by David Ryker
He arched an eyebrow.
“We’re also going to need to burn this place down.”
His face contorted, half laughter and half disgust. “Federation goddamn sympathizers. Come to put an old man out to pasture. You know,” he said, waggling a finger at me, “I used to chew out Federation flag hoisters like you for breakfast.”
“Airman Second Class — Pilot, Mechanized Corps,” I said flatly. “I’m not a sympathizer, I’m a pilot. And I’m not here to kill you, old man. I’m just here for the ship and the shack.”
He picked up the slab and looked at the number for the first time, surprised at the number of zeros affixed to the end. He tried to hide it, but I could see his interest. The little sparkle in the eyes, the curl of the mouth, the imagination running wild. There weren’t many places in the universe out of reach with that much credit. He could retire somewhere warm, that favored his arthritic hip. He chewed on his tongue, wondering what to say next. I helped him out.
“It’s simple. We need this place and the ship. Go without a fight and you can walk right out of here,” I said, shaking the pistol at the door, “and never look back. Hell, you can even tell your Free contacts that you came back from a supply run to find it nothing but a smoldering pile of ashes if it makes you feel better. I don’t really give a shit.”
“I don’t answer to no one. I just help out the cause where I can.”
I let myself smirk a little. “And look where it’s landed you — exiled and on the run, holed up in the middle of an icy tundra a thousand miles from the nearest running working toilet.”
“Who said I was on the run?”
“You’re here out of choice?” I sat back comfortably now, letting the pistol hang between my knees. He wasn’t about to rush me for it. I could tell that he was already sold.
“And how the hell am I supposed to get somewhere that I can use this thing, huh?” He waved the slab at me.
“We’ll give you a ride.”
“Thought you didn’t have a ship?”
I shrugged. “Come on, old man. What’s it going to be? You really want to die for this place? You served your time — did your part. And if you don’t get the news up here, let me tell you that flying a Free flag these days is a good way to get yourself caught. Federation’s up in arms — got a price out on every Free scalp in the universe. A thousand credits to anyone who can supply information on the whereabouts of Free supports. Ten thousand for information that leads to direct capture. Twenty-five if they do the job for them. It didn’t take much asking around to find out that you were hiding out up here. How long you think it’s going to be before four guys realize that there’s a hundred thousand credits up for grabs if they haul your sorry ass to the nearest Federation outpost?”
His jaw was set now. He was trying to work out if I was lying or not, and if so, to what end. I wasn’t.
“So you just give me this slab, then give me a ride to wherever I like in the galaxy, drop me off and wave me goodbye?” He sounded incredulous.
“If it’s on the way.”
“Why?”
“Because we need the ship and we need the cabin.” I sighed. I was getting bored of this and the shack was freezing cold.
“I’m not really following. You doing this for fun?”
I squeezed the bridge of my nose with my cold fingers and closed my eyes. “It doesn’t matter.” The gun was on him again, aimed at his head and holding steady. “You taking the deal, or not?”
“I got a choice?”
“Life or death, yeah.”
He slouched backward. “Well, I guess seeing out my days somewhere warmer would be better than freezing to death in this hell hole.”
I dropped the gun onto my thigh and touched my ear. “We’re good. Bring her down and let’s get this done.”
He looked at me quizzically for a second before the sound of thrusters burning through snow shook the shack, the metal sheeted roof vibrating and clapping as it did.
We sat in silence as the jets wound down and the landing pads crunched in the ice. The ramp whined beyond the walls and heavy boots hitting steel echoed dully to us.
“Stay there,” I said quietly but without any sort of hint that I wasn’t about to shoot him if he didn’t.
I got up and went to the door, unbolting it. I took the handle and pulled it stiffly inward on creaking hinges. Frigid air spilled in, along with four figures. Mac was first, carrying a limp body across his shoulders. Fish came right after with another one. Alice was third dragging a guy on her back, arms over her shoulders and held by the wrists under her chin, his toes dragging snow over the threshold. Rhona came last, stopping at the doorway. She was carrying two figures, a man and a woman, one over each shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
“You want these in here, or out by the hangar?” She said it like she was delivering potatoes.
“Out by the ship. But put them close enough to the fuel tanks so there won’t be much left. I don’t want anyone looking too closely at this.”
She nodded to me and then turned into the snow and trudged off toward the Free ship, the two bodies on her back not fazing her. She was well built, that much was for certain.
Alice dropped her guy onto the chair I had been sitting in and his head lolled back, his black bristling beard dusted with frost. He was dead.
The old man was eyeing me, pale and scared.
“Relax,” I sighed, walking back toward him. “They were already dead when we found them. We got them out of a morgue two planets over.”
He said nothing but noticeably stiffened in his chair, keeping his hands flat on the arms of it so I could see them. It made me smile.
He swallowed as I picked up the shotgun and checked the chamber.
Mac dropped his body on one of the cots, and Fish put his down in the kitchenette with a thump. They both walked back through the room without a word and out into the storm. Alice knelt next to the dead guy on the chair and pulled out a combat knife, dragging it roughly across his throat. Dark and congealed blood spilled onto his chest.
“Christ,” the old man whispered, his jaw quivering.
Alice wiped off her blade and stood up, walking toward the kitchen. She turned and caught the shotgun as I tossed it to her.
The old man twisted to look at what she was doing over his shoulder, but I snapped my fingers and brought his attention back to me. I mimed putting my fingers in my ears and he did it, just in time to dull the deafening report of the shotgun.
Smoke curled up from the barrel, the guy in the kitchen now sporting a hole the size of a melon in his chest, his blood splattered up his neck and over his gaunt cheeks.
She went over to the guy on the cot without a second’s pause and turned the shotgun over. It swung upward and then drove down like a jackhammer, smashing into his nose and knocking out a couple of his teeth. She angled it so the corner was facing out and swung it into his temple now, caving it in.
The old man watched in horror as Alice abused the corpses with total disregard.
But it wasn’t random violence. It was all well planned and meticulously thought out.
Mac and Fish came back in with their arms full. Mac was carrying chains and ropes coiled over his hands like a tangle of snakes. Fish was carrying a crate, the top loosely closed.
Mac dumped the chains and ropes, set about knotting and then cutting some of them so they looked like bows.
Fish set down the crate and opened it, separating what was inside into little piles. Tattered clothes. The same ones we’d left Jokka wearing.
The old man stared at the three of them, Alice now approaching, shotgun in hand, wiping blood from her face with the back of it.
I watched him to make sure he didn’t bolt for the door — not that he was capable of doing so, but still, I didn’t feel like running him down.
The others turned away politely as Alice pulled off her jacket and tank top and slipped into her rags.
I cleared my throat to pull the old man’s
attention from her as she did so. I wondered how long it had been since he’d seen a woman. Hell, since he’d seen this many people. And it must have boggled his mind to think what they were doing.
Alice tossed her clean trousers and jacket onto the floor next to a chest of drawers and picked up the shotgun again. She passed me and nodded, carrying it casually in her hand, and stood by the door.
Mac and Fish got dressed and did the same.
Rhona came in a few seconds later with a jerry can full of what smelled like jet fuel. She poured some of it out over the clothes we’d just discarded, and then started dousing the room, being careful to stay away from the stove.
The room stank in seconds, the air hazy with its vapors. I gestured to the old man and he got up quickly and sidled towards me, glad that he wasn’t to be burned with the house.
He trotted outside into the cold and the others followed, Rhona walking back toward us, spreading the liquid around.
She reached the door and let it drop to her side, turning to me as she did. “The ship seems sound, and ready to go, bodies are doused as well, so when you take off, they should go up nicely.”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
She held up her hand. “It’s us who owes you thanks — all four of you.” She smiled warmly.
“Goodbye, Rhona,” I said, returning it.
“And to you.”
The old man spoke suddenly. “Can I ask something?”
“No,” we all answered in unison.
Rhona shook each of our hands in turn and then turned to the old man. “Come on, you’re with me. Head for the ship.” She pointed to the Raptor, which was set down about thirty meters away, the tail still open. He trundled off toward it without another word, clutching the credit slab with two hands.
“You really think they’re going to buy this?” Alice asked, standing at my shoulder, staring into the shack, at the two mutilated bodies and the bubbling stew-pot on the stove.
I looked around and then glanced up at the icy flagpole, the Free rag fluttering weakly from it. “I don’t know, but it's either this or looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives.”
She rested her hand on my collar and squeezed for a second before turning and heading for the hangar with Mac and Fish in tow.
I let out a long sigh and reached down to my thigh, pulling a flare from the strap there. I flicked the top off with my thumb, kicking the cap into the shack and then struck it on the doorframe, feeling the heat from the burning magnesium sting my knuckles.
I stared through the haze and wondered if this was going to work.
I tossed the flare over the threshold and flames roared to life, engulfing the room in seconds and drowning the two bodies in an inferno. Through the fire I could see their clothes curling up, their skin searing and cooking. In a few minutes, they’d be nothing but charred bones.
I stood and watched to make sure everything had caught sufficiently and then walked away, leaving the door open to keep the oxygen flowing.
I reached the ship in silence, stepping over the other two bodies that Rhona had left under the jets, and stepped inside.
The stench was ripe. Between the ancient ship — which had never been cleaned — and the unwashed clothes we’d retrieved from Aelock specifically for the sake of the believability of our story, the air was thick with stale sweat.
Alice checked the systems again and then flicked the ignition switch, looking over her shoulder at us. “Everyone ready for this?”
I clicked my harness together and pulled the straps tight over my shoulders, nodding.
“Alright then.” She laughed abjectly, turning back to the controls and pumping the igniter. “Let’s get this bitch in the air.”
25
72 hours later…
Federation Space Station / Designation: Athena
General Greenway walked into the office, heels squeaking on the carpet under his weight. He eased himself down into the leather chair behind the walnut desk and looked at us in turn, his jowls shuddering as he did. I didn’t think they could get any baggier, but they had, like an old woolen jumper hung up to dry that had stretched out of shape.
He scratched at his neck with yellowed fingernails and then dug them under his white shirt collar, pulling a loose fold of skin out.
We all tried not to stare.
I looked down at my hands, bound in cuffs, and then back at him. He said nothing for a few minutes, thinking, letting us stew, maybe.
Eventually, he let out a long breath that wafted across and bathed us in the smell of old coffee. “You four, again.”
“Sir, if I might—” I started.
“You mightn’t.” He cut me off. “We had the report an hour ago. That Free outpost you maintain you were held prisoner in — it’s nothing but ashes now.” He looked at each of us in turn and settled on Mac.
“Tell me again what happened after you left Notia.”
“We followed the Free craft through a wormhole,” he said flatly, “at which point we were shot down over an unknown planet—”
“Jokka?”
“I don’t know,” he said quickly. “We didn’t know where we were, and the Free never told us.”
Greenway narrowed his eyes. He was trying to catch us out. They’d found the scrappers dead — found our Tilt-wing. It didn’t make a lot of sense, what happened, or didn’t happen on that planet. But we wouldn’t know if it did or not. We weren’t there for more than a few minutes. Greenway grunted and offered for Mac to go on.
“We were coming down fast. We all bailed out. I was captured just after I landed. The Free sent out a patrol and scooped us up. Me, Maddox, Kepler, Fish.”
“Fish?” Greenway’s face moved tiredly, one of his eyebrows rising.
“Sesstis, sir,” Mac corrected himself. It was easy to forget that Fish wasn’t called Fish.
“And what of Major Volchec? Lieutenant Everett?” He looked at Alice now.
She shrugged. “I don’t know, sir. Were they captured as well?”
His fist curled slowly on the desk. He looked at Fish after a second and then at me. Maybe he realized he wasn’t going to get anything out of an Eshellite.
“Both of them are MIA. We haven’t heard from either Lieutenant Everett or Major Volchec, though an investigation of the crash-site gives us reason to believe that one, or both of them survived the impact.”
“Oh,” I said, genuinely shocked. Everett said she was coming back to the Federation from Aelock, but if they were listed as MIA, then it meant she hadn’t. Or, she had and Greenway was trying to trip us up. I didn’t say anything else and tried to keep my face straight as I weighed up the chances.
The others all hung their heads solemly and kept quiet.
“It appeared that they survived for several days,” Greenway went on, “and got into a shootout with the local wildlife. There’s also evidence of another militarized presence — we found spent bullet casings, explosive residue, bloodtrails…”
I didn’t know where he was going with this. Maybe just trying to get a rise out of us. Trying to gauge our reaction. It made the Federation uncomfortable when soldiers went off-book, when they weren’t supervised, and especially when it was tied to anything confidential like this. Though, he had to be as careful as we did. He couldn’t let on what had happened and the scale of everything that had happened if there was a chance we didn’t know. If our story checked out — which we made sure it did — then that was probably the best thing that Greenway could have hoped for. He was just trying to ascertain if that was the case or if we were full of shit. He didn’t really have much evidence to support the latter, which was what we’d intended. Though that very fact in itself was suspicious. Suspicious enough to have us sitting where we were just then.
I didn’t say anything.
“We also found evidence of activity in a scavenger’s compound a hundred kilometers south.” He let the statement hang in the air, inspecting our stony faces. “It appears that the scavengers
arrived at the crash site and took them both prisoner. Perhaps with intent to ransom them off, or…” He cleared his throat and looked at the report on the desk in front of him. “Though it seems there was a shoot-out. We found the inhabitants all deceased. Two of them had burn marks consistent with jet wash. So, we can only assume that both Leutennant Everett and Major Volchec overpowered their captors and escaped. Though, why they haven’t returned is a mystery.”
“Maybe they were captured?” I was asking half-seriously. After Aelock, I couldn’t fathom a guess as to what had happened to Everett, or as to why she wouldn’t come back. Especially considering she had Volchec’s body. I could see the others thinking the same, but we all kept our mouths shut.
Greenway set his jaw, but didn’t answer. It looked like he was deciding whether or not to throw us in the brig anyway. They didn’t like conjecture or guesses and it was easier for them — and less paperwork — to stamp their files MIA and close the investigation. He no doubt had better things to do than be here reprimanding and interrogating us, especially considering recent events.
When we’d gotten to a Federation outpost and made contact, they’d scanned us and then took us into custody immediately. An hour later we were put on a transport back to the Athena to await questioning. We’d been in cuffs since. As far as anyone knew, we’d been captured on Jokka, dropped on Gorroda and held prisoner there for two weeks, at which point we managed to overpower our captors and escape with their ship. Then we came straight back to the Federation and had no idea about anything that had happened between losing contact with the Federation after Notia and right now.
The only reason Greenway was even here was because Volchec answered directly to him. So, this being her mess, it was his mess. And without her here, it was his responsibility to get it all cleaned up. The question was whether or not there was anything to clean up. If our story was true, then we had nothing more to offer and we knew nothing about anything. And if it wasn’t, then it meant we had something to do with Aerra. Except no one was talking about that. It was confidential, of course, and the loss of life was being chalked up to a kamikaze move by the Free to wipe out the Federation armada. Glaavus had gleaned that much from the encrypted communications on the Federation network, to which they had access. They had designed the system, after all. So Greenway was faced with a dilemma. Come out and ask us if we knew anything about it — which was highly unlikely anyway, considering there were only four of us, and Greenway thought we were bumbling fucking idiots any way you spun it, and of course that it was all highly-confidential — or accept our story and move on.