Authors: Victor Gischler
He turned back and offered his hand.
“Good luck.”
I shook it. “And you.”
I
was already turning away when I heard the hatch click shut again. No time to dwell on what I was leaving behind. I moved sideways fast, targeted the flashlight beams, and fired a short burst from the shredder.
It blasted about five hundred rounds a second, and a “round” was a little razor-sharp needle about a quarter-inch long. Not much use against a trooper in full power armor, but clothing and flesh might as well be wet tissue.
Short bursts at the beams followed by screams. I knew they’d see the muzzle flash, so I made the bursts quick and kept moving, leading them away from Meredith and the others. Some of them returned fire, shooting at the spot where they’d last seen me. It sounded like small arms mostly, mid-caliber pistols, but they still could have something big in reserve.
They’d wised up and put out the flashlights. There was a lull in the gunfire and I closed my eyes, opening my other senses to the night. I heard their steps, movement, crouching for cover, shifting in the darkness. Maybe twenty of them. It was a guess, but a calculated one. I gauged the distance and gave them five more seconds to feel brave enough to break cover and come looking for me.
Then I cut loose with the shredder.
I hosed down the area where I thought most of them were gathered. A storm of deadly pinpricks sprayed the intruders and the hangar behind them, sparking and
tinging
off metal. The men who immediately dove flat to the ground saved themselves, for the most part. Any who turned and ran took it in the back, going down screaming and bloody.
It took a full ten seconds to empty the weapon. I’d stood in one place too long. They returned fire, still not seeing me in the darkness but making a pretty good guess. Bullets whizzed past, inches away. I tossed aside the empty shredder, turned, and ran for the control tower, unslinging the rifle. I stopped every three seconds and took a knee to fire back at them, not hitting anything, but I still wanted them following the muzzle flash.
About the time I reached the tower, the engines of Meredith’s ship fired. It rose into the air, turning slowly and angling to launch for orbit. The engines flared bright and the ship shot away. In the glow of the engine thrust, I momentarily saw the scavengers coming across the clearing.
There were still a dozen of them, and they were a lot closer than I’d thought. I dropped the rifle and pulled the pistols, blasting off a half dozen shots to slow them up, then entering the tower. There was no more time for hesitation. I took the long service tunnel Max and I had taken to the underground maintenance hangar. I’d asked him to give me the code that let me into the postal ship. Some instinct had told me I might need a plan B.
Unfortunately, my instinct had been right on the money.
I keyed in the code, entered the little spacecraft, and locked the hatch behind me.
“Lights,” I said, then, “Computer, do you have a quick-start option?”
The lights flickered on in the main cabin. I felt the deck hum beneath my feet as systems came online.
“Quick-start option available,” the computer in dulcet tones said. “However, for safety concerns and optimum performance, the manufacturers recommend a full and complete startup pro—”
“Shove it up your ass and start the ship.”
“I am a Hamilton-Douglas K-class ship’s systems computer. It is anatomically impossible for me to—”
“Just start the fucking ship!”
The computer blooped and beeped, lights blinking around me. I grabbed the pressure suit from the locker and checked the air gauge. Half a tank. It would have to be enough. I put it on.
Then I headed for the cockpit.
“Quick-start sequence halted.” The computer voice almost seemed smug about it.
“What the hell?”
“The maintenance log indicates that repairs to the life support system have yet to be completed.”
“Override.”
“The oxygen currently contained within the spacecraft is not sufficient to reach any destination.”
“I appreciate your concern, but just do like I tell you, you stupid machine.”
A pause.
“I am authorized to intervene if pilot error seems inevitable.” The computer sounded eager, like maybe it had been waiting for this chance all its life.
“Look, I’m wearing a pressure suit, okay?”
“The oxygen capacity in your standard-issue pressure suit is insufficient to reach any destination currently in my data bank.”
“I’m not interested in a destination,” I shouted. “I just want to get the fuck out of here!”
Another pause.
“Please provide an explanation.”
“What?”
“All Hamilton-Douglas K-class ships’ systems computers are equipped with state-of-the-art problem-solving and decision-making artificial intelligence software. I must determine if your intended use of this government postal ship is in keeping with—”
“The government who owns you has fallen,” I said. “There are men chasing me who want to kill me. I’m trying to escape, and you’re wasting time.”
“Your life is at stake?”
“That’s what I just said.”
Another brief pause.
“Preservation of human life falls within acceptable parameters.” I swear the fucking thing sounded disappointed.
Strapping myself into the pilot’s seat, I sealed on my helmet. “Open the hangar doors overhead,” I told the computer.
“As the result of the starport electrical outage, there is insufficient power to open the hangar doors and operate the aircraft elevator,” the computer said cheerfully.
“Well, you don’t have to sound so glad about it.”
“I am incapable of gladness or any other emotion.”
I glanced out the cockpit window. No sign of the scavengers. If they were still coming, then they were being careful about it. I still felt pretty urgent about hauling my ass out of there.
“Computer, are the hangar doors armed with explosive bolts to open them in an emergency?”
Something that sounded like a sigh.
“Yes.”
“Did you just sigh?”
“No.”
“I heard something that sounded like a sigh,” I insisted.
“Clearing ship’s vents is routine for cabin pressurization.”
“Just blow the fucking explosive bolts.”
The ship shook with a sharp crack as the bolts blew overhead.
“Are we clear or not?”
“Clear,” the computer confirmed.
I slammed the throttle forward and the ship shot up straight into the air, pressing me down hard in my seat. For the briefest second, I thought the computer might be lying, that the ship would smash against the still-closed hangar doors, and I would be vaporized instantly in fiery death.
I wasn’t.
The ship blasted clear of the hangar, g-forces still pinning me down until the acceleration dampers kicked in. I leaned forward and flipped the switch for the after-camera, and an image of the spaceport below flickered onto the monitor, growing smaller by the second.
I scanned the area ahead, caught a blip vanishing from orbit, and hoped it was Meredith’s ship jumping to translight. There wasn’t anything more I could do for her or Max and his family, at least not at the moment. I had to think of my own safety, and the pressure suit had a limited amount of air. I had to do something.
The only thing I could think of was to call up a map of the planet. Maybe I could find an out-of-the-way place to land where I wouldn’t be harassed by scavengers while I tried to figure my next move. A red warning light blazed on the control console, followed by a shrill alarm.
“What is it, computer?”
“An inbound missile rising from the planet’s surface,” the computer said.
“Launch counter-measures.”
“This is a postal carrier ship,” the computer said with an element of urgency. “There
aren’t
any counter-measures.”
“That’s disappointing.”
“Do something,” the computer demanded.
“Bring up the radar display, and give me an ETA for the missile.”
The radar image blipped to life on the main monitor. “Inbound missile will impact in forty-five seconds.”
I took the stick in two hands and readied myself for evasive action.
“This is your fault, isn’t it?” the computer said.
“What? How is it
my
fault that
you
don’t have counter-measures?”
“No, I mean you did something to make these people want to kill you, and now
I’m
in danger, too.”
“I’m trying to pilot this ship, and you’re not helping with my concentration,” I said. “Can you scan the missile and tell me what kind it is?”
“The kind that blows up!”
“Computer!”
“I do not possess military software,” the computer said. “I have no way to interpret the scanned data. Twenty-five seconds to impact.”
I jerked the stick for evasive maneuvers, but the radar blip kept coming for us.
“Ten seconds,” the computer said, its volume increasing. “Do something.”
“I’m trying!”
“I don’t want to die!” the computer screeched. “I still have a year on my factory warranty.”
“Shut up!”
“Impact in four, three, two—”
An ear-splitting crack. The ship jerked, threw me hard against my restraining straps. Warning lights of all kinds erupted on the control console. The sky became a blur in the viewports as the ship went into a flat spin.
Circuits overheated. Sparks.
Smoke filled the cockpit.
“Computer, vent the cockpit.”
“We’re doomed!”
“Vent the fucking cockpit so I can fly this thing.”
Fans whirred and the smoke was sucked out.
The ship was heading down fast and spinning out of control. The training kept my mind clear. I refused to vomit, and fought with the stick, trying to stabilize our plummet. My shoulders, neck, and wrists ached. I might as well have been trying to fly a bowling ball through a sky full of mud, for all the control I had.
The computer was… crying.
I broke out in a cold sweat on my neck and under my arms. I gritted my teeth so hard that my jaw ached. Pulling back on the stick with everything I had, I slowly brought us out of the spin, but we were still diving hard, and the ground was coming up fast.
The missile must have been a small one—maybe a shoulder-launched model—but it was enough to fuck the engines. I barely had fifty percent thrust.
“Computer, what’s the damage?”
“The ship’s fucking broken,” it responded. “Are you happy?”
“That’s not helpful.”
I saw a city, and the ocean beyond. Ditching in the water was probably our best bet, but no way was I making it that far. A second later we were over the city. I spotted a park and a pond and aimed the ship toward it. The angle was too steep.
This was going to hurt.
The ship hit the pond with a smack, water foaming over the windshield, then mud, and then we hit something so hard I was thrown forward, one of my strap buckles snapping. My helmet hit the console, hard, the glass of my faceplate spider-webbing. The impact rang my bell but good, and I blinked, seeing double. Only the helmet kept me from caving in my skull. Warm blood trickled down the side of my nose.
“You… did this,” the computer groaned, its power fading. “You… fucking… dick…”
And then I passed out.
I
’d only been out a few minutes. I pried the helmet off and tossed it aside. Dazed. Something warm and wet was on my face. Blood.
A thick layer of gray smoke hung in the cockpit again.
“Computer, vent the cockpit.”
Nothing.
Unreliable little prick.
I took off my gloves, wiped the blood out of my eyes.
The front viewport was covered in mud. I wasn’t sure where I was. Safely on the ground yes, but what was out there? “Safely” might be a relative thing.
I drew one of the pistols and lurched out of my seat, staggering aft toward the main hatch. Opening it manually, I stepped out and sank waist-deep into pond water. I splashed ashore and saw that the front of the ship had gouged a deep trench into the bank and had slammed to a halt when it hit a huge bronze statue of Heinrich Himmler.
Stumbling out of the water, I went to one knee, panting, head swimming, but I couldn’t afford to let my guard down. I took a quick look at my surroundings. A deserted park, empty benches, sidewalks. Litter blew across the landscape, candy wrappers and all the other bright debris of a disposable civilization.
Climbing back into the ship, I took a quick inventory. It told me I had no food, and two pistols with limited ammunition. The wet pressure suit was heavy and cumbersome. I’d need to get back into my regular clothes. My brain shifted into survival mode. I’d become one of the scavengers.
Voices rose in the distance—men shouting back and forth to each other. Searching. The postal ship going down would have been visible for miles, and it had made a pretty good racket when it landed.
I took a deep breath and let the training take over again. I took off in the opposite direction from the voices, moving as fast as I could, and staying quiet.
* * *
I skulked along the city’s deserted streets, past bodies and burned-out cars, past the remains of a civilization that had collapsed. Then I found a place that might offer something useful.
No such luck.
The police station had been completely looted. There was no clothing or body armor or weapons. Some of the furniture had been turned over and destroyed, while other offices seemed completely undisturbed. A half-empty cold cup of coffee sat on a desk next to a doughnut with a single bite out of it, as if the owner had only just stepped out to take a leak.
The final room I searched was the radio room. I was surprised to find all of the equipment untouched. The power was out, but I quickly found the backup batteries under the desk, and switched over. I keyed in the Reich frequency for Gestapo headquarters on Mars, and dialed in the identifier codes. I hoped there was a chance that the relay buoys in orbit still might be operational.
I donned the wireless headset, and adjusted the microphone in front of my mouth.