Gabriel's Redemption (24 page)

He concentrated on his neuretics, trying to get his system to burn its way through the jamming. He ran one of his hacked worms, sending it zipping through his system, looking for a hole. In seconds, it found a minuscule opening in an unused download pipe. He ordered it to reverse the data flow and expand it, and the worm complied. Within a few milliseconds, it had created enough of a window to allow Gabriel to get a narrow band signal out. He jumped on it, sending a signal to the probe on the table.

From his seated position, he saw a tiny light on the probe illuminate, and he knew he was in. His neuretics struggled to use the tiny window of opportunity, and he threw everything he could into it. A fuzzy schematic of the probe’s system appeared in his Mindseye, and he flipped through the info at high speed.
 

There!
His worm found the laser trigger Jimenez had reprogrammed. He ordered it online, and asked for a visual of the targeting system. Another grainy image appeared. He had the worm clean it up, adjust, and send the signal to fire.

Lamber had taken a step towards Gabriel, brandishing the rifle. “You’re next, you son of a…”

A pencil-thin blue beam shot from the probe on the table and caught Lamber squarely in the back of the head. In less than a tenth of a second, it burned through his skull and emerged from his forehead in a burst of bloody steam, burning into the wall above Gabriel’s head. Lamber’s eyes rolled up in his head, and his body stumbled forward onto St. Laurent’s, the rifle clattering to the floor. In that same instant, the jamming curtain Lamber’s neuretics controlled lifted.

As one, the team’s systems came online. Without a word, Brevik launched himself into Rheaves, who was still stunned by Lamber’s quick and spectacular death. The two men came together in a clash of massive bulk and combat armor.

Gabriel was on his feet before Lamber landed. He reached out and grabbed Ran’s rifle by the barrel and crushed it, pieces of steel falling to the floor. The mercenary’s face was still showing surprise when Gabriel’s other carbotanium fist crashed into his jaw. His unconscious body crumpled to the floor next to the shattered assault rifle.

Sowers and Jimenez had leaped to their feet and were sprinting to the far side of the room, where Isham and Sheakely had started to head to the stairwell doors. Jimenez sent a burst to Sowers, giving him a quick signal of where they were to go, and the men spread out, flanking the two mercenaries. Isham and Sheakely shook off their surprise and dove behind a workstation, firing their assault rifles over the edge.

Gabriel stepped over Ran’s body and sprinted towards the center platform, where Santander had been standing. Not seeing him, he ran a quick active scan and detected a figure running through the hub. He skidded to a halt at the platform and bent down to his brother, who had just started to regain consciousness.

“Zack, you okay?” he asked.

"Fine," he replied, rubbing his jaw. He began to stand, but then he heard the rifle fire on the other side of the room and changed his mind.

“Stay down,” Gabriel said. “If you can, make your way to the stairwell, we’ve got people upstairs.” He looked back at the main doors. “I’ve got someone to find.”

Gabriel started to move, and Zack grabbed him by the arm. “Be careful, little brother.”

He looked back at Zack’s hand gripping his armor and had another memory. An image of the catamaran dream came back to him, of Zack eating conch Gabriel had caught, and the backhanded praise. “No worries,” he said. “It’s what I do.” With that he stood and ran for the doors.

Meanwhile the titanic struggle between Brevik and Rheaves had reached a crescendo. The two bodies were crashing into workstations, chairs splintering under their combined weight. Rheaves was slightly larger, but in the clumsy Chinese battlesuit lost out to Brevik in dexterity. Realizing this, Rheaves attempted to keep the fight close to overwhelm Brevik, but each time he thought he had the upper hand, Brevik slid from his grasp.

The two men separated briefly, panting hard. Brevik’s pulse rifle arm had already been damaged by Rheaves’s first grapple, and Rheaves’s assault rifle was well out of reach. Both men were unarmed, but neither cared.
 

“Well, old friend,” Rheaves said, gasping for breath. “Is that all you have?”

Brevik gave a dead smile. “It’s all I need. You should have never left the academy. You had potential.”

Rheaves laughed. “Potential. Yeah, potential to get stuck in a dead end job like you?”

Brevik eased closer, preparing for another assault. “I’ve got friends here. You’ve got nothing. One last chance for you. Give it up,” he said.

Rheaves spat on the floor. “Screw you, Harris.” He rushed Brevik.

Brevik caught the big man’s left arm and spun, using Rheaves’s weight and momentum against him. Rheaves twisted awkwardly, crashing into a workstation, and shards of screen glass sprayed in all directions. Brevik gave a hard yank, and Rheaves’s armor cracked, the shoulder popping from its socket with a tearing of cartilage. Rheaves bellowed in pain and rage, and pushed up from the workstation’s wreckage with his good arm.

“I’ve lost my patience with you, Harris,” he said, grimacing in pain as his left arm dangled uselessly at his side. He lunged forward, right arm outstretched.
 

Brevik stepped inside Rheaves’s move, blocking his arm, and punching with all his strength into the center of mass. His combat armor’s servos whined in protest as his own muscles pushed the armor beyond its limits. His armored fist crashed into Rheaves’s chest, and the Chinese-made battlesuit collapsed in on itself, metal splintering, flakes of paint erupting in a tiny dust cloud.

Rheaves staggered back under the blow and looked down at the ruined chest plate with wide eyes, feeling his cracked sternum and rib cage tearing into his lungs and heart. He fell back into a seated position, coughing and gasping, clutching at his chest with his functioning arm.

Brevik took a step forward and stood over him, looking down with pity. “Shame you didn’t see it my way,” he said, and gave a kick to Rheaves’s shoulder, toppling him over onto his side. The mercenary gave one last gasp and died.

On the other side of the room, Sowers and Jimenez had the two remaining mercenaries pinned against a wall, too far from the stairwell doors to escape. Jimenez had flanked that side, preventing their movement, while Sowers kept their heads down with timed pulses from his now-functioning rifle arm.

“Galen,” Jimenez subvocalized over the neuretics comm. “Push forward one row of workstations on my mark.” He sent him an image of the plan.

Sowers clicked in reply. Jimenez raised himself up on one knee and fired a few bursts from his pulse rifle. The energy bursts crashed into the wall above where Isham and Sheakely were crouched. Sowers jumped up and sprinted to the next row, now just a few feet from the mercenaries.

Jimenez pulled a device from a waist pouch and sent a quick burst to it, arming the homemade explosive. A yellow light appeared on its black surface, and he leaned around his workstation wall and tossed it forward.
 

The device landed a few feet from where the mercenaries were crouched and rolled forwards. Isham saw it first, and quickly reached over to swat it away. Just as his hand neared it, it went off. An electric pink burst sprayed from the device, touching Isham’s armored hand and traveling across the surface of his armor, sparks flying from every joint. The pink lightning shot from his other hand and caught Sheakely in the chest, her armor also lighting up with sparks. Both mercenaries screamed in pain and dropped to the floor.

Sowers was moving before the device had hit the ground, and was on the two immediately. Jimenez sent a burst to his device, shutting down the discharge, and Sowers grabbed Sheakely’s smoking armor before she could swing her rifle around. Jimenez was right behind him, leaping on Isham and disarming him.

Both mercenaries were alive, but stunned and in a great deal of pain. Sowers whistled softly. “Damn, Arturo, what the hell was that?”

Jimenez gave a small laugh as he pinned Isham down by the shoulders. The mercenary was still groaning as smoky wisps came from his open collar. “Just a little toy I’ve been working on in my spare time.”

Sowers raised his eyebrows theatrically, slapping restraints onto Sheakely’s armored wrists, cinching them tight. “Remind me never to ask you for a Christmas present.”

Chapter 28

Gabriel ran through the doorway to the hub, armored boots ringing off the metal decking. His neuretics scan showed Santander had just exited the hub and was running down the corridor towards the housing area. He ordered his armor into high speed and his pace quickened. His now-functioning pulse rifle was fully charged and armed.

Entering the hub, he saw the door to the housing area was closed. He crashed through it, knowing Santander hadn’t yet reached the far end to the housing facilities. He skidded to a halt when he saw Santander standing in the middle of the hall, unarmed, with both hands spread wide.

“You got me, Commander,” Santander said. “I give up.”

Gabriel slowly walked forward, pulse rifle at the ready. “Somehow I don’t think it’s that easy.” He ran an active scan; no weapons or powered devices were detected.

Santander smiled. “You know, in a different life, we could have been partners. We could have been on the same side.” His smile grew wider. “But you missed your calling.”

Before Gabriel could react, a pistol appeared in Santander’s hand, springing from inside a hidden compartment on his oversized armor’s forearm. His neuretics screamed a weapons warning and his Mindseye superimposed a threat symbol on the gun. He began to drop into a defensive crouch, bringing up the pulse rifle.

Santander fired, the
clangggg
reverberating off the walls. The railgun pistol’s hypersonic round slammed into Gabriel’s shoulder, penetrating the armor like a laser scalpel through plastic. He was thrown backwards as the round exited the back of his armor just as easily as it had entered. Shards of shattered carbotanium blasted a ragged six inch hole through the corridor wall, rimmed in Gabriel’s blood, allowing cold, howling air in.

Gabriel landed on his back with combat armor alarms ringing in his head. His pulse rifle’s link had been severed by the round, and was completely offline. Sealants automatically covered the armor holes from within, and internal bladders expanded to apply pressure to the wound. His neuretics ordered pain meds to the area along with clotters, but the more immediate problem for Gabriel was the man standing over him.
 

Santander walked up to the wounded Gabriel. “Wasn’t easy at all, was it?” He stepped on Gabriel’s shoulder, pressing down. “You’ve been a nuisance once again.” And with a rush, Gabriel’s buried memories flooded back to him.

Gabriel saw the shadow standing over him in the school gymnasium, and the shadow cleared. It was Santander’s face, staring at him, weapon drawn. Gabriel shuddered at the memory, smelling the burning wood and plastic. After all these years, after all the pain, it all came full circle.

“I’ve gotta run, I have a ship to catch,” Santander was saying. “I’ve got a dew operation to get back to, and some new friends in Argentina to add to the client list.”

Gabriel started. “Dew?” he asked, fighting through the pain as the meds started to kick in.

Santander laughed. “You didn’t suspect? Dredge fed you that bullshit about aliens to get you out here, to do his dirty work. Then brought me in ‘cause he didn’t trust you, and with good reason. His Argentinean masters have some master plan I don’t really give a rat’s ass about, but I’ll be expanding my Mars dew operation tenfold because of it.”
 

He laughed again, glancing at the ceiling. “I friggin’ hate Mars, but it is profitable.” His face hardened. “You’ve been a pain in the ass once again, but at the very least I’ll get the satisfaction of killing you this time.” He raised the pistol. “Goodbye, Commander.”

A muted click sounded behind Gabriel, and a small red hole appeared in Santander’s forehead. Santander’s face locked and he stared straight ahead, eyes glazing over. He dropped to his knees, and with a wheeze he crashed forward onto his face next to Gabriel. The back of his head was a pulpy mess where the round had exited.

Gabriel rolled onto his side, looking behind him. Standing framed in the open doorway to the hub was his brother, Heckart in his hands.

“Need a hand, little brother?” Zack asked, walking up to him.

Gabriel slowly got to his feet, clutching his shoulder. “I never can top you, can I?” he asked with a small smile.

“No,” Zack answered with a smile. “But feel free to keep trying.”

Zack took his brother by his good shoulder and led him back into the hub, leaving Santander’s lifeless body lying face down on the floor, snow mixing with the blood pooling around his head as the Poliahu winds whistled through the hole in the corridor wall.

Chapter 29

The two men walked back into the Operations center, Gabriel holding his wounded shoulder. As they walked over the doorway threshold, Gabriel saw the wrecked workstations along one wall, pieces of plastic and glass scattered across the floor, surrounding the large mercenary’s crumpled body. He looked over at Brevik, who was fiddling with his pulse rifle attachment. Brevik looked back with a shrug, and went back to his repairs. Gabriel shook his head.
Not the man to get into a wrestling match with
, he thought.

Approaching the center platform, Gabriel saw that the other three mercenaries had had their armor removed and were all secured to the holotable, sitting on the floor. Jimenez and Sowers were standing with them.

“I have to go check on someone,” Zack said from next to him.

“Sure thing,” replied Gabriel. “And…thanks.”

“You got it,” his brother said, throwing him a casual salute.
 

Gabriel watched him go over to the corner where Lamber had dragged Vanheel and kneel next to his body, reaching out and closing Vanheel’s eyes with one hand. He felt a pang of sorrow for his brother, seeing the friendship the two had, but also Vanheel’s treachery, and had mixed emotions. Glancing over at St. Laurent’s body, which had been covered by a left-behind jacket, he understood.