A Taste Of Despair (The Humal Sequence) (42 page)

The shuttle was nearby in the dust, landing, the scream of its engines deafening.

She leaned forward and kissed him, then put her lips to his ear and said something private.

He smiled more widely. “Me too.” Then he addressed the nearby Enjun, who had kept silent the whole time. “Get her out of here, Carl. And look after her. She does even dumber things than I do!”

Then Carl was pulling her away. She resisted, but only half-heartedly.

There were figures in the dust. Suit-clad figures. The Marines. Harvan and his men. They were shouting and pulling at them. Klane ignored it all and allowed herself to be herded back to the shuttle.

There was a numbness inside her that threatened to overwhelm her.

I left him.
She thought.
I left him to die alone
.

Then she was struggling to get back outside the shuttle and go back to him. Hands were pulling at her, voices screaming at her. She lashed out mindlessly, intent on only one thing. Returning to the side of someone she had loved once, long ago, and still did. It took three of them to hold her down and still she struggled despite her own injuries.

Finally, someone pressed something against her neck. There was a sharp, cold sensation and then she was falling into darkness. Falling, and with no one to catch her.

*****

Ulysses
was battered and bruised from its skimming along the atmosphere. More than half of its sensors were inoperative, little more than burnt stumps clinging tenaciously to the hull. Making sense of its surroundings was difficult.

Grimes had replaced Marten Janes at the tactical console. The exo had more experience with the ship and its systems than the engineer, who had moved to the comms panel.

“Tell me they’re on their way back by now?” Rames growled.

Marten nodded. “They’ve just ‘dusted off’ as the Major informed me. ETA on schedule as per our mission parameters.”

“What about our hangers-on?” Rames turned to Grimes.

The exo sighed and fiddled with the tactical console. “Difficult to say with certainty. The missiles we’ve been firing at the assault craft haven’t bothered them much, but it has kept them at a distance. The
Artemis
is right behind them. In higher orbit there are at least three cruisers and two more destroyers and there are more on the way. They don’t want us to get away.”

Rames glanced at his pilot’s back. “Mr. Veltin? How’s it looking for the rendezvous with the shuttle?”

Veltin nodded. He was a lot sweatier than before.
Ulysses
had lost some thruster control during its skimming and it was harder to control the ship with just the gravity drive.

“We’re still good. So long as the Marines stick to the agreed trajectory we’ll be okay.”

Rames was nervous. There were any number of ships pursuing them equipped with EMP torps. Just one going off at the altitude they were at would spell instant destruction as they fell powerless into the atmosphere. So far, though, they had avoided using anything at all against the cutter other than the assault shuttles.

As if on cue, Grimes piped up. “I think the ships above us are launching more shuttles. Either that, or very slow torpedoes.”

“Great!” Rames muttered to himself. “More partygoers.”

“Shuttle’s breaking atmosphere. They’re going hell for leather!”

“Good! Any interest?” Rames demanded.

“Not so far. Seems like they’re concentrating on us.” Grimes stated.

For a few more minutes
Ulysses
continued to orbit the planet, coming up on the point where the shuttle had left the atmosphere behind.

“Looks like they are clear of the high orbit vessels. Still no sign of the Imperials bothering with it.”

Rames blew out a breath. “It’s just a shuttle, not even any Skip capability, and they know it. It can run, but it can’t outrun them. They can chase it down at their leisure later. At least, that’s what they’re thinking.”

“We’re coming up on the breakaway point!” Grimes advised.

“I’m on it!” Veltin called back.

At a prearranged point,
Ulysses
broke completely free of the upper atmosphere and set off in pursuit of the fleeing shuttle. At once the assault shuttles following them accelerated towards the customs vessel. Those in higher orbit, shadowing them, moved to block their course.

Rames had to admit, it was all going as planned. The Imperial vessels were nothing if not predictable.

With the way ahead blocked and four assault shuttles closing from behind it looked quite bleak for the cutter and its crew.

Just what we want them to think.
Rames smiled.

Ahead of them, there was a bright flash, then a second, and a third.

Grimes laughed in delight from the tactical console. “Hot damn! We got them all! We have a clear run!”

Ahead of them, the hulks of the cruisers and destroyers that had sought to block them drifted powerless as
Ulysses
flew past them. The shuttle had rolled out three of the EMP warheads with remote detonators as they flew away from the planet. They had timed the drops so that the warheads, each travelling as fast as the shuttle had been when it released them, covered the area of space that
Ulysses
would be aiming for. The shuttle had continued accelerating in order to outrun the blast radius of the warheads.
Ulysses
, of course, had been on the other side of the detonations, equally safe.

“Looks like the pursuers fear
we
might have left something in our wake.” Grimes announced. “They are veering off from a direct pursuit, moving to shadow us at a distance again.”

“What about
Artemis
?” Rames asked.

Grimes frowned at his controls. “They are accelerating after us. No chance of an intercept at this range, though. Wait. They just launched torps. Mark fifteen EMP’s, inbound!”

“Time to intercept?” Rames demanded.

“At this range, even they can’t catch us, unless we screw up badly on the shuttle recovery.” Grimes breathed a sigh of relief.

With the capital ships and their shuttles dead in space, the shuttle slowed, allowing the cutter to catch up to it. The recovery wasn’t perfect, but it was more than good enough for their needs.

“Shuttle aboard and secured.” Marten told them once the procedure was completed.

“Outstanding!” Rames grinned. “Mr. Veltin. She’s all yours! Get us out of here!”

Veltin grinned and turned in his seat. “He, captain.
Ulysses
is a he!”

Rames nodded tolerantly. “As you wish, just get us out of here.”

Veltin nodded and turned back to the helm.

With the torpedoes so far behind them there were no threats to worry about. A couple more capital ships flashed into being in Martian orbit, but they were latecomers to the party which had now moved well away from the planet.

“Coming up on the L1 point in twenty seconds.” Veltin announced.

The L1, or Lagrange 1, point was a point in space directly between the Sun and Mars where the respective gravitational forces balanced out. Thus, it made an ideal impromptu Skip point.

“Captain?” Marten Janes looked somber at comms.

“What’s up, son?” Rames could tell from the man’s look that he wasn’t going to like what he was about to hear.

“Major Harvan reports the team’s mission was a failure. Also, there were casualties and MIA’s.”

Rames felt his heart sink. “Hamilton?”

Marten shook his head.

Rames looked away.

Hamilton was gone?

He could scarcely believe it. The man had more luck than any ten men had a right to. Without him, their chances of success against Walsh and his kind seemed a great deal less probable.

What are we supposed to do now?
He wondered bleakly.

Ulysses
reached the L1 point and Skipped away amid a blaze of exotic particles.

EPILOG

The area around the Thor strike point was still thick with dust and heat.

Well, it has only been fifteen minutes since I ordered the strike
. Philips thought.

Time was of the essence, too. The strike had not obliterated the fugitives, as he had intended. Something had tipped them off. They had stopped dead on the road. Had they continued driving, they would have been vaporized along with the tungsten rod and hundreds of tons of Martian rock and dirt.

Behind him, his shuttle was like nothing the military had available to them. It was compact and sleek but its lines owed nothing to any human technological design.

“Over there!” One of his two assistants pointed.

Philips already knew where the AFV was, but it was a courtesy to nod at the man and say thanks. His other assistant stayed inside the shuttle, keeping everything running. Again, that was a conceit he allowed the man. The ship was always moments away from being ready. It required no one to “keep an eye” on it. A simple mental command on his part would have it ready by the time he returned to it.

He set off towards the wreckage of the AFV. The military would not be here yet. They would wait for at least half an hour before committing men and craft to the area. Which gave him less than fifteen to accomplish his mission and be away.

At the AFV, he quickly discovered the old man’s body. There were signs of other violence in the crew and passenger compartments. Others had been hurt here, but had escaped, or been removed, by the other shuttle.

Finding the old man was both a relief and a problem. He was relieved the man was clearly dead. Walsh would gain no secrets from him. At the same time, he was concerned. Walsh was a lot more cunning than he appeared. It was possible he had some method for extracting information from even a dead brain.

It would have been better had the man survived and escaped with the others than to be left here as a corpse.

But they never would have escaped if not for the Thor javelin.
He reminded himself. Walsh had targeted the shuttle early on during its descent. Had the Thor spear not blanketed the area in sensor confusing debris, it would never have made it to the surface. Walsh would have then merely waited until the fugitives ran out of fuel, then sent in the troops.

Philips frowned and drew a pistol from his belt. It was pale white and looked like it belonged in the hand of something that wasn’t entirely human. He touched a couple of studs on the top of it and the muzzle physically changed shape. He pointed it at the old man.

For a long time he held the man under the gun, debating internally with himself.

“Sir! Look there!” His assistant said.

Philips looked in the indicated direction. A hundred yards or so away were the remains of the gunship. There was too much dust just at that moment to see what this man had observed, so he adjusted his optics to a different spectrum.

Interesting
.

He looked back at the old man. He had continued to aim at him, even though he had been looking elsewhere. A moment more internal debate, then he put the pistol away.

“Davin, cut off the old man’s head and return it to the shuttle. Put it in a stasis box.”

Davin frowned. “Sir?”

“You understand? Cut off. As in sever or remove. Just the head. The rest is useless.”

Davin nodded. “Of course. I’ll see to it right away.”

Philips didn’t waste any more time on discourse. He strode over to the gunship wreckage.

There were two people at the wreckage. A male and a female. The man was clearly dead, the female wounded.

As he approached, she looked up, her blonde her filthy and her face tear-streaked.

“Please!” She begged. “Help him.”

Information spooled across his sight, identifying the pair. The woman was of little concern but the man was someone who had annoyed Walsh considerably.

I consigned him to his death
. Philips thought.
I ordered the strike.

It was of some concern to him that such a thorn in Walsh’s side had died by his hand. True, the man was just a man. But Walsh hated him with a passion, it seemed. That alone almost made him an ally to Philips.

“Please!” The female repeated. He looked down at her.

Humans were such frail things.
He thought.
It was a wonder they had survived this long. And they had such a propensity for violence, too.

The man was dead, but did Walsh know that? If not then there was mileage in keeping Walsh in the dark. The uncertainty would eat at him.

If he thinks the man escaped with the others….

“I will have him removed from this place and taken away.” Philips told her.

“Thank you!” The female sobbed. “Thank you!”

He was not the only one to oppose Walsh’s mad schemes and Walsh already knew there were those who opposed him. But he did not know who they were. It was a game of cat and mouse, as the humans might say, between him and his opponents.

Perhaps I should have helped these humans
. Philips wondered. The man lying dead in the flyer had been resourceful and cunning. With appropriate backing, he might have been more than just a thorn in Walsh’s side.

Philips glanced back at the man’s body, considering. There were other things he might do with the situation. Other avenues to explore. He knew little of human physiology but there were those who did.

Yes, there was a great deal yet to be done
.