The Planet Thieves (25 page)

“Thomas!” Stellan cried out in the same tone.

A rogue elbow cracked Mason hard in the ribs, and he bent over, wondering how many times he would get his breath knocked out before the day was over.

Somewhere up ahead, metal screeched, and then faint light appeared, turning people into dark shapes rather than a uniform black. The former POWs stormed out of the ship, hooting and hollering, until someone shouted, “Knock it off! Form up in defensive ranks!” Which the soldiers did in record time.

Susan found him again, and together they found Tom and Stellan, who were smart enough not to run outside. While Mason caught his breath, Susan dragged them along, following the soldiers toward the exit. But they were fifty feet behind the group now, the door to freedom so far away, and Mason heard bootsteps thumping in the side corridors around them.

“Hurry,” Susan urged.

Mason saw his dim reflection in a small oval mirror about six feet off the ground; the Tremist were coming out now that the huge group had passed. A talon tip glowed green in the gloom of the ship's interior, then fired over Mason's shoulder, a few inches away but still hot enough to burn his neck. The four put on a final burst of speed, sprinting out the back hatch and almost running headlong into the stalled group of soldiers outside. Many of them were looking up, so Mason did too.

Above them was a ragged hole the size of his fist held at arm's length. It was very, very high up. Someone laughed, and the laugh came back to Mason's ears two seconds later. They were obviously in some kind of enormous cavern, but it wasn't the one with the book, unless the Hawk had fallen directly on it. Through the hole, some daylight filtered down, making people distinguishable but still cloaking the area around them. With the dust thrown up from the Hawk's landing, the air resembled a misty fog.

Mason remembered the sounds the Fangborn had made. The terrible, inhuman sounds. The sounds had come from an adjacent cavern, and if this wasn't the one with the book …

“We need to get everyone back on the ship,” Mason said.

“What?” Susan stared down at him, one eyebrow raised.

“He's right,” Tom said, and Stellan nodded rapidly.

Some commander was shouting commands, and the soldiers were fanning out in groups to check the area around them.

“The Fangborn…” Susan said.

Mason nodded. The cavern hadn't collapsed on its own. The vibration he'd been feeling made sense now. The Fangborn must've felt the Hawk land, and then went to work on the underside, digging away until the ground collapsed. If there was any sign of their digging up above, it was now mixed in with the tumble of rocks strewn around the tilted Hawk.
And now the Fangborn are free
, Mason thought.

Then he heard the first scream.

 

Chapter Forty-six

It cut off instantly, no longer than a second, and everyone hushed, listening for more, crouching slightly as the misty dirt drifted around them. Through the murkiness, Mason saw a shape glide by. It was almost a man shape. But it was twice the height and twice the width of any man, of the biggest men he'd seen. It was not a man.

Then another shape appeared to his right, perfectly silent and still. The same inhuman size.

“Back to the ship,” Susan whispered, almost too quiet to hear, all breath.

Mason took a step backward, his heel grinding a bit of rock and sounding like a gunshot to his ears. He could hear his blood pumping, which made it hard to listen to his surroundings.
Thump thump, thump thump.
The helpful warning buzzed against his forearm again.

“Good idea,” Tom whispered back.

The Tremist were out of the ship now, but they weren't fighting. They were mixed in with the ESC. Everyone was looking outward, and quiet. To Mason's left, an ESC soldier was messing with his stolen talon. Suddenly the tip burst into a sizzling green spark, like a torch, and it illuminated the shape of an arm right next to him. A huge arm, thick and veiny, with a pan-sized hand tipped in claws. It curled around the soldier's waist and pulled him into the shadows without a sound.

*   *   *

“Everyone on the ship,”
Mason commanded, using his captain voice.

The four began to back up slowly. There was still danger on the Hawk: if they came across any Tremist, who knew what would happen. But staying outside wasn't an option. A mirror-mask fired his talon into the darkness, and the beam lit up two hulking shapes. The beam sliced into the nearest Fangborn's arm, and everyone froze as its roar filled the cavern. The sound echoed off the walls until it sounded like a dozen or more.

After that, it was just blind firing. Talon beams crisscrossed through the cavern, a layered buzz of hornets lighting the darkness in sizzling green. Under that, Mason heard a few strangled screams. The sound of boots kicking dirt made him look to his right, and he saw a pair of legs dragged into the darkness. Susan was pulling on him, but he didn't want to run. He wondered if there was some knowledge from the book inside him—something he could use to beat them, but he remembered Child's words. He couldn't peek at it yet, not until he was somewhere safe. The rush of information could cripple him.

“I'm not going to ask you again, soldier,” Susan said. Apparently she had been asking him something. It was hard to hear over the cacophony of weapons and roars. Tom and Stellan were already on the ramp, guiding a few injured soldiers inside.

His sister was still a little stronger than he was, and she pulled him backward, into the relative safety of the Hawk. It didn't make him feel safe, more like trapped. The Hawk was humming with power now, but none of the weapons were firing. The Hawk schematics he'd studied so long ago flooded his mind, and he realized the ship had the capability to push the Fangborn back on its own. Yet no one was operating the topside turrets. Had their posts been abandoned when it was clear the ESC were making a break for it?

Mason tore free of Susan's grasp and ran. He ran as fast as he could, past his friends, ignoring the pain in his body, ignoring Susan's voice calling him back. He could imagine what was happening outside. Eventually the Fangborn would slip past the panicked defenders and get aboard. It was inevitable. So unless the big guns started firing, and soon, Mason figured none of them would be seeing the sky again. Any kind of sky.

So he ran. Straight down the corridor that led from the back to the front of the Hawk. He ran past two mirror-masks who pulled up short and leveled their talons. Mason was already around the curve before he heard the weapons firing.

He reached the bridge with burning lungs and found the door wide open. His pulse was thumping twice each second. The bridge was empty, so he stepped inside. It was more a cockpit than anything—just two large seats side by side, in front of a wide, curving instruments console. Through the window in front of him, he saw only darkness. But the thermal cameras on the console showed everything: tiny humanoid shapes dancing around, swinging weapons left and right.

Bigger shapes huddled farther out, some on all fours, slinking back and forth like a video he'd once seen of a cloned tiger at a zoo. He watched as one of the bigger shapes lunged out from the perimeter, enveloped a smaller shape, and pulled it back to the others.

He couldn't watch.

But he could fight.

He sat down in the right-side chair, the copilot/gunner chair, and looked at the controls. They weren't so different from ESC, and Mason figured that had something to do with their joint ancestry. But he still hadn't given them much thought since first learning them back at Academy I.

Luckily, the top turret was operated by a single control stick. Mason grabbed it, and it came online, a new screen rising out of the console as the turret on top of the Hawk did the same.

Then it was just like his practice sessions on an ESC gun. He moved the control stick around, targeted the bigger shapes, and fired. Blazing heat lit the screen up in white, and when the heat dissipated, the Fangborn were scattered. They were running like a pack of wolves back to a tunnel entrance where even more were gathered. Their heat lit up the screen like his weapons had. He fired again, sending a Fangborn tumbling, and breaking up another group. He could feel the turret fire through the hull, a vibration up his spine that wasn't unpleasant. It was working. The Fangborn were fleeing.

On another camera, he saw the ESC and Tremist pouring back into the Hawk. They weren't fighting each other anymore, instead running side by side.

But it would all be for nothing if the engines didn't start. Having power didn't mean they could fly out of here, not if there was too much damage. And the turret was getting hot. The Fangborn were still running around, dodging his fire, and he knew that in twenty to thirty seconds the turret would need time to cool down. Mason didn't know how long that would take. His fingers sweated on the controls. He couldn't close the rear door yet, because people were still staggering aboard, some carrying injured comrades.

Mason spied the big purple button near the top of the console, a place not easily reached. The ESC engineers had claimed it turned on the engines, but were never sure. This was a good time to find out, Mason figured. So he hit it.

The hull throbbed around him, and fell silent.

The Fangborn were coming out of the tunnel entrance again, so he fired two more white-hot beams of light. Shadows danced on his retinas.

He pressed the button again.

The engines groaned this time, higher pitched than before. Was that good? Were they heating up? The turret control stick glowed red in his hand, and an alarm began to squeal. The turret was overheated. A display showed Tremist symbols that appeared to be counting down—from what number, he didn't know. He pressed the trigger but there was no response.

The Fangborn seemed to sense this, because the hulking shapes began to crawl out from the entrance. One burst forward from the pack, galloping toward the Hawk, where the last few soldiers waited to board. It was going to catch them—there wasn't enough time. Mason would have to close the door or risk a Fangborn getting onboard.

“You're doing it wrong.”

Mason jumped in his chair and turned sideways, fists up, as the Tremist King sat down in the pilot seat next to him.

 

Chapter Forty-seven

Mason froze.

The king ignored him and pressed the big purple button again. He held it for ten whole seconds.

The Hawk sputtered to life.

Another screen showed a top-down outline of the Hawk; it was glowing violet, and pulsing, which Mason figured was a good thing.

The Fangborn was just a few seconds from the Hawk now, but the king pressed a button and the door closed and the Fangborn slammed into it. Everyone alive had made it onboard. With the thermal vision, Mason could see cooling bodies lying around outside of the Hawk.

“Hull integrity?” the king said.

Mason realized he was talking to him. He looked at a display his body was blocking from the king's sight. The hull had been breached in two places, but those areas were sealed automatically. They were ready for space.

“Good to go,” Mason said.

The king nodded. The Fangborn must have sensed their prey was escaping, because they broke from the tunnel entrance all at once, like water from a burst dam. If they were as smart as they seemed, then they knew the Hawk escaping would mean the end of their plan. The Fangborn would be revealed to both races, and no one would come back to Nori-Blue, at least not until they were prepared to deal with the beasts. Mason could see the desperation in their movement—it was frenzied. Dozens of Fangborn were about to leap onto the Hawk. In his mind, Mason could already see them latching on to the delicate parts of the ship and shredding everything with their claws.

“We need to hurry,” Mason said, feeling stupid for saying something so obvious.

“Indeed.”

Here they were, working together to save their people, and yet Mason felt itchy. It was an itch in his brain, and not from the knowledge that was stored there. The being next to him had
stolen
Earth. Had ripped the planet from her solar system. And he might even be responsible for the First Attack that killed his parents. He may have ordered it himself. Mason couldn't forget that. He didn't want to work with the king, even if it was to save the people he cared about.

In the corner of his eye, Mason saw the king's talon on the ground, where he must have set it down. Mason wouldn't need it yet, not until the king got them into the safety of space.

The king heaved back on the main control wheel, and the Hawk pulled free from the crater with a groan and a series of rattles. The Fangborn were close now, but their thermal shapes were washed out in the white blast of the Hawk's engines. Mason's stomach was pressed into his intestines as they rocketed straight up. The king piloted them expertly through the hole they'd fallen through, and all at once Mason could see the sky again. It was near dusk, and the sky was glowing with alien stars. They were free of the Fangborn, and Mason never had to see them again as long as he lived.

The Hawk sliced through the sky with ease, angled with the nose pointed up as it cut through the middle and then high atmosphere. Mason used the angle and jumped from his seat, falling toward the back of the cockpit. He snatched up the talon and primed it in two seconds, while the king still had his hands on the controls.

Make him pay,
Mason thought.

Make him pay for everyone on Earth. Make him pay for Mom and Dad.

If the king noticed, or cared, he didn't show it.

Then he said, “Earth is fine.”

Mason didn't move.

“I said Earth is fine.”

“Okay.” It was all he could say. The Hawk thrummed in the atmosphere, and Mason almost lost his footing. Slowly, he walked back to his seat and sat down, holding the talon back far enough so the king couldn't grab it without Mason pulling the trigger. Then Mason said, “Explain.”