THE VROL TRILOGY (12 page)

Frikin' piece of crap. He
could have gotten something better, but that bastard Ali is always
looking to make an extra buck.

Johnson knew Ali. In fact, he was the
one who had contracted the dishonest merchant to seek out
Gunnarsson and sell him a transport craft, but it was supposed to
be a much newer model, not an aging piece of garbage that smelled
like cows. Johnson's father had Gunnarsson under surveillance, so
they were well aware of his activities - it was simply a matter of
making Ali available. To make things worse, Ali went and blabbed to
a local military annex, looking to make a quick peso, which he
wasn't supposed to do. The plan almost fell apart from that moment.
The only thing that had saved it was Gunnarsson's own
resourcefulness and ability to get his ragtag hook drive installed
in a timely fashion. Even then, he barely escaped the military -
the military that wasn't even supposed to know what was going on in
that workshop.

Councilman Johnson's original plan was
much more elegant. They were going to let Gunnarsson finish his
craft in secret, then shoot him in the head and take it to their
own laboratory. After having reverse-engineered the craft, they
would retrofit the ancient Exodus barges and go to Earth with no
one the wiser.

Johnson looked at handheld
environmental analysis module and saw what resembled a faint ion
trail - just what a Draeder, or a transport craft, would leave in
its wake. So, wanting to follow the trail before it completely
dissipated, he jumped back into his Draeder and lifted off, at the
same time assuming that his former companions were on their way to
find him. He had to find Gunnarsson, and fast. He was less
concerned with being discovered by Bagatelle's troops, as he had
spent two days removing every single transmitter beacon from his
ship. However, he could still be detected by lidar if above the
cloud cover, so he went fast and low over the flat plains of Lima,
matching elevation as he approached the mighty Andes, which formed
an impressive backdrop to the dead city.

Draagh and Max popped in right from
where they had left, their breakfast plates still sitting on the
ground. The old man grabbed whatever he could put into his hands,
and Max did the same, both walking with long strides to the ship,
which had been left open during their absence.

Quickly throwing everything they could
into the galley, Draagh instructed Max to leave the fire burning.
He was able to hide them from outside view, but the fire would
leave a lingering scent that he did not desire to mask. Max didn't
quite understand the whole meaning of that, but followed
instructions anyway.

After cleaning up the campsite they sat
at the bottom of the Machu Picchu's loading ramp, watching and
waiting for signs of anything. Suddenly, they heard the distinctive
sound of a Draeder scream overhead. Max ran out to the edge of the
canopy and saw the ship circle around, obviously scanning the area
for the Machu Picchu.

"Hey, if they land, will they be able
to locate us?" asked Max. Draagh simply smiled as he pulled out his
pipe, torching up some more of his beloved herb.

"We are expecting visitors, but not the
pilot of that craft. Something has happened, and that pilot is not
part of the reconnaissance team. His motive is much more sinister,
as is his lineage."

Max looked at Draagh with a concerned
expression and asked, "What is this stuff you keep saying about
lineage and so forth? You said I was a Neanderthal or something
last night."

Draagh chuckled under his breath and
took a long draw from his slender pipe, blowing out smoke rings
from his nose, which Max actually thought was pretty
cool.

"My son, we all have
lineage. I have lineage, you have lineage, as does that pilot, but
what makes us different is that we three have
different
lineages. Well, let me
take that back, yours is much closer to mine than his is to yours.
There are reasons for this that I cannot explain here, but most
assuredly will do so once we reach our destination - or perhaps
sooner."

"So just when do we go to this
destination? Why wait here? Can't we just pop out like we did to
Los Angeles?"

Draagh simply kept staring out through
the entrance to the canopy, which was so faithfully camouflaging
them from aerial view.

"My son, we are waiting for
someone. This is necessary. They need to know what they must do
while we are gone. It is that simple. All will be revealed in good
time, yes, in good time."



Then Draagh laid back and dozed off,
lightly snoring, while Max freaked out and started going through
all of his supplies.

Orbiting around Earth on the
Revolution, Rear Admiral Bagatelle was in his quarters changing his
uniform, as he was soon to leave the massive ship. As he went
through his gear bag, he had multiple scenarios running through his
head, but he started to think about the interrogation of the
merchant who had sold the transport to Gunnarsson.

When that merchant, Ali, went to that
little annex and reported on Gunnarsson's activities, he believed
he was going to receive a monetary award, when all it did was end
him up in an interrogation cell. Bagatelle had watched via vid
console as intelligence officers asked Ali the same questions over
and over again, trying to glean any extra, valuable bits of
information out of the man. The one thing that remained in
Bagatelle's mind was that Gunnarsson told Ali he was going to name
his ship the Machu Picchu. Bagatelle locked Ali down, with strict
orders to not reveal that they even had him in the first place.
This was considered military security, and he didn't want the
Security Council to be aware of everything that he knew. His level
of mistrust for Councilman Johnson was unparalleled. Of course, he
planned to apprehend Gunnarsson before the lad could leave Azul
airspace, but this didn't happen, resulting in The Revolution being
outfitted with the hook and then traveling back to the place where
humanity began. It wasn't until after Gunnarsson had escaped that
it dawned on him that the young scientist might go to the mythical
Machu Picchu, his ship's namesake. He was glad that he had kept
that information to himself all this time, especially now that Lt.
Johnson had gone rogue, without a doubt on a mission for his
corrupt father.

Bagatelle called Lt. Escalante on
private comm channels and ordered her to prepare to leave for the
planet on his private transport, Retriever. He tried to think why
he was bringing her, but for some reason he couldn't pinpoint it.
He just felt it was the right thing to do.

He exited his cabin with a gear bag in
hand and made for the executive flight deck (which wasn't affected
during the cruel sabotage committed earlier).

When he arrived Jennie was waiting for
him with her own gear bag in hand. She had changed into her khaki
field uniform and black, heavy-duty boots. He walked up to her and
opened his bag, pulling out a Stinger in a holster and handing it
to her.

"Here, you might need this down
there."

She took the weapon and wrapped the
holster belt around her slender waist, while wearing a smoky-eyed
look of confidence. They entered the craft and the doors slowly
shut behind them. Then, entering the cockpit, he deferred the
captain's chair to her.

"Jennie, take us out. Here are the
coordinates. Once we leave the ship we maintain radio silence
unless absolutely necessary," he said as he handed her a note with
some numbers scribbled onto it.

"Yes, sir!" she responded, and expertly
lifted the craft off the deck and floated it toward the airlock
field.

Once Retriever was outside the airlock,
it made a straight line for the equator. South America was on the
other side of the planet; The Revolution being on the dark side,
and it was daytime in the western hemisphere. Jennie brought the
craft into a smooth orbit going clockwise, 300 km above the
planet's surface, curving around to meet up with the predefined
destination in the coordinates that Bagatelle had given
her.

As they flew along, the commander sat
in his chair, going over data on his portable console, which he
used to communicate directly with Lt. Commander Vasquez, bypassing
radio channels and maintaining radio silence. Fleet fighters had
not yet ascertained Johnson's location, but kept to their sweep
patterns, which they hoped would eventually bear fruit. Bagatelle
at first only wanted to track down Gunnarsson and nothing more,
believing him to be the biggest traitor in the history of Azul, but
as time passed he started second-guessing himself.

Why would this young man do what he
did? What did he have to gain? Was he working in conjunction with
Councilman Johnson, or even some other nefarious organization, of
which he, Bagatelle, had no knowledge? Or was he simply an
idealist, eager to prove his theories and see them put into action?
He pushed that all aside when Jennie interrupted his
thoughts.

"Sir, we approach the Peruvian
coastline. As ordered we are staying under 1000 meters altitude and
cruising in at Mach 3."

Bagatelle simply nodded and went back
to his portable console, completely confident in his junior
officer's skills in the captain's chair.

Minutes later, he looked out and saw
endless square kilometers of lush rainforests down below. It really
was a beautiful sight; the incredible green foliage covering
everything in all directions. He felt the craft begin to slow and
bank out to port, indicating that Jennie was bringing it in for a
landing. She had identified a clearing to the side of the ruins of
Machu Picchu where they could safely touch down.

Extending landing gear, she set the
craft on a flat plain, as close as she could to what had once been
a switchback road, leading up to the excavation site from the river
below, which now was almost completely hidden with vegetation. They
popped out of their seats, with Jennie deferring to the commander
for first exit of the craft, and both stepped out onto the lush
grass and smelled the air.

It smells different than
Azul
, she thought.
Similar yet different
.

Bagatelle looked at her and said,
"Lieutenant, be at your ready at all times. We have no idea what is
out here. Worse yet, Gunnarsson could be waiting to ambush
us."

Jennie nodded in the affirmative and
set out with her commander. She wanted to show him that she was
capable of doings things right, as she still felt guilty about
Johnson's devastating escape. This time she wouldn't fail him - or
her planet.

Hundreds of meters below, hidden near
the edge of the powerful Urubamba River, Max was shaking Draagh,
trying desperately to wake him up.

"Draagh! Hey Draaaaagh!" he
half-yelled, half-whispered. "Someone's here. They landed up in the
ruins... Draagh!"

The old man murmured and rubbed his
eyes, then looked around as if in a slight stupor. He picked up his
pipe, which had fallen on the loading ramp, and tapped out the
contents, then replaced it in a pocket in his leather jacket. Max
looked at him with a panicked expression, and Draagh could tell
that the young man was about to go into anxiety mode.

"Max, my boy. Calm yourself. Nothing
bad will befall us. Please, just have a seat."

Max took some slow, deep breaths, as
was his practice whenever he got worked up, and took a seat on the
cold, hard metal of the loading ramp. He sat, trying to relax for a
few minutes before saying, "Draagh, didn't you say that you could
hide us, that no one could see us, only smell us, or something like
that? Are we invisible yet?"

Draagh gave Max a beaming grin. "Oh,
they can see us, alright. Yes they can. Yes. The question is, will
they come here to greet us? This is quite a large area, and it
appears that they are on foot, but as we left the fire going, they
should be able to locate us."

Max almost fell into a manic state, and
was, of course, completely helpless. He couldn't take off in his
ship - he would be blown out of the sky. All he could do was wait
and trust Draagh - with his life.

It was only minutes after Draagh made
that statement that two military officers were standing at the
entrance of the natural canopy tunnel that housed the Machu Picchu.
Max saw a fit, clean-shaven older man of dego extraction in a khaki
admiral's field uniform, with his head held up high, and a smaller,
but extremely attractive dega female at his side, who was also
holding a Stinger, and it was pointed directly at them.

"Draagh. I think they can
see us. Yeah, I'm pretty sure. Ooooh boy. We're so
screwed"



Chapter 8 - Busted, with Benefits

"Maximilianus Xavier Gunnarsson, you are under
arrest for the theft of Federation technology, and for traveling
outside of Azul System without proper permits and licensing. Come
with us peacefully or I will execute you where you
stand."

The young woman spoke with a voice of
authority, without any hint of trepidation whatsoever. She pointed
her weapon at his face and looked like she wanted to pull the
trigger, but Max could only stare at her; she was so
stunning.