by R J Johnson
The door exploded inward, metal flying everywhere. Meade ducked, looking in awe at the six-inch jagged piece of metal embedded in the hull that narrowly missed his neck.
The two Coalition MPs resumed firing and he took cover behind a bulkhead, waiting them out. They paused for a moment, recharging their rifles. He took advantage of the moment to try and negotiate his way out of this.
“Lieutenant!” Meade called out into the cargo hold. “You’ve lost the ship. I destroyed your drones and my people got the emergency beacon. No one knows you’re here or in trouble. Give it up before you lose your life too!”
His response was another blast from the MP’s energy rifle.
“Okay, so you’re not interested in surrender,” he said. “How ‘bout a trivia contest?”
The gunfire stopped. He peered around the corner of the cockpit door to see the two guards exchanging a look.
He returned his gaze to his armbar and resumed typing until the display finally flashed green. Thanks to Emeline’s virus, he now had access to the maintenance systems, a partial success that might give him what he needed to get this bird on the ground safely.
Meade popped his head back up over the console and shouted to the two men trying to kill him.
“What year did the first settlement of Mars take place?” he asked, still typing. “No cheating now and looking it up on the wireless.”
He grabbed hold of a nearby metal bar, grasping it tightly. With his other hand, he deactivated the ship’s Higgs field generator, turning off the system. He held tight to the console as gravity gently gave way in the cockpit.
“Bzzz,” Meade shouted. “The correct answer is 2049, five years after the end of the Last War.”
He heard a crash from the cargo hold. The containers had come free and were flying haphazardly around the interior of the ship’s cargo hold. He heard one guard cry out in pain after a heavy container slammed into his body.
He turned back to his work, satisfied the guards wouldn’t bother him for the next few moments. Killing them would solve nothing. Wounding them on the hand, was far more efficient. Now the other Coalition MP would be too busy taking care of his comrade, giving him plenty of time to land the ship.
The armbar flashed red again and he grumbled in exasperation. Emeline’s face popped back up on his display.
“Meade, the deck is coming up awfully fast on you there, hon.”
“Trying to keep you all in suspense,” he said, wiping sweat from his forehead. “You’ll have to give me a sec, I’m still working on trying to get these airfoils re-engaged.”
“Well whatever you’re going to do, you’d better – Meade look out!”
Meade ducked seconds before the Coalition guard tried slicing his head off with a knife.
He scrambled back retreating away from the young man who looked considerably tougher than the other junior lieutenant.
Guess he wasn’t that concerned about his fellow MP after all, Meade thought to himself.
Standing, he squared up against the menacing Coalition officer opposite him.
“I think it’s only fair that if you’ve got a knife, I get one too,” Meade said. He pulled out his gun and aimed it at the guard.
“Whoops, looks like this is all I’ve got.”
The guard’s eyes narrowed when he saw the gun and backed away slowly. Meade motioned with the gun to the console.
“We’re going to need the airfoils extended here sooner rather than later, otherwise you and your friend will end up part of the Coalition’s accident report.”
“You’re onboard this vessel too runabout,” the guard spat at him. “You’ll die along with us.”
He smirked. “My people are ready with my exit plan. What do you have?”
The guard was silent at this. Meade pointed to the console.
“Unlock the command codes and extend the airfoils.”
The numbers measuring the ship’s altitude were spinning down rapidly and the guard’s eyes flicked to the display.
“Better hurry,” he said, an edge coming to his voice.
The MP eyed him for a moment and then inserted a key into the console and began typing a series of commands into the ship’s navigation system. The airfoils on the ship began extending out for atmospheric flight.
The ship stabilized and began guiding itself into a controlled descent.
“There, see?” Meade asked, coming closer to the console. “Isn’t that easier than dying a fiery death?”
He began typing on the console checking the fuel levels and began looking for a safe landing site. There was a nice little outcropping beyond the Meridiani stretch that would do nicely.
He glanced over at the Coalition guard who was still stewing over in the chair next to him and turned his attention back toward programming in a safe landing sequence.
The Coalition guard was so quick, that he hadn’t seen him coming and was blindsided by a kick to the jaw, that pushed him off the command console and down to the ground.
He pushed himself up, trying to reach for the guard who was reaching for the controls to try and lock him out of the system again. The MP pulled his command keys out, forcing the airfoils to retract once again and the ship lost control, plunged sharply down toward the Martian surface.
Meade felt his feet go out from under him and he grabbed on for dear life. Without the airfoils deployed, the navigation computer wouldn’t be able to safely land the vessel. Normally, during an emergency like this, the autopilot would kick back on and take the ship back out into orbit.
But the virus Meade installed had turned off all safety locks – including the ones that were supposed to reactivate the autopilot in cases of extreme emergency. Without that lock engaged, the computer would crash right into the Martian ground.
The ship rolled, and then turned, losing control as it angled down for a final plunge toward the red Martian soil. Meade grabbed hold of the nearest cargo container and held on even as his body swung haphazardly in the zero-gravity.
They were losing altitude, and fast. The ship was already at 40,000 feet and at the rate they were falling, they only had a few moments left before the ship crashed.
Heaving himself up, he fought for every inch, until he managed to reach the pilot’s console. Meade stretched out a hand, reaching for the key until he was able to turn it, re-deploying the airfoils.
The ship began trying to right itself, but he was too late. The navigation computer was unable to keep up with the G-forces and stresses the supply ship was going through. The instrument panel in front of him was lit up like a Christmas tree.
“That can’t be good news,” he said, wildly eyeing the beeping and protesting panel.
He grabbed hold of the control stick, hoping he might be able to keep the ship from crashing. But the massive supply ship wasn’t responding to the controls.
Meade hit a button on the console, deploying the airbrakes and retro-thrusters hoping there was enough time to keep their ship from ending up in a thousand pieces. The engines screamed in protest, as they attempted to slow the enormous space vessel.
“Come on, baby,” he whispered. “Work with me.”
The ship banked toward the canyon and he closed his eyes as he watched the ship race toward the soil.
They crashed hard on the deck, spraying red Martian dirt out in front of them in a plume of dust and rock. The ship continued to slide down the canyon, bashing itself against the canyon walls, as the airfoils were sliced off and the tail of the ship were destroyed.
“That’s going to take some value off the resale,” he said.
They were moving too fast, and the end of the canyon was coming up. Meade turned, and began to dash for the rear of the ship.
The ship crashed into the canyon wall, throwing Meade across the room.
That’s when everything went black.
Chapter Four
Bag of Luck
Kansas, Emeline and the rest of the team from the Martian Independence Movement wat
ched in horror as the massive Coalition supply ship crashed in front of them.
Emeline’s heart sunk, her eyes going wide as she raised a fist to her mouth.
“Meade,” she whispered in horror.
The team boarded their aerocycles and they drove over to the ruined ship, that was still smoking after the crash.
Kansas pulled up first and shook his head, a low whistle escaping his lips. Emeline was right behind him, barely able to keep her panic at bay as they approached the wreckage.
“My god,” she whispered. She stood next to Kansas for a moment, looking at the ruin in front of them for a moment wondering how Meade could have possibly survived.
The silence was interrupted by a crackle over their headphones as a slightly strained voice filled their comm units.
“Someone wanna turn on the lights?”
Kansas dismounted from his aerocycle, walking straight to the pilot’s door. Pulling it open, he revealed Meade hanging upside down, the rebreather suit he was wearing barely keeping him alive in the Martian atmosphere. Kansas looked at his protégé and shook his head.
“Heya Kansas,” Meade said, grinning as he hung upside down. “I brought us some groceries.”
Kansas pushed the hat back into Meade’s face shaking his head.
“Goddamn you Meade,” he shouted over the roar of the dying engines. “You nearly got us killed.”
“Relax,” Meade said, still hanging upside down, trying to look nonchalant. “There’s nothing in here that’s going to explode. There was no ordnance on-board, and the fuel the Coalition uses for their ships isn’t flammable. Only thing we have to concern ourselves with is if a Coalition fast attack ship happens to be nearby.”
Meade fumbled with the belt keeping him in his seat but found himself unable to reach the release. Emeline moved to pull at his body, helping to dislodge him from his predicament.
“Thanks hon,” he said, once he righted himself. “Being upside down always makes me wanna vomit.”
She glanced at the inside of the ship’s cargo container and all the food, medical supplies and luxuries that had spilled out because of the crash.
“Maybe you’ll get lucky and there will be something good to settle your stomach in there.”
“One can only hope,” he said. Meade turned and shouted into the cockpit where Kansas had retreated. “Careful, there’s still two problems in there.”
“I see ‘em,” Kansas called back. He poked his head back out, his face grim. “Those boys ain’t gonna bother us. They didn’t make it.”
Meade winced.
Emeline had never seen Kansas look so pissed in his life. Their mentor’s face was the color of a cherry tomato and he was stomping through the wreckage toward Meade clearly intent on doing damage.
“When I give you an order to stand down and abort a mission you best believe I mean it,” Kansas shouted over the supply ship’s dying engines.
“The ship is ours and the MiMs have food for the next few months,” Meade replied hotly. “I made the hard call to do what I thought needed to be done to help us survive. We’re good.”
“Boy,” Kansas glared at him and looked around at the wreckage and cargo strewn haphazardly around the cargo bay. “Look around you, what about this looks good to you?”
Emeline kept quiet hoping Meade would have the same sense to keep his yap shut for once. This was not the time to be challenging their friend, especially considering the fact he outranked him as the Supreme General of the Martian Independence Movement.
“If you landed this ship like we planned on,” Kansas began, ignoring Meade’s sour expression, “then all the cargo would be neatly stacked and easy to pull off with the cargo loaders we had waitin’. Now, we hafta do it all by hand and get it done before the Coalition sends backup. We’ll be lucky to get away with half of what we need.”
She watched Kansas take one step and close the distance between him and Meade, leaning in close to her boyfriend to make his point. “And you bet your ass the Coalition will start escorting their supply ships now.”
“Kansas, easy,” she said, peering around the cargo bay door and into the wreckage. “Meade did what he thought was right. We needed supplies. We have supplies.”
“Not enough,” Kansas barked. He turned and waved a finger back at his face. “Sure, we’ve got supplies for the next six months. But what about the six months after that? And after that? Those are the months I’m worried about.”
She watched Meade’s face turned red. She knew he felt bad for putting them at risk for short-term gains. But she also knew him well enough that Kanas was pushing his buttons. When Meade felt like he was in the right, he would defend himself to the death if pushed. It was one of his rules. Number 22 or something like that. She never could keep track of them all.
Kansas sighed, and his voice lost some of the anger. “I don’t mean to get angry with you. I just… if there’s anything I’ve learned over the years it’s that we’re all born with a full bag of luck and an empty bag of skill. The whole point of life is to fill that bag of skill up before your bag of luck runs out.”
Meade stood there fuming, and she knew he was keeping his temper in check. Growth, even in small doses should be encouraged.
“You can yell at him later old man,” she said, stepping forward. “We need to get our people moving before the Coalition arrives to spoil our little party out here.”
“Thanks for the support,” Meade said, under his breath to her. She rolled her eyes.
Kansas glared at them and back at the wreckage. He swiped his armbar, opening an encrypted comm channel to their people. “Get the loaders down to my location and bring all hands. We’ve got a ton of supplies to move and not a lot of time.”
Kansas turned back to Meade, his eyes narrow, still angry with him. “I’m going to go pop off some smoke to rally our people here. You better hope they get here before the Coalition catches up to us.”
Their mentor stomped out of the cargo bay, refusing to look back at either one of them.
She didn’t know why, but the air of disappointment he left in his wake was worse than being yelled at.
Emeline looked at Meade who was still fuming at being dressed down by Kansas.
“You know Kansas,” she said. “He needed to blow off some steam.”
“He said it was smoke,” Meade grumbled quietly.
She rolled her eyes at the joke, knowing things would be OK. He reached out for her, putting an arm around her waist, drawing her in close.
She glared at him, wondering if Kansas had a point. After all, no matter how much Meade thought he was indestructible, he wasn’t, and she was worried that his antics would catch up with him someday.
She raised a hand to her helmet next to her lips, and then transferred to it his.
“Risk yourself like that again and Kansas won’t have to kill you,” she told him sweetly. “’Cause I’ll do it myself.”
“Yes ma’am,” he said, smiling and returning the “kiss” gesture back to her.
“Come on,” she said, punching him lightly to make him let her go. “Kansas will get grumpy if we make him offload all the cargo himself.”
“Work, work, work,” he mocked.
She laughed. Despite the chaos that currently surrounded them, she had never felt happier in her life. It was a good feeling, something that had been a long time coming between them.
After they fell in love during the Rosetta incident five years ago, they’d remained inseparable ever since. There was something special about him, a quality she could never put a finger on.
Meade looked back at her with one of his dazzling smiles and she felt herself melting all over again.
Oh yeah, she thought to herself. That’s what it was.
Chapter Five
Smoke and Mirrors
The other members of the Martian Independence Movement arrived converging where Grayborn set off a smoke signal to mark their position. It wasn’t literal smoke of course – the gen
eral was using an IR beacon that the MiMs used to mark rally points. The beacon’s coordinates were instantly transmitted to every rebel armbar within a 25-kilometer area.
The rebels moved to take the ‘liberated’ cargo out of the crashed supply ship. Unfortunately, because the ship didn’t land in an optimum position, getting the supplies out was slow-going.
Meade pushed another container out of the rear, ignoring the beeping from his armbar. The early-warning system was letting him know a Coalition fast attack was heading their way.
“Get it moving, we’ve got Blue Bells coming in hot!” Kansas shouted out to the assorted rebels who began moving with a new urgency.
“How many did we get?” Emeline called out to Meade from below.
“Thirty-eight containers,” Meade called back, poking his head back inside the massive cargo hold of the ship. He winced, looking at all the supplies they were leaving behind.
He leaned back out of the ship, shouting to Kansas. “I want to grab a few more.”
Kansas shook his head as he looked at the readout on his screen. “Sorry kid, I’m calling it. Outrider scouts say the fast attack arrives in ninety seconds. If we’re still here, we may as well hand it all back over to them.”
“Kansas, I know we can get one more,” he called out over the commlink. “One of these containers could make the difference during the winter months.”
“Something you should have thought of earlier,” Kansas retorted, his voice sounding distant over the comm. “Disengage and report back to headquarters. That’s an order. Find out what happens if have to give it twice.”
Meade knew he was on thin ice with his friend and shouldn’t push the matter.
“Roger that, disengaging,” he replied, not bothering to hide the disappointment in his voice. He jumped down from the ship, taking one last wistful look back at the scattered containers inside the supply ship.
“Thirty seconds,” Kansas warned. “We’ve got a fast attack on approach, so get your ass in gear.”