The Huralon Incident Page 16

  Behind him, Bramani lowered his pistol.

  Some of the guards still outside screamed in rage and rushed forward. Others tried to run inside. A few made it to safety before the faux marines turned their weapons on the remaining guards and cut them down in seconds.

  Bramani walked across the rivulets of blood-stained concrete, heedless of the gore. He pointed to the front door. “Alpha Squad. Get me Mallouk. I want to see him beg for his life before he dies.”

  ***

  Back in the security shack, McCray watched Grey die, and for a moment wondered why they killed Grey when that proved the lie of the marines’ identity. It only took a moment to reason it out. The camera drones weren’t a live feed. They could cut out any part of the holo they didn’t want and later tell the story they wanted people to hear.

  He turned back to Anderson who still held a gun on him, though the traitor relaxed a little, leaning against a wall.

  “You’re insane,” McCray said to Anderson. He pointed to the aerial drones in one view. “The newsies just witnessed this massacre. Now everyone knows something is up. You killed these men for nothing!”

  Anderson smiled and shook his head. “All the drones in this area are controlled from here, and some of them are carrying jamming pods to block any snooping newsies. We wouldn’t want the public seeing the wrong story, would we?”

  “What do you hope to accomplish?”

  “Me? I’m getting a mansion in the mountains with every luxury you can imagine and all the women I want.”

  “In Madkhal, I presume?”

  “Of course. You don’t think a Deputy Warden could ever get that in Elysium, do you? Over there, you actually earn money. You can hold it in your hand. I’ll know precisely what I’m worth. Best of all, in Madkhal, women know how to treat a guy. Think of it, man. It’s like living out your greatest fantasy.”

  “Wow. I guess some people really do believe in fairy tales.”

  “Shut up, McCray.”

  “Sir,” said one of the guards. “There’s an emergency broadcast from SNS. We should probably hear it.”

  “All right,” Anderson said. “This should be amusing.”

  One of the screens changed view to the Schubert News System. The anchor, with mathematically perfect features modified to convey wisdom and honesty, relayed the news while “Special Report” scrolled at the screen’s bottom in alarming, blood red.

  “Huralon Space Control is reporting a massive explosion on the far side of the moon, Cloye. HSC says the fast clipper Brighton Shores, belonging to Birmingham Distributors Limited, had just passed the moon when it reported a critical fault. The desperate crew struggled to avoid the tragedy until the end. Here is the shocking audio replay of the crew’s final broadcast before an explosion ripped the vessel apart.”

  McCray felt the blood drain from his face. Brighton Shores was Springbok’s cover name while at Huralon. What in Mind’s Name happened? Why were they leaving orbit at all?

  The audio began to play and McCray recognized Ando’s voice. “Mayday! Mayday! Space Control, this is Brighton Shores. We are declaring an emergency. Our number four fusion plant has experienced a critical failure. We are attempting to eject the plant.” He paused as voices shouted in the background. “Space Control. Efforts to eject fusion four have failed. All crew abandon ship. I say again, aband—”

  The anchor continued with a solemn expression. “Space Force units are rushing to the scene, anxiously searching for any survivors of the terrible tragedy. HSF is calling for all available vessels to assist rescuing any survivors—”

  The guard cut the feed at Anderson’s gesture. Anderson smiled at McCray, clearly pleased that something important to him was lost. “Looks like you lost your ship, Captain. What a shame.”

  McCray maintained a neutral expression. He didn’t want to give the asshole anything. “You’re a bastard, Anderson.”

  “Maybe so, but I’ll soon be a rich and properly laid bastard. All right, let’s go.” He gestured with his gun.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Back to those marines you think so highly of. Later on, after we finish setting up the scenario where you’re a traitor, you’ll be dying with them.”

  Chapter 15

  McCray and Anderson arrived at the room holding Castellano and his marines; Anderson still held a gun on him. Just then, two guards rounded the corner dragging a recalcitrant Stephen Mallouk between them. After seeing the name patches of Smirnov and Helmsley, McCray’s eyes were drawn to the murderous expressions of the two guards.

  “I am a Senator’s son, you dogs,” howled Mallouk. “People are coming to rescue me. Release me now and perhaps I’ll grant you your lives.”

  “What the hell is this?” barked Anderson. “What are you two doing up here with Mallouk?”

  Up until then, the two guards had been focused on the former captain, but then they noticed Anderson and both their eyes drifted to the deputy warden’s gun. Smirnov’s expression turned cold and hard as he looked at his boss. “Those bastards shot Warden Grey!”

  Anderson took a step back. “That’s ridiculous, Smirnov. What bastards? Who told you that?”

  “We both saw it,” said Helmsley. “We watched him die, just before he told us to get Mallouk to safety.”

  “Well that’s a tragedy,” said Anderson, but his voice showed little remorse. “Did he say anything else?”

  “This.” Smirnov raised his stunner and fired. The weapon’s lightning bolt discharge flashed across the short distance and struck Anderson in the shoulder. His whole body convulsed, every muscle contracting at once, including his trigger finger. The pistol began firing on full auto and bullets skittered across the hallway.

  Smirnov responded automatically to the hail of bullets, returning fire with his stunner again and again.

  The deputy warden’s body collapsed to the ground in seizures. He shook like a macabre marionette as his nervous system tried to operate normally and failed. His face twisted into a rictus grimace, teeth grinding loudly. McCray knew his body was trying to restart the heart and organs, and failing after the repeated high-voltage jolts. He watched Anderson’s seizures become intermittent then slowly grind to a shuddering halt.

  McCray looked down at the body. “Guess you didn’t like him either.”

  “He was a prick,” said Helmsley, bringing up Mallouk. “Plus, Warden Grey gave us orders before they murdered him.”

  “I heard,” McCray replied. “He realized at the last moment Anderson was working with the MLF.”

  “Seriously?” said Smirnov. His face went slack with shock.

  “I’m sorry. It’s true.”

  Smirnov blasted Anderson’s body once more. It jumped like a shattered marionette. “Asshole!”

  “Gentlemen,” soothed McCray. “Mallouk and the Madkhali Marines in this berthing are important, high-value personnel to the Diplomatic Corps and the Intelligence Services. We need to get them out of here. The men in the Security Shack are also in the pay of the MLF. This building is compromised, and no one inside is safe. Help me get these marines out.”

  Smirnov looked dubious. The marines had been brought in on prisoner transports, after all.

  “I can personally vouch for these men. I’ve given them parole once before, and they never violated it. Remember, they are expected to be granted asylum. I give you my word they will not leave Elysium space.”

  The two guards looked at each other.

  Gunfire erupted downstairs. The explosions of heavy weapons and screams followed.

  That seemed to seal it for the two guards. Smirnov tapped at the panel beside the Holding Room door. He grimaced. “I don’t have the security rights to open it. I’m sorry.”

  McCray activated the comms panel and the opaque viewport turned transparent. Castellano’s anxious voice erupted from the speaker. “Hello? Captain, what’s going on out there? Are you all right?”

  “We’re having a pizza party. How about you?”

  �
��Well, save some for me, you selfish bastard.”

  McCray looked through the viewport. “Look, we’re trying to get you out. Mallouk’s ‘friends’ have come to martyr him and you, too. We’re having trouble opening the door.”

  “I think we can help.” Castellano turned and shouted, “Aziz!”

  A few seconds later, the heavily armed and software-protected door to the cell that, according to Grey, no one had ever escaped from, opened. Aziz poked his head out. “Hey Captain.”

  McCray stared at him and then as the door opened wider, he could see wiring hanging from a hole in the wall. “What the hell? Jesus, were you planning on escaping?”

  “Not at all, Vann,” said Jesus, shaking his hand. “I had to give Aziz something to do. He was driving me mad, talking about gardening all the time.”

  “That’s not the worst,” Blazer said as the marines filed out. “He said he wanted to plant penises.”

  “That’s peonies, you moron,” shouted Aziz from the hall. “And they’re very pretty.”

  Castellano dropped his voice to a loud stage whisper “You see what I mean?”

  McCray chuckled, then pointed at Anderson’s corpse. “I apologize for the mess. Haven’t taken out the trash yet.”

  Castellano looked the body over with a critical eye. “Inside man?”

  “Yep.”

  “What’d they offer him?

  “Oh, a house in the country. Loads of whores. The usual.”

  “That one? He actually bought that?”

  “Yep. Even a guy with a cranial-rectal inversion can get a job here. All right, we gotta get our asses out of this hell hole. Jesus, I’m a Navy man. I don’t know shit about room-to-room combat, but I’m betting you do. I’m field-promoting you to Ground Commander, Scirocco Team, in charge of getting us the hell out of here.”

  “Can you do that?” said Castellano. “I’m not even Elysian yet.”

  “Hey. It’s good to be the Captain.”

  They dashed through the passageways, stopping at every corner to reconnoiter before advancing. McCray wasn’t sure what would happen next. With the sounds of gunfire nearby, he was bound to enter a type of combat he had no experience with.

  When he’d first heard that Springbok had been destroyed, his heart nearly stopped. But as the replay of Ando’s transmission came to a close, McCray had picked up the comms specialist’s very cleverly worded phrase. If only Castellano and friends could get him out alive, he would still have the chance to find Aja again. He missed her desperately.

  “Smirnov,” said McCray. “Are there any weapons aboard the shuttle?”

  “Yeah, there’s ten in each one.”

  “I never saw that.”

  Smirnov snorted, “It is a prisoner transfer shuttle. They’re supposed to be hard to find. ”

  “That’s good, but there’s twenty of us,” said Castellano. “We’ll need more guns.”

  “The armory is already empty,” said Helmsley.

  “That’s all right. The MLF has lots of them,” said Castellano.

  “What good does that do us?” McCray demanded.

  Castellano grinned. “We’re gonna take their guns, of course.”

  “How do you plan to do that?”

  The marine peered around a corner and signaled all clear. “You trust us?”

  McCray didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, I do.”

  “Then let me and my boys, drive. This is what we’re good at.”

  Castellano led them through the halls and managed to find the heaviest fighting between the remaining guards and the Madkhalis. They pushed past the guards and huddled along the wall while Smirnov, the only one with a weapon so far, exchanged fire with the enemy at the opposite corner. He ducked back while hypervelocity rounds sprayed zipped past and pounded the nearby wall to dust. Smirnov waited until the fire paused then jumped out to fire at nothing. They went back and forth in this ineffectual tennis match for a number of exchanges.

  Blazer tapped his fingers impatiently against the wall. “You mind if I give it a try?”

  Sweat poured down Smirnov’s face as he panted. His eyes were wide with terror. “It’s Hell on Earth, man. You sure?”

  McCray followed the exchange from the back of the group, wondering what exactly Blazer planned to do. The huge Private was an impulsive, physical man. What was he going to do, charge the Madkhali position?

  Blazer shrugged. “I’ll risk it.” He took the stunner from Smirnov and leaned out as incoming fire raged, revealing only the barest minimum of his body. He fired once, twice, then ducked back. He moved out again as far less counter-fire resumed—still pummeling holes through the walls—and fired once more. With a bland expression, he handed the stunner back to Smirnov and said, “Be right back.”

  McCray glanced at Castellano. “You sure he’ll be all right?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  Blazer returned with four weapons. “Did you collect extra magazines?”said Castellano.

  “Cap,” protested Blazer. “You wound me. Of course.”

  McCray started, “Did he…?”

  “Snap their necks? Sure. Why waste ammo on them?”

  McCray sighed. Naval men were trained from the beginning to assist vanquished enemies. Finishing people off wasn’t how sailors fought war. “They were unconscious and no longer a danger.”

  “Yeah, but they’ll recover eventually and cause us trouble in our flanks.” Castellano sighed. “We aren’t nice men, Vann. We’re effective men.”

  McCray nodded. He didn’t understand this kind of warfare and it was foolish to apply naval military philosophy to an infantry action.They found several more firefights and collected enough weapons for everyone. McCray took on the duty of watching Mallouk to let the experts on room-to-room combat work without a hindrance.

  Then, as they tried to flank a faux-marine position, Mallouk started screaming for help. McCray could hear the enemy moving towards the sounds, but Castellano’s men moved soundlessly to form an ambush. It was chilling to watch them adapt so quickly, moving as if guided by one mind. When the enemy arrived the Cretins gunfire cut them to ribbons.

  Despite the workman-like calm of the Cretins, McCray felt anything but that. Safely around the corner from the firefight, he pinned the still-screaming, scrawny Elite down on the floor, one hand on his throat, one knee on his chest. The man struggled, but then the fight came to an abrupt stop when McCray jammed a pistol between his eyes.

  “Since social status in life is so important to you,” grated McCray through bared teeth. “Let me make my position perfectly clear. I want you dead! I’ve wanted to watch your frozen corpse drift away from an airlock ever since I saw what you did to those women. You’re nothing more than an intestinal worm to me. I don’t care if you’re a Senator’s son. That means nothing.”

  Mallouk squirmed a moment more, but McCray’s nano-enhanced muscles easily held him fast. The Madkhali may have been wealthy, but nanotech in the DPM had developed slowly in comparison to Elysium. Any enhancements Mallouk had couldn’t possibly match up to McCray’s military-grade nano suite.

  “Don’t,” McCray growled. “I don’t care how much of an asset you are. Make a sound again and I will shoot you in the head via your asshole! Now I may not be a Senator’s son, but I’m the motherfecker with a damned gun. Got it?”

  Mallouk nodded slowly, eyes bulging in terror.

  McCray looked up to see Castellano and his Cretins looking on in approval. He shrugged. “We were having a heart to heart. You know how it is.”

  They reached the shuttle bay and were lucky enough to find the last one fueled up and ready to go. Smirnov and Helmsley politely refused an invitation to go along, insisting on helping out their comrades. Lots of mercenaries still roamed the building. McCray suspected they wanted to get some revenge for Grey with their new weapons.

  All strapped into their seats except for Mallouk. Him, they secured to the D-Rings in the overhead. The former captain had plenty to say about that, obviating the
need for a gag.

  “You know how to fly one of these things?” Castellano asked, buckling into the co-pilot’s seat beside McCray.

  “Better than you know how to shoot that gun.”

  Castellano shook his head. “Nobody’s that good.”

  The shuttle rose, spun a fast 180 degrees, and shot out of the bay like a scalded cat. The wind from its passage buffeted a grey Martinsyde just landing outside the shuttle bay. McCray wondered what sort of lunatic would land at Arcoplex in the middle of a full-blown assault.

  At last, he had returned to his natural environment. Flying a shuttle in combat was something he knew well. It felt good to be in control once more and no longer a passenger. McCray figured he could make it to Vickers Base in twenty minutes Soon after that, back to orbit and on Springbok’s decks. At least he hoped he would. Ando’s subtle message seemed clear enough to him. The thought of that beautiful ship and her amazing crew lost was too much to bear thinking on. He needed to get up there soon to confirm he was right about Springbok’s survival. He needed to see Aja. He couldn't bear the thought of dying without the chance to sort things with Aja and to tell her how much she meant to him.

  They flew across the cleared area around Arcoplex, barely above treetop level. Dark paddles quickly accelerating them towards Mach One.

  “C’mon, baby. Gimme more speed,” murmured McCray, trying to coax the machine. It didn’t matter that there was no pursuit. He wanted to be gone from the entire area.

  No amount of encouragement would help. The shuttle couldn’t accelerate in an atmosphere nearly as fast as it could in space. Dark strata was far less dense near planets, and air resistance slowed the craft down.

  As the facility slipped behind them, Aziz said, “Well. That was easy.”

  Alarms suddenly blared from the console. Lights across the console, blinked red. “We’re being targeted,” warned McCray. “A SAM radar is seeking us.”

  “You just had to jinx it, didn’t you, Aziz?” spat Castellano.

  The beep sped up into an insistent shriek. “They’re firing,” called McCray. He hurled the shuttle through evasive maneuvers, applying the technique of “porpoising,” randomly bobbing up and down thousands of feet at a time. When missiles flew at a high mach, they could only adjust course so much without atmosphere ripping apart the airframe, so theoretically the porpoising could work. Unfortunately, the shuttle was no true military craft; it couldn’t move as deftly as an attack shuttle. The missile remained on target. Not that he truly expected it would lose it’s lock. He had a different plan in mind.