The Transdyne Awakening (14 page)

Clay had never known about the old transport tunnel networks.

Big vehicles called trains had once shifted goods and people along these tracks every day. The transports had grooves in the wheels that ran smoothly along these lines. Like the agri-caves he had seen on the seed raid, these networks were colossal. Again he found himself in a hidden, underground world. The air smelled of damp and decay. Massive looms of spiders’ web hung from the stone overhead.

In the torch beams, the rail lines were brown with rust over long stretches. At other points the tracks still reflected brightly, a sure sign that they were being travelled. Someone was making use of these hidden transport arteries. Periodically, Clay would catch a movement in the shadows and hear noises. He soon realized that the tunnels were home to a huge rat population. The outsize rodents bustled up and down the trackways. They didn’t seem to mind the presence of these new intruders. Clay was glad he was wearing his high boots. A bite from one of those vermin might infect you with who knew what unnamed disease.

It took a while to get used to walking the lines and stepping over the protruding ‘sleeper’ beams. In places there was plenty of room at the side of the tracks. In others the side path was confined and barely wide enough to walk along in single file. The beam from the small torch lit up just enough of the tunnel to make progress.

Whitney had instructed them all with a series of signals. They had been told to watch him closely for these and respond immediately. At a given signal the beam would be turned off. The entire party stood still and silent if Whitney detected any unusual sound or movement ahead of them. Maybe he wasn’t the sort of leader this group of people would have sought out in normal circumstances. In this life or death situation they followed him closely knowing that he had the skills to guide them.

They followed his every instruction. Once or twice, he signalled to extinguish the beam and they stood still and silent in the inky blackness for several minutes. At length he tapped the torch bearer on the arm and the procession resumed its cautious advance.

Clay breathed heavily under the weight of his kit. He could feel his heart beating rapidly. They made their way steadily forward for what seemed like an age until their final stop. Whitney stood motionless up ahead until he saw what he was looking for. In the pitch dark distance, a tiny torch beam flashed momentarily on and off twice. Moving purposefully up a slight rise in the labyrinthine passage, Clay finally saw a lone figure leaning on the rails of the walkway. Whitney moved ahead to meet the man. If anything was said between them, Clay didn’t hear it. The two stood before a large, barred gate. To one side hung an old-style lock.

Whitney took a device from his jacket and inserted it into the aperture in the centre of the device. For a moment he bent forward, manipulating the tool in the opening. At length, the old mechanism gave way with a metallic click. He produced a canister and sprayed something onto the supporting hinges. Whitney and the stranger took a grip on the bars and the gate swung back silently.

The cobwebs were so dense they appeared like grey drapes on the upward walkway. Beyond the small torch beam, the bodies of numerous spiders cast grotesque shadows on the high, arched ceiling. The wide ascending stairs were divided in the middle by a rusty railing. At one time hundreds of people would have made their way up and down these steps. Clay pictured the long absent, hurrying crowds. The stairs led up to an expansive chamber.

There were counters and booths to one side. Two lines of bench seating would have accommodated those waiting for the transports. Everything was covered in thick dust. The walls were carpeted in layers of dense mould. Whitney again took care of the mechanism locking the vast doors and they emerged into the night, closing the access behind them. The area was deserted. There was no reason for anyone to come into this zone. It had long since been looted out and the mainway was piled high with trash and old, disused vehicles.

They turned off the torch and followed Whitney, skirting the line of decaying buildings. He had told them that this was the safest way in and out of the target locale. They were on the edge of the Citizone, beyond the main districts of habitation and moving towards the outlying regions.

Under the faint moon, Whitney’s eyes gleamed against the dark face camouflage. He was back in play and the adrenalin was flowing. Somehow, the pain faded into the background. His stride was still a little uneven, but he was picking up the pace as they headed outward.

As they neared their destination things started to look familiar to Clay. Even in the weak moonglow he recognized landmarks from drops he had made. He knew these manicured gardens. This was Yuri’s place. The scent from the exotic plants carried on the night air. Yuri? He guessed that made sense. This was someone whom, he knew for sure, was involved in flesh peddling. The thought of that creep hurting Skye made his blood boil. Better choke it back. After all, they didn’t know for sure. He told himself to keep a clear head. He was glad that Joey was there. ‘The late Joey’, he thought - back from the dead! He shot a glance at his friend and smiled to himself. It felt good that they were in this together.

The light from inside the building threw a long, bright shaft onto the approach. Whitney signalled two of the men over to him. He walked briskly to the rear of the first security camera. There was a faint whirring sound as it turned to survey the entrance drive. In seconds he had the back panelling removed and was showing the others the steps to blinding it. There were two other cameras on the approach and while Whitney took out the one on the right, his newly trained vandals dealt with the one mounted to the left. He stationed Phillip and Joey one each side of the entrance door, expecting a guard to emerge straight away. Clay was sure someone inside would notice the cameras going dead on the front approach. A minute or so passed. There was no reaction.

Whitney took some more gadgetry from his pack and set to work on the entrance lock. Clay marvelled at the speed of his work. He ran a card into the receptor slot and grinned up at Joey. His teeth and eyes shone against the face camouflage. “Foolkey!” he whispered triumphantly.

Replacing the device in his pack, he palmed an electro-baton.

The main door opened quietly. Yuri and his men obviously felt secure from any threat. The men fanned out on entry. So far it had been quiet and easy. They were halfway across the entrance chamber when the first of the Tran guards turned around. Joey brought up his pulse rod and as the first one fell, Phillip fired over it, taking down the second. Whitney moved quickly, ripping out the tracker chips from the fallen Trans with his combat knife. He trashed them with his boot. “Go lose these in the trees,” he said, tossing the remains to Phillip. He was already leading them into the main chamber when Yuri emerged on the mezzanine level above them. His eyes widened and he dropped the drink he was holding. “Raftar!” he bellowed.

The door leading to the second chamber was wide open. Whitney stepped quickly to the right of it. A giant of a man appeared in the doorway. Clay started back at the sight of a figure well over two and a half metres tall. Raftar’s face contorted as he launched himself at them.

Whitney stepped out behind him and there was a hiss as he loosed a charge from the electro-baton. Raftar convulsed and fell face-first into the room. As he hit the floor, Whitney took a set of Polibro cuffs from his belt and secured the big man’s wrists behind him. Clay noticed the huge, six fingered hands. With his left knee firmly in the middle of Raftar’s back, Whitney pulled a rag from his tunic and pushed it into the goon’s mouth. Next he ripped black gaffer tape from his tool belt and wound it around his victim’s head, securing the gag. A second set of cuffs went around the ankles and then a line joining them tightly so that Raftar’s legs were bent up at the knees. Finally, Whitney ran the rest of the line around the base of a heavy table at the side of the room. He cut it with his combat knife and looked up at the others. “Got the idea?” he hissed. “Well, don’t just stand there!”

A second, bewildered guard came bursting into the room. The moment he was through the door Joey hit him with a charge and twisted the weapon from his hand. He followed Whitney’s cuffing, gagging and taping routine. It was obvious that Yuri’s crew had grown lax and felt immune to any intrusion. After all, some of their best clients were from Government and Polibro divisions. Clay was up the stairs and on to Yuri before he got five yards. As Yuri brought his foot up, Clay caught it and threw him backwards. His boot went onto Yuri’s neck. He pointed the pulserod straight into the skindealer’s face. “Where are they?” he barked. “Where are who?” Yuri choked. “How am I supposed to know who you’re talking about?”

Clay yanked him to his feet. He pushed the weapon hard up under the trafficker’s jaw. With his free hand he cuffed Yuri’s wrists behind his back. “Move!” he ordered. He marched Yuri, stumbling down the stairs to the main chamber. Pushing him against the wall he gagged him, sealing the rag in his mouth with tape.

The building was deep and rectangular in shape. Pushing Yuri ahead of them, they moved cautiously through the door into the second, equally luxurious chamber. Andrew and Falkner finished checking upstairs, but found no one else, as they descended the steps to the basement. They caught up with the others. “This is too good to be true,” Whitney muttered. “The rest must be out on a job.” The chamber was dimly lit. Whitney found the main illumination control. The lighting flickered on, confronting them with the true horror of Yuri’s business.

Along each wall were ranks of cages. In each of the nearside enclosures was a child. They were obviously drugged and asleep on small mattresses.

Others stared through the bars seemingly into the distance. One or two had been beaten and their bruised little faces were filled with fear. For all they knew, these armed men had come to take them away or do them further harm. Apart from a quiet whimpering from one of the enclosures, there was only the faint hum of the lighting above them. None of the men spoke. In stunned silence they made their way down the length of the chamber, past the cages of human cargo. It was hard to take in what they were seeing. The second rank of cages contained the adults. The first two held girls of around sixteen or seventeen years. Both were in a medicated stupor. Next to them were Casey and Bradford. Both bore the marks of severe beatings. Casey’s face was badly cut and bruised blue. One of his eyes was swollen shut. Moving along the row of children’s cages, Whitney started shooting away the locking devices. “No time to fool around with these!” Phillip helped Casey to stand as they freed him from his cramped cubicle.

“Where’s Jansen?” Clay asked. Casey just shook his head.

He asked again. “Where’s Jansen?” Casey just stared at him wordlessly and kept shaking his head. He was starting to despair now. What had this monster done with Skye? Had he already supplied her to one of his nauseating clients?

In a cage towards the end of the row, a girl sat on the floor, her back propped against the bars. Her head rested on her drawn up knees. As Clay came alongside she looked up. “Skye!” he whispered, almost hysterical with relief. “Thank God! Are you all right?” Even as he spoke he realized the spectacular stupidity of his question. Of course she wasn’t ‘all right’. She looked up through glazed eyes, her face pale and tired. Slowly her expression changed to recognition. “Clay!”

“Yeah, it’s me. We’ve come to get you out, girl!”

Focusing the pulse gun on the cage’s electrolock, he told her, “Turn away!” She obeyed in tranced slow motion. A single blast shattered the thing. She rose unsteadily to her feet and stepped out of her cell, shivering. Clay took off his outer tunic and wrapped it around her.

Her hands and bare arms showed cuts and bruises from the manhandling she had been subjected to, but her face was unmarked. He guessed that her captors hadn’t wanted any damage to the merchandise showing there. The main thing was that she was alive. The bruises would heal. He pulled the tunic gently around her and held her close. He felt the great weight of anxiety start to lift. They had found her and it looked as though she would be all right. He helped her to a bench in the middle of the chamber. Above her head he caught sight of Yuri staring defiantly at him. Now his relief gave way to burning anger. Clay ran at him in a fury, driving his knee into the Russian’s gut. As he doubled up, Clay turned him around and threw him against the cages. Yuri fell hard and Clay bent over him, face flushed with rage. “You piece of scum!” he spat, standing over the flesh peddler. In a frenzy, he pushed the pulserod down hard into Yuri’s face. He felt a strong, restraining hand on his shoulder. “You might want to keep a rein on that. A little distance is in order. This is about getting in
and
out.”

Whitney’s tone was quiet and measured.

Clay felt himself pushed aside as Whitney drew his own weapon. This time he wasn’t holding the electro-baton. He trained a pulse gun on Yuri’s right knee and fired one charge on half power. Yuri’s knee exploded, burnt through to the bone. He jerked up from the floor, his face contorted in agony. Steam rose from the open wound. His scream was barely audible, stifled by the gag. Whitney was matter of fact and as cold as ice. Moving away he said, “It’s enough! Stay in control. That plaguemutt’s gonna have trouble running after us now. Let’s go.”

“Check the vehicles outside,” he ordered. Clay choked back his anger and tore his attention from Yuri.

Big Phillip was already mounting the stairs two at a time. He backtracked through the building and out of the main entrance. In the sheltered bay outside, several terraglides were parked up. He pulled the door of the nearest one. It was unlocked. He leaned in and checked the charge status. The luminescent dials lit up immediately and showed ‘Max’. It was a military model and the large cargo bay had been modified to take passengers. A mesh barrier separated the hold from the cockpit. He knew that they couldn’t leave the victims behind, but doped stragglers would rule out going back through the tunnel system. He had counted eight children plus Skye, Casey, Bradford and the two other girls. He slid back the heavy side hatch and assessed the space inside. It might be a little cramped, but he thought the big cargo hold could take them all.