Chapter 11
Kael cataloged threats automatically, the way some men said prayers.
And the crash site was a tactical nightmare.
The Banshee’s ruptured fuel lines pooling hypergolic sludge.
The jagged rock formations to the east; defensible, but perfect for ambush.
The too-regular scrape marks near the wreckage. Not caused by their crash. To his eye it wasn’t natural erosion—something heavy had been dragged along here and recently.
The air smelled of ionized ozone and something sweetly rotten, a combination that set his teeth on edge.
He palmed his SG pistol; fully aware it was only good for close quarters fights. The SlugGel had perfect stopping power, if you considered melting flesh a way to stop attacks, but limited range.
Wraith was under the Banshee, cursing softly under her breath.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He triggered his optics and zoomed in on the surrounding areas. Saw nothing.
Didn’t mean they weren’t being watched.
He glanced at Wraith, “What’s the prognosis?”
She pulled herself out from under the wreckage. Alarmingly close to the fuel spill.
“If I had the tools and about a week then maybe I could get her flying again. Maybe.”
He scanned the horizon again.
“I doubt we have an hour. Let alone a week.”
Wraith’s eyes narrowed as she looked around, disguising the movement as a stretch.
“Where?”
She didn’t question him. That was… unexpected.
“I’m not sure. It almost feels like we’re surrounded.”
She huffed out a breath, “Figures.”
“Yeah.”
He strode over to the wreckage, exposed a key panel and tapped in his code. The weapons locker glided open.
He tossed Wraith a Plasma Caster rifle that she snatched out of the air, checked over, and slung on her back.
He took the Stalker Pulse rifle and the HushTec revolver. Hesitated a moment, then tossed her his SG pistol.
“You should get over here,” he warned her.
Wraith raised an eyebrow and rounded the Banshee to stand next to him. He tapped a second code on the weapon locker panel, heard the near silent beep of confirmation.
He turned to her.
“Ready to run?”
They ran. Wraith was fast, so it surprised her when he overtook her and started to pull away.
Helios jerked his head to the left, where a small, seemingly haphazard wall of rocks jutted upwards through the earth.
She’d just hurled herself behind it when the Banshee exploded, the blast wave racing past them less than a second later.
Stone fragments rained down on them, but the wall held.
She glared at him between gasps, “Cutting it a little close there, Major.”
He grinned at her, the expression boyish and, Void help her, appealing.
“But we made it. And,” the grin widened, “I won.”
She decided not to dignify that with an answer. Instead, she closed her eyes and rested her head against the warm rock. Calmed her breathing. And listened.
Heard nothing.
She turned to him.
His head was cocked, eyes closed, brows drawn together. “At least two groups,” he said. “One north, one east.”
Well, that confirmed one suspicion she’d had for a while. Golden Boy had more than just ocular implants going for him.
“Okay, then. Given that south is out of the question, are we headed west?”
They both peered towards the open expanse of dry plains to the west.
“We have no food, no water, and no idea where we are. I’m leaning towards taking our chances with the locals.”
He had a point.
“You’re the CO. Do we hit them head on? Or split and flank?”
He regarded her for a long moment, then laughed.
“How do you feel about playing bait?”
Wraith edged into the narrow confines of the rocks that formed a veritable maze to the east, SG pistol raised.
She was having doubts about the plan.
It relied on the Major being a lot more competent in the fighting department than she’d seen him so far. In fact, now that she thought on it, she’d never seen him throw so much as a punch. Let alone shoot a weapon.
And while his glares certainly worked on the rank and file on the Eventide, it seemed unlikely they’d help much here.
Why the fuck had she agreed to this?
He could move silently, she conceded, and between his preternatural hearing and his optics, he’d be better at finding hidden enemies. She just didn’t think he could take them out.
Fuck.
Of course, the locals could just kill her first. The passages were narrow and winding, and if they were any good, she’d probably never see it coming.
In which case, the Major’s skills wouldn’t be her problem anymore.
She crept forward towards a sharp bend ahead. Barely breathing.
A sharp whine cut through the air, and she dived, heard the classic thunk of a rail dart hitting dirt where she had been standing.
She took in the scene in an instant. Four people. Humans. Wearing robes. Male with a PinPoint bow, already reloading. Two with hoods up carrying black powder revolvers. And a woman with a Sonic Howler.
Shit.
She rolled behind the bowman, sweeping him off his feet. He crashed next to her, and she yanked the PinPoint out of his hands and pulled the magcoil charger out in one smooth motion.
A deafening bang echoed in the narrow passage as one of the hoods shot at her, missing by inches. She rolled, brained them with the PinPoint, turned—and caught a Sonic Howler blast square in the chest.
The force launched her back into the wall, forcing all the air out of her lungs and probably cracking several ribs.
She’d count them when she could breathe again.
She fell to her knees, gasping for breath. Knowing she had seconds to live.
Then two corpses fell in front of her. Hood two and the Howler woman.
She heaved a breath, reinflating her lungs, and sat back slowly on her knees. Her body screamed; her ribs lit up like a reactor breach. But she could breathe.
That would have to be enough.
Helios stood in front of her. Calm. Blood dripping from the monomolecular blade in his hand.
“I said bait, not cannon fodder.”
He bent down and slit the throat of the last cultist—still alive, eyes wide, whispering about the rise of the Holy Sun.
He flicked blood off the blade, sheathed it, and held out a hand to help her up.
Her chest was on fire. She grabbed it, struggled to stand even with his help.
“Next time, you be bait,” she told him hoarsely.
Wraith napped against the wall of the cave they had found to shelter in. It was small, round, and most importantly had only a single, narrow, defensible opening.
It had taken a long time to get there.
Kael had bound her ribs with strips torn from one of the robes her attackers had worn, but her range of motion was non-existent and he’d had to help her every step of the way.
She was his weapon of choice and now she was out of commission.
She had to be in a serious amount of pain, but she didn’t complain. Which he should have been grateful for, but instead infuriated him.
Fortunately, none of her cracked ribs—seven of them by the feel of things—had punctured her lungs. Yet.
He sighed and looked out of the narrow opening as the stars started to pop into existence. He should be able to work out where they were, once he could compare the constellations to his starmap.
Wraith couldn’t tell him.
That was the problem with navigating during a collapse, she’d said. Without a stable exit, you just didn’t know where you were going to end up.
So, they were stuck on an unknown planet. Far enough from any Fleet outpost they hadn’t been rescued yet. He fucking hoped it was yet. The Banshee would have automatically sent co-ords on exiting the Inbetween, but if there were no beacons or comms gates in range…
He swallowed his anxiety. They had more immediate things to worry about.
Void Cultists.
His stomach dropped as memory tried to surge and was ruthlessly pushed down.
Not who he was expecting to meet and the last people he’d have wanted to come across again.
He hated killing at the best of times, and he knew most of the Cultists were misguided rather than an active threat. But they were fanatics and would fight to the death whether you wanted to or not.
He took a small sip of the water one of his victims had carried. He’d gained two canteens, a small heap of weapons, and some nutri-cubes.
He’d expected Wraith to balk at the latter, but she’d just taken it with a shrug and eaten it slowly.
He had struggled to force the damn thing down; and because they had to ration the water until they found more, he still had the taste in his mouth.
The adrenaline crash was hitting him hard. He knew he should keep watch, but fatigue mugged him.
At least the weather was temperate. He’d done his share of huddling with comrades for warmth on the sort of missions that came with Ultra Top Secret ratings. He didn’t have to get that up close and personal with Wraith.
That was a good thing, he told himself. Necessary. Smart. So why was he disappointed?
More stars appeared.
Should be enough.
He pulled out his data pad and scanned the sky. A few moments later the result popped up.
Perdition.
Why did they always give these frontier planets such bleak names?
Perdition sat on the far edge of their space. Not much on it. One smallish city with a spaceport his data pad was telling him was on the other side of the planet.
Plenty of caves. Even more ruins.
There used to be more settlements. The planet had been hit hard during the War, and not much effort had been made to re-populate it. Too far out, not enough resources to justify it.
But there was a notation that the Void Cult had been cleared out twice in the years since the War. Also, a link to a file called “The First Altar”, that on inspection informed him his clearance was insufficient to access.
As a Major, that was not something that happened often. And it never boded well when it did.
He blinked slowly, trying to clear away the exhaustion.
It would take at least four or five days for them to be rescued.
If they survived that long.
He drew back into the cave, leaned against the wall opposite Wraith. She opened her eyes for just a moment as he sat.
Did the woman never sleep?
Finally, he set an alarm for two hours and let fatigue pull him under.