141
Picton hurried Scat down from the roof top and into a three-wheeled pod which sped off before the door had fully closed. Scat fell back into his seat.
‘What could she possibly want from me, Picton?’ he asked, looking out of the window.
‘She’ll tell you, Scat. That’s why I’m to bring you to her. Just put on your rebel hat before we get there.’
The pod swung out of the complex into an unused warehouse district that Scat hadn’t seen before. The streets were unlit, the only light coming from the ghostly battle above, flickering in and out as the dogfight wore on. The low, large buildings on either side of the roads looked run-down, many of them abandoned.
A few minutes later, they pulled up alongside a long, high chain-link fence topped off with coils of razor wire. Set back from it, down a broken and overgrown concrete walkway, was a single-story metal-and-glass building. Light poured from windows along one side.
Picton pushed the pod door open and sprang out onto the sidewalk. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.
Scat scurried to catch up. They passed by an ORF guard who sat on a concrete post watching the light show above, his PIKL across his knees.
Scat shielded his eyes from the bright lights as he entered the low-ceilinged building. The reception counter was devoid of monitors, the lobby was bare. The paint on the walls was cracked and peeled. A single ISRA Diplomatic Office plaque hung in isolation on the back wall. Scat could see the place had been empty for a long time before ISRA took it over, and no one in Mary’s retinue had seen fit to spruce it up.
He heard urgent voices. Picton walked on ahead, down a corridor leading to the back of the building. He turned off into a room. Scat followed him in.
Picton announced their arrival.
‘I’ve got him,’ he said. ‘He’s seen what’s going on, that’s all.’
Mary looked up from the monitor she was sharing with her ORF squad leader and an overwhelmed comms specialist. The area around her was a hive of urgent activity. She appeared to be pleased to see them. Possibly relieved.
‘Good, thank you, Picton. Scat, this way please.’
Scat followed her to the end of the room and into a small office piled high with paper files and stacks of unused gel-cells, the walls covered in charts. She closed the door. It was quiet again.
‘I’ve to make this quick, and you have a decision to make, fast.’ She didn’t give him time to reply or ask any questions. She ploughed on. ‘30 minutes ago, every space-capable asset the Outer Rim Force has began engaging the Lynthax starflyer fleet—on orders from ISRA. They didn’t warn us about this ahead of time: it was a very quickly arranged action and it depended on surprise. However, the ORF Fleet Commander has since been in touch.
‘The current situation is one of stalemate. The ORF cannot get to the planet, and Lynthax cannot send them packing. The Western and Asian Blocs are also out there. They arrived just after the engagement commenced. Right now, neither side is involved in the battle: the two sides are cancelling each other out. The only upside is that it would appear my little office still has some degree of diplomatic protection. Petroff has left us alone.’
When she stopped to take a breath, Scat interrupted.
‘Why?’ he asked.
‘Why do we still have protection?’
‘No. Why the attack?’
‘Because ISRA has decided it wants to close Lynthax down. It aims to seize all of its assets. Everything.’
‘Yes, but why?’ Scat persisted.
‘Because we need to know more about the wormholes. We need to know everything about them.’
‘Why not just order them to give up the specs?’
‘They refused to hand them over. In any case, it was a mistake to ask for them. It gave them the time they needed to position their starflyers. We’re now playing cat and mouse with them up there while they’re probably preparing to destroy or bury their data down here.’ She took another breath. Perhaps it was a deliberate pause. Scat couldn’t tell. ‘That can’t be allowed to happen, Scat. Under no circumstances can that be allowed to happen.’
‘Again, why?’
‘Sorry, Scat. I cannot tell you. But I have been given permission to offer you something in return for your rebels’ help.’
Scat cocked his head.
Mary appeared to be looking for the right words.
‘We are prepared to offer a pardon to all the rebels who place themselves under the Authority’s orders.’ She then quickly qualified her offer, regretting she had made it without conditions. ‘And help us to acquire all of the information that we are looking for.’
Scat couldn’t immediately think of anyone who would pass that up. But whatever ISRA was looking for, it must be of tremendous value to them. Not just valuable enough to forget the evils of the rebellion, but also to risk drawing the two most heavily armed blocs into a major confrontation. Mary was leaving something unsaid.
‘Here on Runnymede, you mean? While your lot slugs it out up there?’
‘Yes. Lynthax probably thinks that its own Starfleet will neuter the ORF, and they’re probably right. The blocs are watching each other, waiting to see if the other takes sides. In the meantime, we have a window through which we can hit Lynthax on the ground. Only this mission can’t do that. My team is diplomatic, and the ORF protection detail is too small.’
Scat thought he might be able to push for a better deal. He knew that even before the wormholes went down, Lynthax had been quietly downsizing its presence on Runnymede and building up its presence on Concord. Then there were the security teams who had left Runnymede to watch over the wormhole constructs they had transferred to planets even further away. Still, he didn’t know how many remained. More importantly, it was obvious to him that Mary didn’t know, either.
‘And independence for the New Worlds,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘You heard, Ms Sheffield. Independence.’
Mary’s eyes widened. Scat could see her frustration.
‘Not possible.’
‘Then no deal.’
‘Scat! You’ve no idea what you’re refusing to do, or how helpful it would be or how urgent it is. Please! Take the pardon.’ She was beginning to sound a whole lot like Pierce’s voice in his head.
‘I’ll take independence.’
Mary looked at her graf. Time was getting short. She brushed past him, opened the door, and stormed across to the monitor issuing orders.
‘Get me the ISS Southampton,’ she demanded. ‘Get Mr Flowers on the line.’ She then turned back to stare at Scat. ‘Scat, get out here!’ she commanded. ‘I’ll do you the favour of asking my boss what he thinks of your demand, and we’ll then we’ll see what happens to his original offer.’
Around the room, heads turned.
Scat didn’t say anything. He wandered over, trying to seem relaxed. He was anything but. Maybe it was a tall ask.
‘OK, OK. Thank you, Ms Sheffield. A pardon will do it. What is it that you want us to do, exactly?’
142
When Scat returned to the rebel dorm, he was surprised to see a small Outer Rim Force detail already in charge of the place. Just before Picton had woken him up, their ORF minders had turned on the two Lynthax guards and bundled them into the canteen. Of course, Picton’s PIKL had been a clue but the light show had distracted him and, at the time, he had thought he was dreaming. Then, as Mary briefed Scat, the ORF troopers woke everyone up, assembled them in the canteen and gave them a quick heads-up on the situation above.
Now, in the dark of the rebel accommodation dorm, Scat lay out the mission to his fellow Chapter leaders.
‘The prime mission is to secure the wormhole data,’ he explained. ‘The ORF can’t land its assault troops, so we’ve been co-opted.
‘That means we gotta take the main offices and the data centre. They’ll both be protected, and we’ll be attacking blind.
‘On the plus side, the Western Bloc won’t get involved unless t
he Asians throw their weight behind ISRA. If it does, it’ll find itself fully engaged and not of much use to Lynthax down here. By my reckoning, that leaves just a bunch of doorstops between us and a pardon.’
One of the Chapter leaders asked an obvious question.
‘How do we know they haven’t already uploaded the data, Scat?’
Another asked:
‘How many more weapons do we have, Scat? We’ve the two PIKLs and a couple of stuns the guards have given us, that’s it.’
Scat dealt with the first question quickly.
‘ISRA’s snooping. If they stream it, ISRA will get it. More likely, they’ll just try to destroy it. Especially if they think things aren’t going well.’
The second question was harder to answer. He was well aware they were under-armed. There were over 400 former rebels. It wasn’t as though they could break into the Pathfinder armoury and make use of their PIKLs—they were inert this side of a wormhole. Scat did his best to make it sound less dire than it was.
‘We’ve brought 10 spare PIKLS with us from the ambassador’s detail, and as you can see, we’ve been joined by some of Ms Sheffield’s diplomatic protection.’ He nodded in the direction of the ORF corporal who loitered uncertainly at the back of the group.
‘So, 22 of us will have PIKLs, and a few of us will have stuns. We’ll leave some here and take the rest with us. If we’re lucky, we might find some more. The data centre seems the best place to start so that’ll be our first target. Remember, we’re not trying to take the whole facility: we’re just going after the data. If its not there, we’ll move on.
‘Paul,’ he said, speaking over the heads of the rebel leaders. ‘I want you to stay behind and help the leaders organise a diversion. You’re in charge of the Trevon Chapter.’
Paul almost gushed but held back.
Scat turned back to the leaders.
‘I want you to burn the kitchens. Make like you’re rioting. Get their attention. In the meantime, guys, give me your best PIKL shots and a couple more, just in case we do find weapons. Everyone else is to play their part in the diversion.’
Scat checked his graf. It was 1.45 am. The battle overhead had been raging for an hour.
‘Mercador, go round and strip everyone of everything that can store data: their grafs, e-readers, everything. Guys, I want the assault party assembled here, armed and ready, in 15. Let’s go.’
The Chapter leaders broke away leaving Scat to reflect on his plans. What would Petroff expect us to do? he asked himself. However, he didn’t get a chance for any serious second-guessing. Pierce wouldn’t let him.
‘Now do you understand how serious this is?’
Scat tried to ignore him. He wasn’t real.
‘I said do you understand?’
Pierce waited for an answer. He didn’t get one.
‘Oh, I get it. You’re too cool to answer me in front of your friends, eh? Worried you’ll be thought of as crazy, eh?’
Exactly, Scat thought to himself. Right now would be a good time to keep everyone’s confidence, and not to blow it by talking to himself.
He thought, ‘Fark off,’ hoping it would be enough.
But Pierce wasn’t going anywhere.
‘You’ll need to work fast, Knuckle Head. Souls depend on you—and your sorry-arsed bunch of boy scouts.’
Scat bit his lip.
Maybe this is just my conscience. Perhaps I’ve gotten soft or too timid. Think like you used to, Scat. Fark the consequences, just get the job done.
‘I’m still here, and I’m not your conscience, Scat. Pay attention to me. Souls are counting on you.’
‘Bugger off!’ Scat let slip, then looked up to see if anyone had heard him. Only Edlin returned his look. He was sitting at a table close by, sorting through the spare power packs for his ORF-issued PIKL.
‘What’s that boss?’ he asked.
‘Nothing, Dickhead. I’m thinking out aloud again.’
Edlin returned to his PIKL.
‘Almost lost it that time, Scat, didn’t you?’
‘Fark off’
‘No. It’s too important to us. There’s no room for error on this one, Scat. Don’t fail.’
‘You’re not real. I’m not really hearing you.’
‘Would it help if I told you Petroff’s in the Data Centre? He’s downloading data.’
‘He’s what?’ he said out aloud again.
‘Not sure, boss. Are you sure you’re OK?’ Edlin asked, this time looking around him. He noticed other people had heard it; he wasn’t imagining things.
Scat ignored him.
‘He’s in the Data Centre? Now?’
‘Yes,’ Pierce replied. ‘So, do you believe in me now, or are you just grateful for the tip?’
‘How many men does he have with him?’
‘Three. Not a lot, really. But then the rest of them are on their way over here and to the ISRA offices.’
Scat realised he had just had an open conversation with an invisible entity and within earshot of his guys. He flushed slightly but made a decision.
‘Do you know I’m for real now, Scat?’ Pierce asked.
Scat ignored him. He would know eventually whether Pierce was a figment of his imagination.
‘Dickhead, get Goosen and Khan. I want them to drop what they are doing, and meet me outside—along the back wall. Bring a PIKL each. Leave the rest for the Chapter leaders. Tell them they’re to expect company—and soon.’
Edlin hesitated for a fraction, and then sped off.
Scat called the ORF corporal over.
‘Tell your boss she’s to expect company, as well. Lynthax is about to violate your diplomatic immunity. Tell her to leave the building and find a deserted warehouse to hold up in. Oh, and she’s to stay on your channel.
‘Once you’ve done that, you come with me.’
143
As Scat left the dorm by the back door, a squad of Lynthax security guards arrived out front. They took cover in positions across the road and waited for reinforcements to arrive.
In the still, thick air, Scat heard the squad leader shouting out a series of instructions. He felt some relief that his intuition, or Pierce, had been right.
There was no sign of anyone out back, but there was bound to be a Lynthax unit on its way. With no time to waste, Scat ran at the chain-link fence, burning an raggedy archway through it with his PIKL. He hit the fence hard and ploughed on through, running into the darkness on the other side of the back lane. Goosen was the last to cross the lane, unmolested. They were ahead of the game.
They ran on hard without looking back until they had put a few hundred metres between them and the dorm. Eventually, Scat dropped off the road and into a storm drain, where he stopped and called the team together. Bent at the waist and ankle deep in stagnant water he caught his breath.
‘Somehow I knew we were about to be visited,’ he explained, still puffing. ‘Don’t ask how, I just knew. They’re probably visiting ISRA as well.’ He looked at the ORF corporal for confirmation.
‘Yes, sir. They’ve just arrived. The Ambassador has already left.’
Scat tried to relax a little, but Pierce persisted with his demands for recognition.
‘So, do you believe in me now?’
Scat ignored him.
No one was ready for Pierce.
Instead, he took a quick look along the road leading to the spaceport apron, then back to Goosen, Khan and the ORF Corporal.
‘OK, so I was right about Petroff sending his doorstops to keep us company. He’s probably in the Data Centre, busy transferring or deleting data, but knowing him, he thinks he’s covered his bases, and he mightn’t have a large protection detail on hand. So, we go there, we take the Data Centre, and we get Petroff and the wormhole data both at the same time. That’s two for the price of one.’
Goosen looked at Khan. Khan was unsure. They were still psyched up for an assault with a much larger team.
‘I’m all for running
on a hunch, Scat,’ Goosen said, still a little out of breath, ‘but you’ve just turned a plan on its head. What gives?’
‘Call it intuition, Birdie. But trust me.’
Khan screwed up his face: it was a tall order.
‘We’ve done that before, Scat,’ he said. ‘And every time I think it’ll be the last time we need to!’
Scat gave him a gentle shove. Khan pushed back, giving him a rare smile.
‘Oh, what the heck, eh?’ he said. ‘There’s a last time for everything. This might as well be it.’
A bright flash lit up the lane back where the dorm lay. There followed a crackle. More flashes. More crackles. Some yelling. A scream. More flashes.
Scat straightened up.
‘OK, guys, Paul and the boys are busying them up. Let’s not waste time here. If Petroff thinks we’re held up in the dorm, we’ve at least got the element of surprise on our side.’
‘And me! You’ve got me as well,’ injected Pierce.
‘Fark off,’ he thought to Pierce.
‘Let’s go,’ he said to his guys.
144
They trotted in Indian file along a back alley. Scat tracked their position against the slowly shifting spaceport control tower, which stood in slender silhouette against a clear night’s sky behind the low service buildings lining their route. His colleagues eyed the pitch blackness carefully, alert to ambush.
They turned right onto the dark and empty spaceport road, and hurried, bent low, along the fence line following the southern side of the wide-open spaceport apron. Further along, set back from the road behind a tangle of razor wire and overgrown grass, Scat recognised the building that housed the pens. Up ahead, the fence gave way to a high wall that enclosed the Pathfinder’s exercise yard. Beyond that was the main hangar.
They were making quick progress.
A little further on, Scat veered off the main road and slipped down the hangar’s service road.
‘What’s up?’ Goosen asked, grateful to catch his breath again.