The third had managed to get his right leg up onto the ramp but then a case of combat medical supplies slid down the ramp and knocked him off. He managed to push himself away from the case as he fell but it wasn’t going to save him.
The shuttle had lifted too high before he fell. He hit the prison yard with a sickening sound, a wet thud punctuated by the snapping of bones.
Odin hadn’t noticed. He was taking aim at the lead officer aboard a trio of police hover-bikes that were the first to respond to the prison break. They were hovering above the yard, not expecting armed enemies to be there, though such an assumption should have been hard to reconcile with all the blast-damage.
Odin fired and the officer pitched backwards off the bike. The bike, no longer under positive control, went into auto-recovery mode and settled to the surface of the yard.
Odin sprinted for the vehicle, cursing the prisoner who got there first. Before he could bring his own weapon back up, the prisoner twitched with the impact of several rounds fired by Fenris, who’d come out of the warehouse at the sound of the shuttle leaving. He’d seen Odin running for the bike and had the presence of mind to understand what he had in mind.
Odin leapt aboard and sent the small vehicle racing up past the other two bikes, now riderless and descending.
The shuttle was only a few hundred meters up by this point and he slotted in behind it. The back ramp was still wide open.
He frowned. The shuttle was clearly heading for orbit but the fools hadn’t closed up? Their prison jumpsuits wouldn’t keep them alive if they broke atmo with that ramp still open.
He shook his head. You didn’t find many smart criminals in a prison, just the ones that were dumb enough to get caught.
Except for the Akkadians, of course…
He drove his bike straight into the back of the shuttle and mag-grounded it to the cargo-decking. A Milessian came at him with a large pin-wrench, swinging the tool over his head in an arc calculated to smash the Midgaard’s head.
Odin simply stepped into the attack getting too close for the wild swing to hit him. He grabbed the creature’s neck and tossed him aft, letting gravity take over. The prisoner slid down the sharply angled deck and out the back, his wail fading quickly.
Computer, recognize, he subvocalized, now that he was close enough for the onboard systems to link with his suit. A chime confirmed he was connected. Return to launch point.
The vehicle turned, which must have warned the escaped criminal in the cockpit that his escape was now in jeopardy. The huge creature came into the cargo hold, stooped slightly to avoid striking his head on the overhead frames – a head with a logo raised on the side of his head in an angry red welt.
“This shuttle belongs to Zababa now!” he shouted angrily.
“And where would I find him?” Odin asked politely. “It’s just that we have conflicting claims to this craft and I intend to press my case quite vigorously.”
Zababa grabbed a central stanchion and ripped it from its mounts. He hefted the sixty kilos of steel and carbon menacingly.
“Whoa there, friend,” Odin urged. “I’m pretty sure those stanchions are needed if you don’t want the ship to fall apart!”
Zababa advanced, bringing his improvised club back for a swing.
Odin decided he’d had enough of this and reached for his pistol. His face showed angry resignation, mingled with the shock of realizing he must have dropped his pistol as he jumped aboard the mag-bike. He’d needed both hands to control it, after all, and time had definitely been a rare commodity.
Of course, with an angry lump of muscle swinging a heavy club at him in close quarters and a wasted effort to draw a non-existent weapon, time was so dear it wasn’t even on the market anymore.
The stanchion hammered into his side and he went tumbling into a bench that ran along the starboard side of the cargo bay. The crack he’d heard as the club struck had sounded like ribs breaking and the collision with the bench confirmed it. No time and not nearly enough strength to stop this creature. He nearly screamed as the suit’s nanites moved to stabilize his ribs.
He stared at the approaching feet and then he noticed what they were walking on. Cancel inertial dampening for all interior elements except for myself, he subvocalized.
Zababa stumbled but he was a wide creature and that seemed to give him exceptional balance. He recovered and resumed his advance on Odin.
Full stop, bow up. He ordered.
Balance or not, Zababa could do nothing about the small vessel coming to a relatively quick halt from roughly a hundred kilometers per hour. He slammed into the cargo bay’s forward bulkhead and then slid aft again as the ship pointed its nose up to the black.
Odin struggled to his feet, cursing at the searing pain in his chest, though the painkillers, injected by the suit, were starting to take the bite off. He heard a noise, like a small piece of metal snapping, and looked to where the bike was mag-locked to the decking.
He walked over, the selective orders for the inertial dampening system allowing him to walk as though the vehicle was perfectly level. It made Zababa’s current position all the more bizarre.
From Odin’s perspective, the huge alien was hanging sideways in front of him. He’d grabbed the mag-bike’s handle-bar as he fell toward the still-open rear ramp. The handle had snapped but he’d managed to get a grip on the side fairing as his fall resumed.
“Any decent opponent would have the grace to accept his defeat and die, you know,” Odin admonished Zababa.
The alien shouted something at Odin but it wasn’t in any language the Midgaard was aware of.
“Look, it’s been fun,” Odin told him. “You stole my ship – after I freed you – broke my ribs and tore out a stanchion. The least I can do…” He pulled out his nano-knife, a weapon with a layer of nanites at the cutting edge to keep it wickedly sharp. “… Is give you a nice view on your way to the afterlife.”
He sliced the knife easily through Zababa’s wrist but the alien grabbed the vehicle again with his other hand.
Odin sighed. “Like I said, any decent opponent…” He sliced through the other wrist and the large creature finally fell out the aft end of the assault-shuttle.
Resume return to launch point, he ordered. He sank down to the deck, back against the mag-bike. It had taken him centuries to ditch his bad-luck reputation after his failed raid at Khola. Losing his shuttle, his exit strategy, to a prisoner that he’d set loose, would have been his undoing in Midgaard society.
He’d avoided dwelling on it while there was still a chance to restore his fortunes but, now that he was safely on his way back to collect his team and the stolen ship ID modules, the relief came with the full understanding of just how badly he’d almost screwed himself.
And what the hells was wrong with the damned painkillers?
Inflection Point
South Abbey, Planet 3428
Viggo paced back and forth, nine steps in each direction. That was the extent of his freedom, at the moment, thanks to the small cell he’d been stuck in. It was a cell in the monastic sense but it served well enough to keep him in place as long as the guard was standing outside.
Well, that was a slight exaggeration. He glanced at the door. The guard was no real obstacle for someone with Viggo’s abilities. He’d be halfway back to Solomon by now if not for the friendship his father had with these people.
He smacked a cup off the small table in the middle of the room without breaking his stride. What were the chances they’d decide to let him go? Even if they did, how long would they take to make a decision? The time for running was done.
He had to get back into Solomon as quickly as possible. He’d been reacting on instinct and that made him easy for his enemies to predict.
His father had an obligation to the monks but how far did that extend to Viggo? He had his own responsibilities and they seemed far more real to him, now that he was no longer able to do anything about them.
He stopped pacing in
his tiny cell and listened. There were voices outside the door and then the sound of footsteps receding down the hallway.
He took a step toward the door but then he froze. His skin tingled, a hideous sensation working its way up his spine.
The door swung open and Viggo recognized the monk who’d advocated for his death. He backed away from the intruder, shaking his head in terror as the monk advanced on him.
“All that arguing upstairs,” the monk lamented insincerely, “and you save us all a lot of further trouble by taking your own life in despair!” His right hand came from his robe, holding a wicked-looking knife.
Viggo’s retreat was halted by the cold stone of the cell wall, the horrible image of his dead body vivid in his imagination. He could see himself slumping down onto the flagstones, his blood spraying from his throat.
There was no stopping it.
Thorstein had always told him not to rely on fate. ‘Every one of us has the same foolish conviction,’ he used to say. ‘We all grow up thinking that we’re the star character in our own story, which is why you teenagers are so damned reckless! Someone has to be the tragic hero and I can guarantee you that your friends have no desire to take on the role!’
This was the end. I’m the tragic hero after all! He shook his head, appalled. I don’t want to be the tragic hero… And here, Thorstein’s irreverent gallows humor came to his aid.
…The pay is shite!
His eyes focused on the monk’s. He’d seen himself fall, dying, but it was in his imagination. He hadn’t seen it happen. The monk was taking his time about this.
Too much time.
He’s using this delay to prevent me from seeing the attack until I’m too debilitated by fear to stop him. Viggo could feel the strength flowing back into his body, his confidence returning.
“This isn’t my fear,” he said, finally understanding, finally seeing. “It’s yours.”
The monk looked as if he’d been slapped in the face… hard. His eyes darted left and right, betraying the pulse of rapid, panicked thought, and then he lunged, snarling.
His right hand streaked for Viggo’s throat. The blade flashed.
The blade stopped.
Viggo held the monk’s wrist in his left hand. It was a simple enough thing to see what was coming, now that he’d mastered the fear, and it was child’s play for his muscles, trained by a lifetime of using a bow, to halt the attack of this slender monk.
Against a proper warrior, he’d have captured the attacking hand and channeled its energy to force his opponent into a submissive position. This monk posed no real threat anymore. Viggo merely stopped him cold as a gesture of contempt, like grasping the wrist of a rowdy child.
“I am getting tired of everyone deciding what to do with me,” Viggo told the monk calmly.
Though he seemed calm enough, the color was draining from the monk’s right hand and the fellow was cringing in pain, more focused on his trapped wrist than on what his erstwhile victim was saying.
“My parents decide to leave me here ‘in charge’, the Fletchers decide to use me as a pawn in their bid to take the planet from us, Roj decides to capture me for my own good but, really, he’s trying to avoid revealing your order to my people, your abbot wants to imprison me here for pretty much the same reason and you…”
The monk gasped, trying to wrap his body protectively around his grinding wrist bones.
“You want to kill me and I’m thinking it’s because you’re one of those politically-minded assholes who builds their brand by always voicing a provocative viewpoint at every assembly.” He took the knife from the white-knuckled hand just before it slipped from the monk’s fingers.
“I’ve been too passive,” Viggo realized. “Too afraid of what others think, of what advantage they might take of my mistakes.”
He hefted the knife, feeling its balance. “A leader who shrinks away from any risk to their own power has no right to that power in the first place.” He leaned closer to the monk.
“Do you understand what that means?”
The poor wretch tore his attention away from his right hand to meet Viggo’s gaze, eyes wide. He shook his head because he hadn’t really been paying attention.
“It means I’m done with reacting to whatever the Universe throws at me. I’m going to start doing things my way.
“I’m the lord of this planet,” he said, finally meaning it. “That means you just engaged in an act of open rebellion. Doesn’t matter if you recognize my rule here or not. I can put a ship over this shit-heap and reduce it to rubble with a single order.
“You tried to kill your lord. That calls for the death penalty.” Without another word, he drove the knife into the side of the monk’s head.
He grabbed the back of the twitching man’s robes and dropped him, face-down, over the table.
A few moments later, his precognition warned him of Roj’s approach, his startled exclamation at the absence of a guard and his wary question upon finding Viggo holding the monk’s trousers.
“Should I come back later?” Roj asked, awkwardly angling his gaze away from the dead monk’s naked buttocks.
“No!” Viggo snapped, stepping into the baggy green pants. “I’m going to need you.”
“I came to warn you that Ventris might be planning to do something drastic…” Roj said, still rooted to his spot inside the door.
“That was the guy arguing for my death?”
“That’s him,” Roj nodded.
“That was him,” Viggo gestured at the corpse. “Said I’d look like a suicide.”
Roj finally noticed the knife protruding from the side of Ventris’ head. “You killed him?” he spluttered. “When the abbot hears of this…”
“Enough!” Viggo didn’t shout but his voice held the authority that he’d finally decided to accept.
Shouting wasn’t necessary if you were in control. “You’re living on my planet Roj. Doesn’t make a damned difference who got here first. My family holds the claim and they have the force to back it up.” He finally got the pants tied.
“You’re talking to the lord of this world. I’ll keep your secrets, if I can, but you need to get your head out of your ass and pitch in before the mutiny takes hold. Otherwise, they’re gonna strip the forests clean off this place and you’ll be nothing but a bunch of refugees on a ship back to Oaxes.”
“We’re actually from…” Roj bit off his answer at a look from Viggo that made his spine shiver.
“Help me get this idiot’s robes,” Viggo told him, “and then we’re going to find a boat. You’re taking me back to Solomon.”
Roj’s face tried to find an expression that matched the moment but it failed utterly.
He stepped over to help Viggo with his disguise.
Big Strong Man Needs Rescuing
Freya just stood there, not saying a word. She did, however, raise an eyebrow.
“She got the jump on me,” Rick insisted. He gestured lamely at the cell he was found in. “It happened too fast…”
She still had a little room left, so she ratcheted her eyebrow up just a touch.
“She had me too distracted to see what she was up to…”
“Distracted?” She finally spoke. “And how exactly was she distracting you so effectively that you ignored your own precog senses?”
“I…” Rick sighed in frustration. “It’s not like that. She was acting weird and I was trying not to notice because of what she means to you and…” He waved lamely at the closed bars. “…Next thing I know, she’s skipping out the door and locking me in.”
“Why would she lock up someone if they came to rescue her?”
“Because she thought I was the doctor.” He held up a warning hand. “Don’t even accuse me of trying to play doctor with your boss. I can see you’re about to start laughing.”
She grinned. “I should at least give you credit for finding her.” She opened the door. “We would have had to come down and break into the data feed just to find
the right prison.”
She stepped closer, grabbed the back of Rick’s head and planted a kiss on him. June’s team gave them an ironic cheer and both Freya and Rick responded with a rude hand signal, still locked in their kiss.
“So,” he said as soon as he caught his breath, “I take it you didn’t have any reassuring visions about finding me here?” There was a distinct element of relief in her sudden display of affection and the tremor in his own voice revealed just how uncertain he’d been as well.
“Just a hunch.” She cuffed at her cheek. “You know how I feel about hunches…”
One of June’s team tapped Rick on the shoulder and gestured to an armor block that his comrade was setting on the floor.
With a nod of thanks, Rick backed into the block’s footpads and twitched his heels. He gave a sigh as the suit flowed into place on his body.
“So where is Gabiola?” Freya asked him.
“Probably down in general population somewhere,” Rick said, doing a deep lunge as part of the calibration process for a new suit. “She’s made a lot of enemies and she’ll be looking for a chance to catch them off guard, from what I’ve heard. She’s been out for a while now.”
“How long?”
“Two days.” He rotated his torso, stretching his arms back. “I try to tell them when they bring my food but nobody listens to prisoners around here. We probably could have switched her out for a cat and they’d be weeks noticing.”
Freya pulled a small pistol from one of the mag-plates on her armor and handed it to him. “Let’s go find her.”
They walked out past the front guard, who had his hands secured with plastic ties. One of June’s operators stood over him.
The guard looked up at the heavily armed team, his eyes growing wide when he saw Rick. “Doc? Good to see you again! You’re the best! I owe you big-time!”
Rick just nodded and stepped out onto the catwalk outside the solitary block. He caught his wife’s raised eyebrow and he shrugged. “The guy tubes a lot of lagweed… like… a lot!”
She chuckled. “How do we find Gabs?”
“Well, Tim is probably still alive, so we should start with him and see if he knows.”
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