, but before his fingers could find a grip on his weapon, Mac struck, lashing out, driving his fist into Connor’s head.

  Connor tried to dodge, but Mac was too fast, his hand crashing into Connor’s temple. Connor’s world turned white, and he staggered back, clutching at the wound on his head, hot blood pouring over his fingers and trickling down his arm. Mac bore down on him, his face impassive, and when Mac raised his hand once more, Connor saw the jagged edges of the dark rock nestling in Mac’s fist.

  Pain pulsed through Connors’ mind, sending his thoughts scrambling over each other like caged dogs fighting to get free. He grabbed at his holster, but his hand was too slow, too clumsy to find his pistol, and when the ground lurched beneath his feet, it was all he could do to keep from falling.

  “God damn you!” Mac snarled, reaching out to grab hold of Connor’s arm, but Connor somehow managed to jump back, evading his grip.

  A surge of adrenalin sharpened Connor’s wits, and he snatched his pistol from its holster, waving the gun wildly in Mac’s direction. “Get back!” he yelled, but his vision blurred, a stream of thick blood trickling into his right eye. “I’ll shoot!” His finger found the trigger, but before he could take aim, Mac barreled into him, knocking him from his feet. Connor tumbled sideways, landing hard on the uneven ground. He tried to twist his body and take the impact on his shoulder, but he misjudged the distance, his head slamming against the rocky surface with a dull thud. He grunted in pain, rolling over and struggling onto his hands and knees. He still had his pistol, but as he raised his arm to shoot, Mac kicked out at his hand, sending the weapon flying from Connor’s fingers.

  Connor roared in blind rage, jumping to his feet, the instinct to survive tearing through his veins, setting his muscles on fire. He threw himself at Mac, his fists raised, but the man was ready for him. He grabbed Connor by the arms, using his momentum against him and throwing him aside. And when Connor stumbled, Mac followed up with a kick to the back of Connor’s leg, sending him sprawling onto the ground.

  Dazed, Connor tasted dirt, grit coating his lips. He put his hands on the ground to push himself up, but a boot came crashing down onto his right hand, the pain searing up his arm like a jolt of electricity. He cried out, rolling onto his side, still straining to get up, but Mac’s boot came down once more, the heel slamming into Connor’s ribs, knocking the air from his lungs.

  “Stay down!” Mac commanded. “Stay down, or I’ll beat you senseless, you son of a bitch.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Connor groaned, his voice thick with pain. “This makes no sense.”

  “Maybe not.” Mac bent down, grabbing the comms unit from Connor’s belt and dropping it to the ground, crushing it beneath its heel. “But I’ve always found other people’s ideas of good sense tend to be over-rated.” He sniffed then looked away as if dismissing Connor from his mind. “Now, I’d better find that pistol before I go.” He lowered his gaze, scanning the ground. “I can’t see the damned thing anywhere. I guess it’s lost.” He stepped back. “Never mind, I’m taking this.” He scooped up Parry’s rifle and pointed it at Connor. “I’ll let you live, for now, but come after me, and this is what you’ll get.” He moved the rifle a little to one side and fired, the sonic pulse kicking up dust and gravel just inches from Connor’s head.

  “You’re out of your goddamned mind!” Connor yelled.

  But Mac just smiled. “A distinct possibility.” He stepped very close to Connor, bending down to look him square in the eye. “We’re none of us getting off this God-forsaken planet, don’t you see that?” He let out a bark of humorless laughter. “Ah, there’s no point talking to you. You’ll figure it out in the end.”

  “But the signal,” Connor started, “if we—”

  “It’ll never work,” Mac interrupted. “Think about it. Easy enough to get a message back to Earth, but it’ll take a long time to get there. And even if they get it, they’ll probably ignore it. And what then?”

  “I told you all this. We’ll talk to the Terran Alliance. They’ll be on our side. They’ll force the GRC
to send a rescue.”

  “Cloud cuckoo land,” Mac sneered. “How long do you think it will take them to get a mission off the ground? One year? Two? And then there’s the journey—that’ll take another five years. Do you honestly think you can hold on for that long?”

  “We’ll give it our best shot. It’s all we can do. We have to try.”

  Mac shook his head sadly. “Be my guest. But you’ll do it without me. Now, I may not have much of a life left, but I’ll be damned if I’ll spend it under your thumb. I’ll live free while I can, and I’ll die the same way. Anything’s better than begging for the scraps from your table. Consider me gone. And you needn’t worry, I won’t be troubling you nor your precious settlement ever again.”

  He walked away, ignoring the track and heading to the other side of the plateau. He looked back for one moment, an evil leer on his face, and then he stepped down onto the slope and out of sight.

  “Shit!” Connor shouted. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” He staggered to his feet, nursing his ribs with one hand while the other went to the wound on his head. The cut on his temple was still bleeding, but the wound didn’t feel as bad as he’d feared; a shallow cut that must’ve caught a minor blood vessel. He crossed to the edge of the lookout and peered down. Mac was below, scrambling over the rocks, blundering down the steep slope as fast as he could. “Mac! Come back! Don’t be an asshole!”

  But Mac’s only response was to break into a clumsy jog, picking up speed as he dashed downhill.

  Connor wiped the sweat and grit and dried blood from his eyes. The pain in his head was lessening now, and though his chest burned when he breathed too deep, he was recovering fast. He could still pull this task back from the brink of disaster. He could still force Mac to come back and finish the job. All he needed was a weapon. He crossed the lookout, searching the ground, leaning out to peer over the plateau’s edge. That must be it. A glint of metal caught the light, and Connor allowed himself a grim smile. He sidestepped down to the place, and there, nestling against a boulder, his sonic pistol had come to rest. He picked it up, wiping it down and checking the charge indicator. It seemed to be undamaged, but he needed to be sure. Setting the weapon’s strength to its lowest value, he fired an experimental shot at the ground. The pistol buzzed and vibrated as it discharged; a sign it needed recalibrating. But the gun worked well enough, and a cloud of dust flew up where the sonic blast found its target.

  Connor increased the pistol’s strength, setting it to just one notch away from its maximum level. There was no way Mac was going to listen to persuasion or reasoned argument; the only way to stop him escaping was to take him down. Once Mac was incapacitated, Connor could wait for Parry to return, but for now, he had to hurry. Peering down the slope to pick out a route, he stepped down from the lookout and began his descent.

  ***

  Connor jogged to a standstill, catching his breath. Ahead, the ground rose gently, and he’d last seen Mac cresting the ridge before disappearing down the leeward slope. Connor knew this part of the hill, and once he made it over the ridge, he’d be on open ground. With any luck, he should be able to get a clear line of sight and line up a safe shot on Mac; he needed to bring the man down without wounding him too severely.

  Connor’s throat was parched, his mouth dry, and a sharp pain dug into his ribs with every breath, but at least his head wound had stopped bleeding. I guess I got off lightly, he told himself. No doubt Mac had meant to knock him out cold, not caring whether his victim lived or died, but either Mac had misjudged the blow, or Connor’s thick skull had saved him. I’ll be all right, he thought, but an insistent whisper in the back of his mind told him not to count his chickens. He’d known people walk away with head wounds, apparently healthy, only to fall down a day later, the secret damage finally taking its toll. I’ll get it checked later. I’ve got to stop Mac first.

  He flexed the fingers of his bruised right hand. They hurt like hell, but he could still shoot well enough, and when all this was over, he’d make Mac pay for what he’d done. But that would come later. Much later.

  He set off once more, finding another gear and running hard, making easy work of the upward slope. At the top, he went into a half crouch in case Mac was lying in wait, but he needn’t have worried. Mac had come to a halt on the level ground below the ridge. He was facing away from Connor, and he clearly hadn’t realized he was being pursued because he was resting, his hands on his thighs and his head down. An easy target. There was nowhere for Mac to hide, and nowhere for him to go.

  Connor leveled his pistol, aiming at Mac’s legs, but he hesitated, his finger on the trigger. If he still had his rifle, he’d be confident of his shot, but Mac was over a hundred yards away and well beyond a sonic pistol’s effective range. Shit! Connor picked his way down the slope, treading carefully, keeping his gun on Mac. Every step brought him closer, every yard made a difference. Soon, he’d be able to take the shot.

  His foot grated against loose earth, and as Connor transferred his weight, a stray fragment of stone came loose and rolled down the slope, rattling over the rocks as it fell.

  Mac spun around, in one motion shouldering his rifle and bringing it to bear on Connor. Connor’s instincts told him to move, and he dived to the ground, landing on his side, his pistol up. Mac’s shot thudded into the ground beside him, and Connor returned fire then scrambled forward. His only hope was to keep moving until he could get into cover. He had the benefit of higher ground, and with Mac in the open, if Connor could hunker down in a good vantage point, his pistol might just stack up against Mac’s rifle.

  Mac fired, again and again, his shots tracing Connor’s path. Something struck Connor’s lower leg, and he grunted in pain, but he kept moving, half crawling, half rolling diagonally down the slope. Ahead, a boulder could give him the cover he needed. He loosed a shot in Mac’s direction then pushed himself up to his feet and made a dash for it, ignoring the pain in his leg. Shards of stone flew up all around him as Mac’s sonic pulses rained down on every side, but Connor surged forward, his boots pounding the ground. He slid to a halt behind the boulder and popped up, bracing his arm against the rock. He was close enough to make a decent shot now, and he exhaled as he pulled the trigger, adjusting his aim before firing a second sonic blast. The last pulse clipped Mac somewhere in his mid-riff, and he bent double, almost dropping his rifle. “Mac! Give it up!” Connor shouted, readying another shot.

  Mac straightened slowly, raising his hands. But he kept hold of his weapon, and he wasn’t looking at Connor, he was scanning the slope as if measuring up the opposition.

  He’ll realize I’m alone, Connor told himself. I can’t hesitate. He fired again, but he was too late. Mac was already on the move, running away as fast as his legs would take him, his arms pumping wildly. He made for a rocky outcrop and dashed behind it, vanishing from view once again.

  “Goddammit!” Connor set off in pursuit, plunging down the slope, sending showers of stones to clatter down the hillside. At the bottom, he leaped down onto the level ground and set off on Mac’s trail. The man had a head start, but while Connor had spent the last five years patrolling the hillside, Mac had wasted his time on idle pursuits and groundweed beer, and the man wasn’t in good shape. I’ll catch up with him soon enough, Connor told himself, and he ran on, sweat stinging the corners of his eyes, his breath rasping in his dry throat. He rounded the outcrop of rock, throwing caution to the wind, but Mac was nowhere to be seen. Connor halted. Had Mac fooled him? Had he slipped past him somehow? He shook his head. There was no way Mac could’ve got away. He had to be nearby.

  Connor turned around, assessing the boulders and dips in the ground as potential hiding places. And his heart sank. The upward slope on his right was peppered with small caves, their ragged mouths yawning wide in the grim rock. On some parts of the hill, caves were common, but almost none were stable. They formed when the weather acted on underlying faults in the layers of soft, flaky rock, the stones falling away along lines of weakness to creat
e temporary tunnels and fragile caves. Mac would’ve known the dangers of stepping inside, but he was exhausted and desperate; a cave must’ve seemed like an ideal hiding place.

  Squaring his shoulders and gripping his pistol with both hands, Connor edged toward the nearest cave. One glance was all it took to establish that Mac was not inside; the cave was shallow and completely empty. Connor moved on. Should he call out, or would that only serve to give away his position? He bit his lower lip and kept walking, the sound of his own footsteps echoing loud from the barren rocks.

  After a moment, he stopped, cocking his head to listen. He’d heard something. Had it just been a loose rock falling from the roof of a cave? No. There it was again: a restless, grating sound, like someone shuffling over a gravel path. Connor stepped forward carefully, tracking the sound, narrowing it down. That must be it. One cave was narrower than the others, its ceiling high, and its depths hidden in shadow; a man could quickly disappear inside. Connor crept toward the cave, keeping to one side of the opening. Mac wasn’t stupid. He’d probably chosen the narrow cave on purpose. If Connor stepped into the cave’s mouth, he’d have nowhere to hide, nowhere to dodge, and Mac would pick him off for sure. One shot is all it would take.

  That cuts both ways, Connor thought. But Mac had the drop on him. The man would be hidden in the dark while Connor would be clearly outlined against the daylight at the cave’s mouth.

  Connor took up position beside the cave and checked his pistol. I’ll have to go in, he decided. He’s left me no choice. He sidled a little closer to the cave’s mouth. “Come out of there, Mac. These caves aren’t safe, and you know it. Come out, and we’ll talk.”

  “I’m hurt,” Mac replied, his voice strained. “You shot me. You’ll have to come in and help me out.”

  Connor bared his teeth. You goddamned rattlesnake.

  “Help me,” Mac cried. “I can’t move. I can’t feel my legs.”

  “Not going to happen. You ran in there fast enough. I’m sure you can find your way back out again.”