Black Hole Sun (15 page)

Hell's Cross, Outpost Fisher Four
ANNOS MARTIS
238. 4. 0. 00:00

“Chief,” Ebi says as I'm giving Fuse and Jenkins instructions on protecting the Cross in my absence. “I request permission to join the rescue party.”

“Denied,” I say.

The rescue party, as she calls it, is me, Vienne, and Ockham, who's looking better after his time in the infirmary. We're gathering at the Zhou Zhoa Bridge. Once we're gone, I've instructed them to collapse every tunnel except the one leading here. The miners aren't happy about the idea of dropping three tunnels near the Cross, but I'm not crazy about another sneak attack from Bedlam.

Because we could never catch up to the Dræu on foot, the miners have found us an ancient snowmobile, and Fuse has got it running. It's our only chance of rescuing the little fool Jean-Paul. Ockham is his mentor. That's why he's going along. But before we head to the snowmobile, I pull him aside.

“You're fit for this duty, right?” I ask him, knowing he'll catch the drift of my words.

He nods and winks his vacant eye. “You're the chief, chief. One eye. One hand.”

“One heart,” I say, finishing the oath. Then we move on.

“Wait! Chief,” Ebi says, trailing after me, “Jean-Paul is my brother, and I am responsible for rescuing him from his kidnappers.”

“Like I told you, Ebi,” I say. “I don't think Jean-Paul's been kidnapped. The little idiot probably chased the Dræu out of here.”

Our plan is follow their trail. With any luck, it will lead us to the Dræu camp. With even more luck, Jean-Paul hasn't gotten himself captured. Or worse.

“Request for reconsideration,” Ebi says after a few seconds.

“Okay.” I pause long enough to count to three. “I've reconsidered.”

“Thank you, I—”

“And you're still not going. Three is enough for a rescue party, and I need you here to keep your mother under wraps. This job was hard enough, then she showed up. Where's she now, by the way?”

“Resting in quarters. She took her medication and needed to lie down.” Ebi's lips tighten. “But you need me on this mission.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I know where Postule is.”

I stop walking. Look hard into Ebi's lineless face. The proportions perfectly symmetrical. Her brows plucked and shaped. Teeth whiter than any I've ever seen. The skin is flawless, like porcelain. She should be beautiful, but every detail is so perfect, her visage looks like a mask and not a face.

“How'd you know that?” I ask her.

“The ring he stole from me. It has a global positioning microdot under the stone. With a receiver, I can track him down anywhere. If we find Postule, we find my brother.”

“A microdot?” She's pretty savvy for a newly minted Regulator. “You tricked Postule into taking the ring?”

The corners of her mouth turn down, her version of a smile. “So you see, you have to let me go.”

“Just hand over the satellite tracker. We can find him just as easily as you can.”

I hold out an open palm, and she looks like it's diseased. After a few seconds she slaps the transmitter in my palm. “I am twice the warrior Vienne is. If something happens to my brother, my mother will have you to blame.”

“You're dismissed,” I say, the tendons working in my jaw.

“Yes, sir.” She salutes and heads for the exit, shoulders straight, head erect. The walk of defiance.

Ockham shakes his mane of gray hair in dismay. “These new Regulators.”

“More disrespectful every year,” Vienne agrees, shaking her head in unison.

“Enough reminiscing about the before days, oldsters.” After looking over the tracker, I hand it to Vienne. “Here, Vienne, you be my compass. Ockham, get the vehicle ready. Fuse,” I say, pulling him aside for a private word. “While we're gone, I've got a project for you to work on.”

“What's that, chief?”

“Your barricade wall isn't going to work against the Dræu. They're too aggressive, and they've seen it, so we've lost the element of surprise.” I roll out a sheet of electrostat. “Here's the basic idea of what we need.”

Fuse whistles and rubs his head. “You drew this, chief?”

“Affirmative.” With help from Mimi.

“Help?” Mimi says. “I created ninety-nine percent of the design.”

“Eighty percent.”

“Ninety.”

“Eighty-five is my final calculation,” I say. “Take it or leave it.”

“With your math skills, I'll leave it,” she says.

“Let me get this straight,” Fuse says, studying the drawing. “You want me to tear down the redoubt that we've not yet completed and build a whole other structure?”

“And I want it finished by the time I get back.”

Fuse laughs, “Good one, chief.”

“I'm serious, Fuse.” I smile ruefully. “Our defensive strategy has been completely revised.”

“Oy! By—by myself?” He puts both hands on his cheeks,
like a kid who's been asked to clean his quarters. “It can't be done.”

“It can,” I say, “and you will do it. I've got faith in you.”

“I'd feel better,” Fuse says, “if you had less faith and more manpower.”

Me, too, I think.

“One more thing, chief,” Fuse says. “What happens if the mission goes figjam and you cark it?”

“We won't.”

 

Our journey takes us across the bridge and several kilometers up into the cavernous access tubes that once allowed Manchesters to harvest tons of guanite every hour. The way is laid with tracks, the rails as high as my hip and as wide as my shoulder. In days past the sound in the tunnels would've been worse than deafening. Now there's only the whine of the mobile's engine.

Outside, the terrain is a mix of high, jagged hills covered with snow and low-lying stretches of land dappled with threadbare, frozen soil. I feel exposed, especially as we approach a line of hills to the north. We're wearing heavy coats the miners provided. They're filled with synthetic down, and the shells are waterproof.

“Mimi, see what you can do about getting us some camo. Eventually we'll have to dump the coats, and this regulation black color makes us stand out like a—”

“Sore thumb?” she interrupts.

“Yes, sore thumb. Just run the program and transmit codes to the others' suits, no? And Mimi?”

“Yes, cowboy?”

“I hate when you finish my sentences for me.”

“Someone has to.”

A jolt of static electric sweeps over my body. My armor changes from black to digitized white and various shades of grey. I touch Vienne, then Ockham, and their armor morphs to mimic mine.

“That's some trick,” Ockham shouts over the engine, clearly impressed.

The morning sun is a heatless yellow globe that casts cold light on the streaks of ice that make our road, and I can smell our exhaust in the air. The mobile's four cylinders roar as I gun it. The speedometer climbs. Sixty. Seventy. Eighty. Eighty-five.

Behind me, Vienne wraps her arms around my waist and squeezes my hips with her knees. This, I could get used to.

After bouncing over the tundra for almost an hour, we come to a place where the path splits. One way is west to a line of high mountains. The other is north, where there's a valley surrounded by foothills.

“Which way?” I ask as we stop to stretch our legs. I'm talking to Mimi, but Ockham answers first.

“Tracks head to the north.” He bends down to the glass-hard ground. “The tracks ain't from no snowmobile. They're driving something with bigger footprints and a bigger engine.”

“How far ahead of us?” I ask.

“About twenty clicks.” Vienne holds up the tracking device. “And they're still moving.”

“Show-off,” Ockham mumbles. “Damned newfangled toys. Like to see what happens when the power pack gives out.”

“Good work. Both of you.” I fire up the engine. “Let's go.”

After a while we reach the foothills, where the GPS signal shows that our target has become stationary. Below us, the Dræu camp spreads out like a stain. Dozens of metal habipods form an uneven circle around a central structure, a clear dome that contains several more habipods, and in the exact center is a polydome at least two hundred meters in circumference. I recognize the design—CorpCom army issue. The Dræu don't lack for resources.

The dome bustles with activity, and it is surrounded by roving packs of Dræu. Their backs are turned to the rest of camp, their faces toward the dome, as if they're posted to keep individuals from getting out instead of getting in.

“He's there,” Vienne says, checking the tracking monitor. “Postule is inside the dome.”

“What about Jean-Paul?”

“Negative,” she says. “I don't see him.”

“Mimi, do you have a fix?” I ask.

“He's here,” she says. “Give me time to sort his biosignature from theirs.”

Ockham hands me a pair of omnoculars. “Take a look at
this. Looks like Postule is in a bad spot. Right in the center, on the throne.”

I dial in to the location. The throne is surrounded by Dræu carrying battle rifles, which are aimed at Postule. The fat man is on his knees, genuflecting, his gaze fixed on the woman sitting on the throne. She is thin with long black hair that falls in heavy ringlets down to her waist, and she's dressed in brightly colored, gauzy fabric, her legs tucked beneath her bottom. Both hands are adorned with rings, and her face is hidden behind a porcelain harlequin mask.

“The queen?” I say. How could something so beautiful lead a band of vicious cannibals?

“He's a dead man,” Ockham says after he pulls out another pair of omnoculars. “Just a matter of what the carking beasties do to him before they gut him.”

My stomach tightens. Even though I know it's true and that Postule made his own bed, it still sickens me. The queen takes Postule's shaking hand in hers, smiles, then slides a meat cleaver from beneath her cushion.

With one deft swing, she lops the hand from the wrist. Holds it up by the ring finger. It's adorned with the ring that Postule stole. The fat man's body shakes like he's got the tremors. Behind him, the Dræu gather tightly. A pack of hungry animals. The sight of blood is too much for them, and only the queen keeps them swarming Postule.

“My God,” I whisper, and then hear Ockham curse softly.

The lens of the omnoculars fog, and I have to wipe it
clean. When I adjust the lenses, the queen has removed the ring. She holds it up to the light, like a curious kid who's just found a sparkly toy. Especially when she opens her mouth and pops the ring inside.

“Chief,” Vienne says, and holds up the tracking device. “Signal's dead.”

“She ate it.”

“The signal?”

“The ring. The queen swallowed it like a tasty morsel.”

But the queen isn't finished. Hooking Postule in the corner of the mouth with a finger, she lifts him from his knees. Gently she pushes his head forward, and his chin touches his flabby chest. She raises the other hand high. I see the flash of light on metal as she swings the cleaver again. Blood sprays the queen, dappling her gauzy dress, and leaves red dots splattered across her face.

The kill is too much for the Dræu. They swarm the fat man's body as the queen slips gracefully to the seat of her throne. She hits a button, and the dais rises a dozen meters above the feasting cannibals. From there, twirling one of the hundreds of ringlets of black hair, she watches the horde devour Postule.

“She's not a forgiving one, that's for sure,” Ockham says.

“What happened?” Vienne asks as she gives up on her tracking device and stores it in with her other gear.

“The queen killed him,” I say. I tap my vid screen open. “Mimi, anything on Jean-Paul's biorhythms?”

“Affirmative. I have triangulated a weak signal one thousand meters to the west. I'm displaying it on aural vid…now.”

I move my head so that the blip is in the middle of the screen. “There.” I point toward the parked power sleds. “That's where our boy is. Ockham, move ahead to see if you can get a visual.”

“Aye-aye,” he says, and begins picking his way across the terrain, the camo pattern on his symbiarmor making him almost invisible to the naked eye. Within three minutes, he's back. “Got him. The little rooter's hiding in one of the power sleds. Looks like he hitched a ride and got himself in a big pickle.”

I sigh. “Let's go get him.”

“Right,” Ockham says. “We need to disable those power sleds while we're at it. If the Dræu figure a way to get them into the mines, those turrets will cut us to ribbons.”

“Negative.” I count six sentries posted. “Even if we take them out, we're bound to raise a ruckus, and the Dræu will come running. The risk's not worth the reward.”

“C'mon, chief, live a little.” Ockham grins. “What's the worst that could happen? We cull a few Dræu from the herd, make a little mayhem, and it all goes fig-jam, we jump a power sled and race the beasties back to the Cross. What'd you think, Vienne?”

“That's my kind of mission,” she says.

“This is not a democracy,” I say, though I hate to
disappoint her. “Maybe it would be smart to even the odds, but we're not going to take the power sleds.”

“No?” Ockham says.

I pull a box of C-42 from his gear bag. “No, we're going to blow them up. Courtesy of Fuse and his bag of tricks.”

“Now that,” Ockham says, “is my kind of leadership.”

South Pole
ANNOS MARTIS
238. 4. 0. 00:00

Staying low and running in a crouch, we take a wide loop around the perimeter of the camp and count on the symbiarmor's camouflage to hide us in the blindingly white ice sheet. It's only a half a kilometer, but my thighs are burning and my lungs tighten. I want to cough badly, but I hold off until we're in position behind a knoll above the habipod that protects the vehicles.

Six Dræu sentries guard them. They carry plasma pistols, except for one, who holds a battle rifle. I mark him as the leader and signal to Vienne that he's the primary target.

She confirms the order with a nod. Then quickly digs a trench on the knoll. Fits her armalite with a scope and a sniper barrel equipped with a silencer. Silently she inserts a clip of armor-piercing ammo.

“Mimi,” I say, “watch my back.”

“Backside being watched, chief.”

“I said
back
.”

“Same general area, correct?”

While Vienne locks in on her target, Ockham and I move closer. Once Vienne takes out the leader, we'll rush the other five and make quick work of them. Hopefully before they can sound the alert.

I pull a combat knife from my boot. Ockham does the same. Then moves ahead to the next cover.

“Let's do this the old-fashioned way, no?” he whispers.

“Vienne,” I say through the aural link, “eyes on our target?”

“Target acquired, chief. I see the boy. He's under a tarp on the third sled. Give the word.”

“Thirty seconds. We're almost in po—”

Ahead, Ockham slips on a patch of ice and slides to one knee and flattens himself on the ground. The noise catches the attention of the Dræu leader, who turns toward it. He grunts at one of the sentries, the smallest of the crew, who reluctantly follows the order. The leader trudges up the hill away from the habipod, mumbling what have to be curses and wiping drool from the side of his mouth.

From my vantage point, I can easily take the sentry down, he's so tantalizingly close. But because it would wreck the mission, I do nothing. Nothing but wait and hope. And pray that Ockham's camouflage is good enough to hide him.

The sentry takes two steps forward. His heavy boot lands atop one of Ockham's hands. He turns in a semicircle, using its foot as a pivot point. Then he aims the pistol toward the
hill where Vienne's attention is focused on the leader. She's not aware of the reflection from the weapon aimed at her chest.

I hear a click and smell the discharge of magnesium fuse. In three seconds the plasma will heat to critical mass, and the Dræu will have a kill shot.

“Now!” I shout to Vienne over the link and leap from cover and strike the Dræu at the base of the neck with my knife. The sentry collapses.

Vienne fires the shot. I hear the leader's body collapse onto a power sled. The Dræu call out in surprise when I grab the charged plasma pistol. I toss it to Ockham, who is already on his feet. The old man fires three quick shots, taking out a Dræu with each blast.

A plasma glob zips over my head as I charge the remaining sentries. I take out the first one with a front kick to the solar plexus. Then spin to the next one, who has picked up the battle rifle. I reach for my armalite and realize it isn't in the holster.

“Oops,” I say. “You wouldn't shoot an unarmed man, right?”

A nasty grin splits the Dræu's face, and he begins to squeeze the trigger as an armor-piercing bullet enters and exits his chest cavity. He's still grinning when he pitches forward and lands atop the body of his leader.

With the crew taken out, I signal Ockham and Vienne forward. Then I check the perimeter, making sure that we've
not been spotted yet. When Vienne reaches the third sled, she tosses the tarp aside and pulls Jean-Paul by the ear out of the cargo bay.

“Oy!” he manages to say before she claps a hand over his mouth.

The boy bites down just as hard, clamping his teeth on the exposed webbing between her thumb and forefinger. Vienne, after letting out a quiet huff of pain, punches him at the base of the skull. His knees wobble, and he collapses in a pile of shivering, unconscious flesh.

“Blighter,” she says, sticking her bleeding hand into a pile of snow.

I look to Ockham, who shakes his head sympathetically. “Feisty little beast, no?”

“Put him in a sled,” I tell Ockham. “And cover him up with the tarp. Him carking of hypothermia's no better than getting fragged by the Dræu.”

“Yes, chief,” Ockham says. He cocoons Jean-Paul in the tarp, then lays him behind the jump seat of the sled.

“Vienne,” I say, opening my gear pack, “keep watch. Ockham, help me place this C-forty-two.”

I hand three charges to Ockham. “There are two more sleds than we've got charges for, so we'll need to do double duty on two of the sleds. Those two in the back parked closest together. We'll leave that one in front for ourselves.” After checking to make sure the fuel tank is full, I move as many boxes of chain gun ammo that will fit into the cargo hold.

“My apologies, chief,” Ockham says as we work. “I almost fig-jammed the mission. Damn these old legs. There was a day when I could walk a tight wire forty meters off the ground. Now I'm lucky just to tie my own boots.”

“No harm,” I say. “Let's finish the job first. We can whine about the old days when we're back at the Cross.”

I'm joking, but Ockham doesn't want to laugh. “It's not the way of the Tenets, chief. A Regulator buries his face while a beastie's centimeters from slaughtering him like a feed animal.” The joy he showed just a few minutes ago has evaporated. “Better to go out in a glory blaze. Die a beautiful death.”

“Enough philosophy, no?” I say. “Let's finish the job before the Dræu finish their supper.”

I set the last timer. Then look up to check Ockham's progress. My eye catches a flicker of motion from the front of the habipod. The Dræu I kicked in the face—he's awake. And reaching for an alarm on the open door of the shed.

Twip!
Vienne's shot hits the Dræu in the chest. He pitches forward. Blood pours out of the wound. But it isn't a kill shot, and the Dræu raises his hand as another round catches him. His hand falls onto the alarm. A siren sounds.

“Ockham!” I shout. “Fire up this power sled. Vienne! Cover us! We're moving out!”

Jumping into the seat of the sled, I punch the starter button. The turbine squeals as the fuel hits, and I let her roll out of the habipod. Then from the knoll above us, Vienne
empties a clip of ammo, the spent cartridges ejecting in a steady stream around her. Although I can't see anything yet, I know it can mean only one thing.

The Dræu are coming.

Coming for us.