by Allen Stroud
‘Harry, wake up please.’
A cool dispassionate voice and the faint hiss of stimulant gas being injected into the dorm room. Harry yawned and stretched, then sat up and opened his eyes into darkness. ‘What’s wrong, Niamh?’ he asked.
‘I have been instructed to wake you for two reasons. First, if you remember, today is your birthday. Happy birthday, Harry.’
‘Thank you, Niamh. The second reason?’
‘Your door is unlocked. Please exit and follow the lights in the hall.’
Harry frowned, but followed instructions and swinging his legs out of the bed to stand on the cold floor. ‘I should get some slippers,’ he muttered under his breath.
‘You won’t be gone long,’ Niamh replied as if he’d spoken normally. ‘Please collect your dataslate from the desk and follow the lights.’
Again, Harry did as instructed and went to the door. The temperature-controlled environment ensured he wouldn’t get a chill, but it was strange, walking around in pyjamas. Being woken in the middle of the night by the facility computer didn’t seem normal either.
He peered out into the hall. The illumination led away left from the classrooms and other areas he’d been to before. He hesitated.
The dataslate vibrated and came to life. ‘This way, Harry,’ Niamh urged softly, her words transferred to the portable screen speakers. ‘Follow the lights to the left.’
Harry sighed and walked barefoot into the corridor. The lights led him past the rooms of the other boys, Henry, Hubbard, Hadrian, Hallam, a gold metal sign on each room door.
He brushed his hands lightly over a marble statue, the head and shoulders of a woman with a plaque below, it read: ‘The Poor Mistress, by the Poor Servant.’ Harry didn’t know what that meant.
At the end, he came to another corridor running horizontal to the last. The lights led him right, so he went that way, past more rooms and doorways.
At the end, he found a sealed electronic door with a screen. ‘Touch the panel,’ Niamh instructed from the slate. Harry did so and a light winked on in the room beyond, which he could see through a window.
Inside, a small bed and under a sheet, a baby lay sleeping.
‘Congratulations Harry, you have a brother, his name is Hector.’
Harry stared, pressing his face to the glass. ‘Was I like that once?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Niamh replied. ‘You were just as small.’
The baby’s foot wiggled under the blanket and Harry smiled. ‘This means I won’t be the littlest,’ he said.
‘No, but you must watch over him, as your brother Henry watched over you,’ Niamh said.
Harry nodded and looked through the window again. ‘Will there be any more?’ he asked.
‘More?’
‘Will I have any more brothers?’
There was a long pause before Niamh replied; the kind that meant she hadn’t anticipated his question. ‘No Harry. No more babies.’
Harry felt sad. ‘Why not?’ he asked.
The pause before Niamh’s reply was even longer this time. ‘Because you’re special Harry, you’re all special and born to do special things,’ she said.
‘What things?’
‘You’ll find out, when you’re ready.’
* * *
Pietro shivered and wiped cold sweat from his forehead. As he lay on the ground under a blanket, he took deep long breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth, gradually slowing his heart rate from an adrenaline fuelled high.
Nights on Lave were dark indeed. The tiny orange sun and the lack of a moon left the land cloaked in shadow. He stared out to the south, back towards the crash site. The faint lights of torches and a landing shuttle from before had disappeared.
The teams were down and searching.
He thumbed the safety on the meson carbine, positioned carefully on his chest. Deadly at twenty feet or less, it had certainly done for Finch, but that seemed a lifetime ago. They would be in teams of five, armed with kinetic weapons, capable of rapid fire and much longer range. They’d be using IR goggles and be wearing body armour.
Five against one.
Pietro closed his eyes and soaked up the noise around him. The ruined forests and barren landscape left few places for anything to survive, but he’d always found the first days planetside strange after time in space.
He wasn’t sure how long he stayed motionless. Eventually, he heard the small noises he’d been waiting for; the soft tread of boots on loose stones, the faint sound of an electronic scanner. They brought back memories from training days on Eta Cassiopeia. The troopers would be evenly spaced, to stay within sight of each other. Minimal radio chatter with the squad leader on a constant line to the ship and relaying to command and control. Any encounter and they’d all go to ground, wait and encircle the contact. He’d been on those teams and on the other side in later scenarios. Not many advantages to be had, being the quarry.
But there were a few.
He lay behind a rise in the ground. The blanket on top changed his thermal profile, making him less identifiable to someone using infrared. Not a perfect disguise, they would still see a ‘hot spot’, but it gave him a chance. Federation troopers would guess the trick, but these?
Pietro stayed motionless. The footsteps got louder. Slowly he turned his head towards them and picked out a shadow, moving against the field of stars. The crunch of gravel underfoot, close, close enough. He adjusted the gun’s position and fired.
There was a flash and a woman coughed and collapsed. Pietro moved fast, grabbing the body, hauling it towards him and wrapping it under the blanket.
He yanked a metal sphere from the woman’s belt, pulled a pin and threw in the direction of the rest of the squad. He prised her rifle from her hands, pulled the pins on three other metal spheres and rolled away, squeezing his eyes shut as the explosions started. Flash grenades, designed to disorientate rather than hurt, but the disturbance already got their attention and on infrared, the effect would be worse. A man groaned, Pietro turned and squeezed the rifle trigger. The weapon’s kick was strange and awkward, different to anything he’d used before. Bullets spat into the darkness. He didn’t stop to check the outcome, but moved forwards and slammed into a crumpling figure. The chatter of rifle fire echoed again and something brushed his right shoulder. He pointed the meson carbine in that direction and the weapon’s beam illuminated the night for a moment. Three troopers; two closing fast; the third screaming on the ground, a cauterised stump where his leg had been.
Pietro levelled the rifle and pressed the trigger again, turning and spraying bullets in a wide arc. His knee gave way and he fell onto his side, on top of the soldier he’d run into. He kept his finger jammed down, letting the magazine empty.
Silence.
The man didn’t move and neither did anything else. Pietro rolled off the soldier. His arms were wet; slick with blood, the only noise, the loud thud of his own heart.
He sat on the ground. His hands shaking so much that he didn’t trust himself to hold the carbine or the empty rifle. Both weapons fell to the floor. Get a grip, he thought. Come on, there’ll be more of them, get a grip!
Pietro crawled back to the bodies and retrieved another weapon, then searched pockets as best he could. The outer suits were rubbery and completely sealed. Filtration masks as well. Pietro frowned. The only reason would be to avoid contamination. Contamination from what?
Under one suit, he found a box in a pouch, had to be a first aid kit. He opened it up unfolded a syringe and stabbed a small bottle and injected the contents into his knee. Either an emergency vaccine or a strong painkiller, he hoped for the latter, but the former wouldn’t make much difference. He dug out a few other things to examine later and then crawled northwards.
There was little chance of catching Gebrial and Renner, but he had to try.
* * *
‘How will he find us?’
‘Beats me. He chose to stay behind. Best you forget him girl, likely he’s already dead
.’
Gebrial bit her lip and kept walking beside the loading cart. Every so often, she glanced back over her shoulder. They’d heard gunfire about an hour ago and she guessed what it meant.
But she didn’t stop hoping.
‘Can’t we leave him a trail?’ she pressed.
Renner snorted. ‘You been watching too much Colonel Griddley? Look around you, the whole place is a dark, barren, dustbowl, thanks to Walden. In ten years, this’ll be a cold desert. You see anything we can make a mark on that your friend’ll spot?’
‘We could use bits of cloth or something.’
‘I ain’t objecting to you losing some clothes,’ Renner said, making her blush, ‘but more likely Pietro’s dead than tryin’ to find us. So any signals you leave are only going to help other people and get us dead a lot quicker. Best forget him.’
They went on in silence for a while after that. It started to rain, lightly at first, but then worse. As she walked, Gebrial thought about Pietro. She didn’t owe him, but she trusted him more than Renner or any of his friends. She remembered how things had been at Solati. This was a better chance at something, anything, but without Pietro she was afraid. She had no idea what Renner’s people would be like. At least with two of them—
‘We’ll stop soon,’ Renner said and pointed into the darkness. ‘There’s a cave up top. The rain’ll keep them off us for a while. A little wait won’t hurt.’
Together they pulled the cart up the incline, slow going with no obvious path and Gebrial fell more than once, cutting her knee on the rocks. She quickly tired. ‘The gravity here ... is it worse?’
‘If by worse you mean high, then yes,’ Renner replied. ‘Likely more than you’re used to at any rate. The planet’s big, that means strong gravity.’
For a long time, Gebrial had to concentrate on what was in front of her. She held on to the cart handle with her right hand, using her left to steady herself as they pulled it up behind them.
Eventually, they reached a ledge higher up and Gebrial found herself staring into pitch blackness, after a moment, she realised it was the cave. ‘How did you know this was here?’ she asked.
‘Remembered,’ Renner replied. ‘Forests come and go, but rocks take a lot more shifting,’ he grabbed the handle with both hands and gave a heave, drawing it up onto the flatter ground. ‘Good a place as any to sleep.’
‘Yes,’ said an unfamiliar voice from the darkness. ‘Certainly is.’
Chapter 21: The Assassin
‘What do you mean, you’ve lost contact?’
Bertrum Kowl’s knuckles were white as he gripped the side of his desk and stared into the viewscreen. The sheepish face staring back was a security officer who’d been unfortunate enough to be manning the relay transmission tower.
‘Just that sir, a storm’s coming in and we can’t get a signal,’ the man replied, his eyes flicking to the right off-screen. ‘We’re working on a satellite patch, but that may take some time.’
Time we can’t afford, but there was no option. ‘Notify me when the signal returns,’ he said.
He flicked a switch and the man disappeared. Bertrum yawned. The hour was late, very late and the morning’s work couldn’t be put back. ‘Niamh, initiate the slumber protocols, two-minute count.’
‘Acknowledged.’
Bertrum got up and began the ritual of readying himself to sleep. Clothes and articulation supports removed, once again, he became the half-man who lurked under the veneer of the all-powerful prefect. He guessed it was the same for anyone with a defect. When the public facade disappeared, the weakness remained. I can’t be the only person in the world who dwells on his flaws.
He wondered how cripples coped before they had machines to help them. Ill-fashioned sticks and branches might suffice for walking, but not for distance. He treasured the hours spent behind his desk, where he could ignore his legs. He remembered old books with lame beggars on street corners. Other afflictions would be worse, blindness, deformity or disfigurement. By comparison, I am privileged. Even now, thousands on Lave would regard his exoskeleton as a miracle. Why can I only see pity and scorn?
His thoughts turned to the Colonials again, the people descended from Lave’s first settlers, disenfranchised by an intergalactic dream sold to them by the refugees of the Galactic Co-operative. Lave had been the centre of the most powerful organisation humanity had ever known. If they worked harder, they could be so again.
A phrase came to him from one of his meetings with Walden: ‘There is something beautiful in seeing the poor accept their lot. The world gains much from their suffering ...’
Propaganda, built on the shattered remains of greatness and a promised return to power. A return built on the broken backs of the oppressed, trodden into Lave’s desolate soil and stone.
Bertrum heard the faint hiss of releasing gas in the room; the slumber protocol, a soporific to aid sleep. More powerful than the neuro pacifier, which never helped when something irritated him. He closed his eyes. Walden’s plan couldn’t work. It would take centuries of effort to restore Lave and nothing suggested Walden was trying. The image of glory didn’t even match the facts. Lave hadn’t been at the centre of an Empire greater than Achenar’s. Walden was no Duval and never would be.
So what is the plan?
The question floated in his mind as he surrendered to unconsciousness.
* * *
A red dot appeared on Gebrial’s chest.
‘Keep your hands where I can see them,’ said the voice. A man she didn’t recognise, his tone even and assured.
‘You’re a long way out here on your own,’ Renner said.
‘So are you,’ the man replied.
Renner sighed. ‘I don’t have enough time in my life to fence around. We crashed a few clicks back. We were looking for shelter as the rain came in.’
A light flicked on, illuminating the gaunt features of an old man sitting on a rock with a pistol in his lap. ‘What’s in the box?’ he asked.
‘Where I come from, it’s polite to share,’ Renner said. ‘I gave at the door, now your turn.’
The red dots moved over to Renner’s chest. The stranger was almost bald and his lined face betrayed his advanced years, but the gun remained steady. ‘What’s in the box?’ he repeated.
Renner’s eyes flicked to the loading cart then back to the man. ‘It’s a body,’ he said.
‘Why carry that up here?’
‘Maybe I don’t leave friends behind,’ Renner said.
‘Maybe I don’t believe you,’ the old man replied.
Gebrial looked at them both in turn. Neither seemed like backing down. Her head was pounding and she felt dizzy. ‘We’re being followed,’ she said. ‘There are soldiers trying to kill us. We need your help.’
‘That sounds more truthful,’ the man said. He stood up. ‘You can stay, you’ll be safe here. We’ll head out in the morning.’
‘Wait a minute,’ Renner said. ‘We’re not going anywhere with you, I don’t even know your name!’
The old man walked towards him, smirking. ‘People call me Pasion. I’m your ticket to staying alive.’
* * *
Pietro opened his eyes.
The faint light of an orange dawn lit up the eastern sky. For a moment, he just stared, seeing the endless woodland from a century ago, instead of the hacked stumps and husks left behind. A beautiful place I bet, before they tore it up.
The ground was damp. He cursed, hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He picked up the rifle and thumbed the safety, then the meson carbine pistol, stood and took a look around.
Fingers of orange sunlight stole across a ridge to the north, the only landmark for miles, apart from ruined houses and dead trees. Gebrial and Renner would make for that, but so would the pursuers, once they reorganised and reinforced. Last night’s ambush wouldn’t work a second time.
He unzipped his fly and pissed into the dirt. It’d take decades for anything much to grow here. With the trees gone, the lack o
f shade meant nature would have to start again and she’d only get a chance if people left things alone.
Pietro started walking, feeling his knee rebel immediately. He clenched his teeth. He’d dropped the metal crutch in the fighting and the medical kit was empty, so there’d be no respite. He wondered how long it’d be before the leg gave out, three maybe four hours? The incline wouldn’t help and the pursuit wouldn’t rest or wait.
He limped towards the ridge, conscious of his exposure over the flat ground. The carbine stayed switched off tucked into his belt. The pistol lacked range and would be useless unless they got close.
As he walked, he kept glancing back to the south, in the direction of the crash site. It got lighter and he could see further, but there was no movement. Might be just me, alone on this damned planet.
He thought back through the last few days. One case to let go? Miranda tried to warn me, but I didn’t listen. If I’d known I’d end up here, would I have been so curious?
His head throbbed and his back was damp with sweat. The planet’s gravity was higher than station standard, but wouldn’t cause this kind of exhaustion. The pain in his leg was constant, but he’d managed injuries before. Must be getting old.
He unclipped one of the water cannisters from the hook on his belt and swallowed two mouthfuls then wiped a handful of grey paste around his mouth, before forcing himself to swallow. He pressed fingers to his neck and took a pulse; uneven and irregular. He remembered the bio-hazard suits the soldiers were wearing, was the planet radioactive or something? Without Gebrial’s dataslate, he had no way of finding out.
Pietro looked ahead, the ridge was still a good hour’s walk away. Will I make it? He recalled the endurance exercises they’d put him through in training. Sleep deprivation, dehydration, injury; all types of duress used to drill the recruit to perform tasks. Good agents overcame adversity, bad agents were defeated by it; the aim, not to succeed, but to endure and repeat the tasks given. People died, their families were told they’d died bravely, but writers found little courage in failure. Instead, names were scattered amongst those who’d fallen in classified missions and secret wars.