Blood Oath

by David Ryker

  It was getting closer.

  Salter was still several rooftops ahead of me, moving randomly in an effort to slow my pursuit. It wouldn’t work. My blood was activated, and I had my orders, and nothing was going to stop me from carrying them out. He was going to die tonight, and I was going to make sure it was by my hand.

  I kept pausing, allowing him to get ahead so the wound in my chest had time to heal. It was getting there. I could run for longer stints without feeling that agonizing, panic-inducing weakness in my chest as I tried to breathe.

  “Collins!” I could hear a voice on the street below me, about seventy yards away. Leka’s voice. “Collins, are you up there?”

  “Yeah,” I said, although after my last sprint there wasn’t much force behind it. The bullet must have done some real damage if I was taking this long to recover. The nano tech always took care of the innermost part of your injuries first, and then solved little annoyances like the “sucking” involved with having a “sucking chest wound.”

  I could hear the sound of feet running over pavement, and soon enough I could hear the distinctive sound of Leka after a stint of exercise.

  “You sound almost as bad as me,” I called.

  “What the fuck happened to you?” Tomlins was right below me, her face splattered with blood. “You look like death!”

  “Chest wound,” I said. “It’s healing.”

  “Come down from there,” Leka said, jogging around a corner with agony written on her face. “Fuck. I need to rest.”

  “You both need to rest,” Anderson said as she joined us. Of all the people I had befriended and pissed off in the past few days, she had come along after me? It brought an actual smile to my face to see her standing there.

  “Okay,” I said. I had my orders. I found a fire escape ladder and clambered down from the rooftop of the brick building I was standing on top of. Leka and Tomlins were in the back survee parking lot below me, and Curtis and Garcia were coming in behind them.

  “You guys, we need to get a vehicle.” Garcia was dragging his wounded leg and leaning on Curtis, hopping along as fast as he could. “Let the rest of our people deal with the gangsters and xenos back there…”

  “Xenos?” My boots hit the ground and I turned to Curtis. “What kind?”

  We have to go back, we have to consolidate and we could see the humans gathering below a building and we had to go back, they were too strong. The Friends were going to fight.

  And I was back in my own head. It was little xenos, that time. I saw the street from about twenty or thirty little xeno eyes. I wanted to vomit.

  “They were the small types, like we first ran into,” Garcia said. “Anderson scored us some solid slug rifles and we’ve been able to hold our own long enough to get to you.”

  “Is Salter still alive?” Leka said. “What the fuck kind of biotech does he have?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I can only assume that his new friends have...somehow enhanced his Belters’ blood.” I was panting almost as hard as Leka. Maybe it was Salter’s new ability that was doing this to me. Maybe he was somehow controlling my Belters’ blood in a new way. Maybe if I didn’t take him out, he was gonna see if the xenos wanted to share their nanotech with one of his new human buddies.

  “And he shot me,” I said.

  “So I wasn’t seeing things,” Leka said. “All right. We need to get ourselves a vehicle if we’re going to make it out of this city alive.”

  “We thought we saw some docked a few blocks away from here,” Tomlins said. “If we hurry, Curtis and Garcia can hack into one before anybody notices where we are.”

  “If we hurry and we get lucky,” I said.

  “Well, we’re alive so far,” Leka said. “That tells me we have all the good luck in the galaxy with us today.”

  Leka and Tomlins were right. There was a row of Class 1 orbitals parked in a secure storage lot a few blocks from where we’d met up.

  The vehicles themselves were of a certain age - too old and clunky to be cool, and too recent and familiar to be classic. Without light-speed drives, they wouldn’t even work for taking you to the next planet in the system before your oxygen ran out, but they would suit our purposes just fine. They probably belonged to businessmen or petty officials who needed to get around the world and between its moons without breaking the bank.

  I wondered if the owners were still alive. Even if they were, I doubted they’d be coming back for their Class 1s. There was something in orbit. I didn’t know how I was so certain of that, and after these past couple of days I didn’t want to know. But still, I knew, just like I’d known about the xenos chasing Curtis: anything that got off this planet wanted to get out of orbit as fast as they could.

  The ships were secured behind a high electric barrier with razor wire at the top. During the normal course of events in a city like this, it would be nigh impossible to break into a yard like that. In this xeno-sacked hellscape, though, it was a simple enough matter for Anderson to shoot out the charger box and for Curtis to use a rock on a rope to bring down a section of the razor wire.

  I was the first one over the fence into the storage facility. More specifically, I was the first one on top of the fence: I held the end of Curtis’s rope so that he and the others could climb over and get inside.

  “Which one do you want?” Tomlins said, eyeing the row of clunky transport vehicles in front of us. “I kind of like the look of that Yosser on the end.”

  “I’m a lot better with Chezneys,” Anderson said. “We should take the 2400 on the left.”

  “Whatever you say,” Tomlins said. “But if that thing was used as a livestock transport…”

  “Nah, that was used for medical equipment.” Anderson pointed at it. “You can tell by the code stickers on the front.”

  “Which end’s the front?” Curtis said.

  “Jesus Christ, it’s going to be a long trip with you,” Anderson said, shaking her head as she walked toward the ships and beckoned forward. “Come on! We don’t have any time to lose.”

  I had to admit, I liked the idea of having a tall fence between us and the Death’s Heads, even though in my gut I knew it probably wouldn’t do a damn thing to hide us from them or from the xenos in the long run.

  Beneath each ship there was a small podium-looking thing with a console on top of it. Garcia approached the one beneath his craft of choice, took a small piece of metal from his pocket, and got to work on the underside of the console.

  I had no idea what he was doing or why. I was impressed, though, when the spacecraft’s loading ramp came down with a faint hum.

  He smiled when he saw me watching. “There’s a manual security override that most rental places have,” he said. “It’s so the landlord can repossess your ship if you don’t pay up on time.”

  Once the bottom of the ramp was on the ground, we walked up to the ship’s lower portal. It opened automatically for us - the ramp must have been its only locking mechanism.

  The inside was dark and cool; a thin film of mold was growing on the ceilings of the spacecraft’s corridors. We were quiet as we walked inside, as if entering someone’s tomb. Judging by the faintly musty but inoffensive smell of the place, though, we weren’t going to find any corpses in this craft.

  A long, narrow hallway led from the entryway to the control room. The five of us kept moving quietly, as if afraid to disturb the long and boring slumber of the place we were in.

  “I hope you guys can get this thing started,” Tomlins said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “It should run on a hydrogen engine,” Anderson said. “Unless it’s in storage because it’s really fucked up, I should be able to get it started.” She was looking around as if expecting ghosts to pop out of the walls around her.

  Doors to either side of the hallway led to the passenger area. The control room opened up at the head of the hallway. It was a two-story cylinder with the nav and maintenance systems up top and the security systems down in the
bottom.

  Carefully, Curtis and I helped Garcia down the ladder to the security controls. He already had another strange little metal piece out, which I assumed he was going to use as a shortcut to get past the ship owner’s safeguards.

  Up above, Anderson seemed halfway lost in a trance as she brought the ship’s systems online. She watched carefully as indicators moved and gauges blinked. There were a lot of analog systems on these older Class 1 vessels - mixed inharmoniously with some of the cheaper digital systems you’d typically find on a low-end system runner.

  “Looks like the main lock’s on the fuel system,” Garcia called up from his seat at the security desk. “Try to bring it online so it brings the prompt up on this screen.”

  “Is it digital?” Anderson said.

  “Yeah, but it’s not the stock model,” Garcia said. “Just bring it online, okay?”

  “Sure, I’ll try it,” Anderson said. She sighed as she reached over to an unlabeled panel and started flipping levers.

  “Nope, nope, nope, never mind,” Garcia said. “Shut them all down.”

  Anderson smirked as she flipped the levers back again. “Look for a system combo written down somewhere,” she said. “This isn’t exactly a high-sec vessel.”

  Indeed, I could see schedules and staff commlink handles written down on sheets of cardboard taped to the walls, next to posters of inspirational messages and safety reminders. It felt so...normal, so mundane and safe it made me feel like I didn’t belong there. Like I was a xeno myself to this world where people just went to work and came home and lived regular lives without any violence or danger in them until just this last week.

  “Why did you come with them?” I said to Anderson.

  “Huh?” she said. “Come with who?”

  “These guys,” I said. “I thought you didn’t trust me.”

  “I trust you a little more after seeing you fuck up that Salter guy,” she said. “Just don’t get used to it, okay? I still know how dangerous you can…”

  “Security system’s offline!” Garcia grinned as a control panel by his shoulder blinked green.

  “Sweet.” Anderson reached over and got the fuel systems turned on. “What was the code?”

  “It was someone’s birthday, written way underneath the desk,” Garcia said.

  “It’s always fuckin’ something like that,” Anderson said. “People are idiots.”

  A robotic voice began chiding us to fasten our safety restraints as the engines started rumbling beneath my feet.

  “All right, Okafor,” Leka said. “Let’s hope you weren’t bluffing about that engineering school.”

  The transport had cupholders installed in enough odd places that I had to wonder if this was a custom job by someone with a drinking problem. What it did not have installed anywhere on it was a gun. We were very sure of that within a few minutes. A few more minutes, and we were going to be back in a combat zone.

  “What the fuck do we do then?” Curtis said. “Open the ramp?”

  “That would be why Garcia’s working on the safety features,” Anderson said. She was remarkably calm for a woman who’d just learned she was flying an unarmed craft into battle. “It won’t fly with the ramp...hmmm…” She reached up and hit a lever.

  “Now try it,” she said to Garcia.

  “Okay,” Garcia said. “Nah, man,” he continued. “It’s not...oh!” He sounded suddenly delighted. “Oh, shit!”

  As the wail of metal on metal filled the control room, I could see what he was talking about. Above us, the sunroof was opening with the whine of a motor that hadn’t been operated in years.

  “How about it, Kev?” Leka was ginning at me. “Does that Belters’ blood make you sticky on a roof like it does on a wall?”

  “It makes me strong,” I said. “It doesn’t defy the laws of physics.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Anderson said. “Plenty of footholds on a transport roof. And I’m a smooth...hey, there they are!”

  If she was about to claim that she was a smooth pilot, the next few seconds proved her a dirty liar. The transport lurched in the air as she engaged counterthrusters, sending everyone who was standing up into a pile on the floor by her seat.

  “That’s why they tell you to sit down while we’re in motion,” Anderson said. “But while you’re on the ground…” She pulled a solid-slug pistol from the rope she was using as a belt and shot out the window overhead, raining shattered flexiglass down on us.

  “Good thought,” Leka said. She got to her feet and pulled me up with her. “How’s the chest wound doing, nano nuts?”

  “Hasn’t caught my attention in a few minutes,” I said. “Smart move getting us into a vehicle.”

  “Better make some more smart moves and make them fast!” Anderson said. “We’re about to have company!”

  “Collins, get up on the roof.” Leka handed me her solid-slug rifle and pointed upward.

  “Not yet!” Anderson said. “I’m still land…”

  I had already strapped the gun over my back, jumped up reaching for the rooftop, and hooked my elbows over the jagged edge of flexiglass that was left from Anderson’s shoot-out. The slight impact bounce flung me vertically over the top of the transport.

  Now this was a situation where Belters’ blood came in handy. The sudden jolt of adrenaline made it seem like time was slowing down for me: I could see and understand that the transport was below me, that Okafor and his guys were running for it, and that they had a contingent of small xenos after them. This time, I was ready, and I made an effort to stay in my own head. It worked. I even had the presence of mind to get my feet down before I landed.

  The impact bounced my gun off my back. In one fluid motion, I reached back and brought it around to aim before it hit my back again. Fuck the xenos.

  As Okafor ran toward us, I started laying down cover fire with the solid-slug rifle. Forget bursts. I had enough adrenaline-powered nano-boosted strength and accuracy to lay down a wall of bullets between the creepy little fuckers and my friends.

  That’s right - my friends, who I was helping, and who might help me in return. The way normal people did. I smiled as I saw Okafor reach the bottom of the ramp and fire a burst back at his pursuers while the rest of the group got on board. Fuck the xenos, fuck the Belters, fuck Salter in particular. We were gonna make it out. All of us. And I was gonna make goddamn sure of that if it was the last thing I did.

  25

  We had left Textiles with about thirty people. We had brought almost twenty with us to the city. Between my group and Okafor’s, there were nine of us left.

  “We should leave the rest to their own dumb asses,” Tomlins said when Curtis asked what to do about the other survivors. “You wanna give in to paranoia and turn on your own? You get what you get, and I’m not doing shit to help you out.”

  The argument was happening even as Anderson was sweeping the streets for other survivors. We were almost back to the bar where we had taken shelter. We had found some bodies, but none of the living we hoped were still out there in the city.

  “I’m not going back because I care if they live,” Anderson said. “I’m going back because I want to be able to live with myself.”

  Did she even believe there were survivors left? It seemed to me like too many of us had been taken by xenos.

  “Don’t blame me when one of them turns on us again,” Tomlins said.

  “Just give them a chance,” Okafor said. “You can hardly blame them for...oh, fuck.”

  We rounded a corner to see a familiar stormcoated asshole standing in the middle of the street with a plasma rifle in each hand. He was grinning, yelling some smug bullshit that I thankfully couldn’t hear from the shuttle’s control room.

  “Oh, fuck!” Tomlins said as she stared at the rear-view sensor feed. “Guys…”

  “Shields going up!” Anderson made no other verbal reply to the sight of two massive, tower-like xenos appearing behind us. She cranked on the accelerator and the pitch/yaw c
ontrols to send us careening upward as high and as fast as the ship’s little engine would take us.

  “Who taught you to fly?” Leka said, clinging to Anderson’s chair for dear life.

  “Your dad, bitch!” Anderson said. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

  The ship rattled as the xenos’ organic Beezers hit it with a blast that would have destroyed us had Anderson been slower with the shields. Even with the plasma-absorbing field in place, the impact sent us rolling forward and knocked the craft off balance. We bounced off a building and came to a halt in the street.

  “Goddammit,” Leka said. “We’re a sitting target!”

  “I’m not,” I said, grabbing my gun and bolting for the open sunroof. Our craft’s current position meant it opened straight to the street like a building’s front door.

  “Get him!” Leka yelled after me, as if I needed any extrinsic motivation to go after Salter like a rabid animal.

  The impact of the xenos’ weapons fire had sent us a few hundred yards beyond where we needed to be. I could still see the tower-like monstrosities approaching us, but couldn’t see Salter yet. Above me, the sky was starting to turn from the black of midnight to the faint blue of early dawn.

  “Are you sure you want to do this, Mr. Collins?” Salter’s voice came from the top of a roof to my right. For the span of an eyeblink, I caught him in my vision, and I thought I could get a shot off in time. But I missed, and Salter retreated cackling from the rooftop.

  I clambered up after him, only taking a couple seconds thanks to a fire escape ladder in the alley. But by the time I was on the rooftop, he was nowhere to be seen.

  “You know, The Kras’ilik are a merciful people.” Salter’s voice was coming from behind an air conditioning unit on the building to my right.

  I ran toward the voice and fired at him as he fled. I knew I’d hit him, because his body jerked twice, but the bullets didn’t seem to slow him down at all. He jumped across the street and up onto the balcony of an apartment building, then climbed up the wall faster than a spider. He left a smear of blood on one window.