“Not a chance,” Kern stated, flatly. “I’m taking us back up. I say we shoot for the sky and take our chances.”
“Without shields, a few more of these hits and we won’t be going anywhere,” Jarred argued.
“Do you have a better idea?” Kern asked.
Jarred’s eyes locked on to something up ahead in the distance and he quickly glanced back down at his sensor display, checking their pursuer’s current proximity. “I do,” he answered, pointing out the front viewport. “See that tram tunnel straight ahead?”
After a quick scan, Kern called back. “Yeah, I see it.”
“When we get close, break off hard from the runners and take us inside.”
“It’ll be tight,” Kern answered, seeming to have caught on to his plan.
“No doubt,” Jarred replied, as they rapidly approached the tunnel entrance. He pulled up the ship systems he would need to access in only moments, if the maneuver worked. “Once we’re in, cut the thrusters.”
Kern didn’t answer, looking completely focused on his task. Jarred began to feel a bit nervous as they were nearly on top of the tunnel entrance and they hadn’t begun to reduce their speed. He was about to speak when Kern suddenly reversed the thrusters, nearly tearing everyone from their seat restraints, leaving the ship to hover, momentarily in mid air, before dropping them straight down into the mouth of the tunnel.
Not bothering to catch the breath knocked from his chest, Jarred immediately shut down the engines, along with all unnecessary environmental systems, including internal and outboard lighting, which left the flight deck in darkness. Hopefully, their close proximity to the cargo runners would have resulted in them registering as only a single blip on a sensor readout. If so, the sudden break from the pair, along with the near complete power shutdown of all ship systems, would allow them to go unnoticed by their pursuers, who would pass right over. It wouldn’t take long for them to catch on to their disappearance, but by then they would be long gone.
As everyone gazed up through the top of the front viewport in silence, the group of patrol and assault craft finally shot past. The entire flight deck seemed to breath out at once.
Jarred pulled the viewscreen settings up on his control console, switching the viewport filter to infrared. It would allow them to see the dark tunnel ahead without flooding it with the ship’s outboard lights and possibly giving their position away.
“Take us in,” he directed Kern. “Repulser power only to keep our energy signature low.”
“Any idea where we’re going?” Kern asked, pointing their nose down into the tunnel and engaging the rear repulsers to send them moving forward.
Jarred was already bringing the city grid layout up in front of him. Locating their current position, he traced the tram tunnel’s path. “Stay on this main artery. It takes us clear across the city before opening up again. The lockdown would have included the tram systems, so we shouldn’t run into anything.”
“Here’s for hoping,” Kern replied, sounding less than convinced. After the day they’d had, Jarred could sympathize with him.
* * *
It took nearly an hour to cross the hundred kilometer long segment of subterranean tunnel at repulser speed, the time passing in almost utter silence. Jarred had closely monitored the sensor display during that time, picking up the occasional blip of a passing vessel as they covered the distance, the tension on the flight deck rising with each occurrence. But each time, the blips had continued on until disappearing out of range, their presence in the passage having gone undetected.
The sensors weren’t reading anything in their vicinity as they finally approached the tunnel opening. The coast appeared to be clear. Not wasting any time, Jarred brought all systems back online, allowing Kern to engage the thrusters and send them rocketing out of the tunnel, accelerating up and away from Trycon. A quick sweep with the sensors showed him that no one was following. He maintained a close watch for another five minutes before feeling certain that no one would be.
“I think we’re clear,” he said finally. “Anyone have any ideas on where to go from here?”
“I hear Raxis is nice this time of year,” Kern suggested. “Warm weather, sandy beaches.”
“I was thinking somewhere a little more local,” Jarred replied, running a systems diagnostic. “We have a couple of good sized hull breaches. Even if we didn’t lose cabin pressure once we entered vacuum, which we would, the drive unit took a bit of beating back there. We’ll be a dead fish in water if we don’t see about some repairs soon.”
“There aren’t many spaceports on Solta outside of Trycon’s limits,” Sierra spoke up, “and Durak will be watching all of them.”
“Well, we’re going to have to put down somewhere,” Jarred concluded.
“I know of a place.” Orna’s gentle voice came from the rear of the flight deck, catching everyone’s attention. “It is well hidden and your ship can be repaired there. We would be safe from those who search for us.”
Jarred raised a brow at Sierra, who shrugged in return. How would Orna know of a safe harbor that any of them didn’t, on this world or any other? The revelation didn’t totally surprise him, as he was beginning to grow accustomed to her frequent unexpected insights.
“Sounds good to me,” Kern blurted. “Where am I going?”
“South,” Orna answered. “Into the mountains.”
* * *
Shu’ma was . . . displeased.
It wasn’t necessary for Rho’uk to look at him to see this. His mouth would be curled into a teeth baring snarl and eyes ablaze with fury, burning holes into whatever they glared upon. His posture would be rigid, every muscle tensed, like a predator preparing to strike at its prey. Standing next to his commander and long time comrade, he knew these things without having to glance over his shoulder to see them. At this moment, it was enough to see the fear reflected in the faces of the security team that were the current subjects of that displeasure.
Durak’s expression had remained unchanged since arriving at the docking port, his own face locked in a permanent grimace, conveying his own barely contained rage. He resented their presence here and made no attempts to hide his feelings on the matter. Charged with directing the Sect’s colossal military engine, the High Commander would not be accustomed to this sort of oversight, or having his powers usurped by another. His apparent inability to capture their quarry was visibly and understandably frustrating him, but having to bare Shu’ma’s public scoldings for that shortcoming appeared to be testing the limits of his restraint.
Rho’uk knew as well, that Shu’ma’s displeasure was also directed at him. For
his
failure. His warriors were slain and he had been bested by, what the majority of his people considered to be, a lesser being. As a race told to have been created in the image of a War God, they arrogantly believed this to be true of all other beings. He dismissed that petty, self indulgence. To underestimate any opponent was a weakness. His father had taught him as much. It was that lesson, he believed, which was the reason he was standing here now. Though, death may have proven the less shameful outcome to returning as he had.
The human he encountered had fought unlike any warrior he had ever faced in single combat, and with a skill beyond what he would have expected from a member of the species. Though Rho’uk had not fallen, neither had he been the victor. There could be no middle ground in battle. No stalemates. A warrior defeated his enemy or was defeated by him. Anything short of that complete victory was failure. This was the Rai Chi way.
Yet, his shame was not all consuming, though he appropriately portrayed it to be. Instead, he found himself intrigued by the recent confrontation, his mind drifting back into the battle. It wasn’t often that a warrior of his caliber was so fully challenged to the limits of his ability. The fact that his opponent had been a human only served to compound his interest. While living, his father had held a quiet respect for the species. Though they displayed many of the common traits that weakened most races, he had seen the potential for greatness in their spirit. They had the ability to inspire one another and collectively rise up to face the challenges of adversity. Rho’uk supposed this was what had allowed them to return from the brink of their own near extinction, spreading themselves across the worlds of this system and growing into what was now its most visible majority.
The sound of Shu’ma’s hostile voice brought Rho’uk out of his thoughts as he finally began to speak.
“Which unworthy
kut’spa
ranks highest amongst you?”
The confused reactions of the security team, at which his question had been directed, was expected. Most beings would have never been face to face with a Rai Chi and few that had would have lived to speak of it. Even fewer would have ever heard their ancient dialect uttered, let alone comprehend its meaning.
The mechanical interpreting creation, standing off to one side of and between Shu’ma and the security officers, repeated the demand in TradeSpeak, the universally spoken language of commerce in the system. It’s politely spoken interpretation would not carry the full insult that was intended, as most Rai Chi curses could not be properly translated.
A blue skinned Rendorian stepped forward from the group of nervous security officers and began to speak an acknowledgment. In a swift motion, Shu’ma elongated the blade of the kul’ruuk gauntlet attached to his forearm and beheaded him before he could finish his sentence, receiving a collective gasp from the remaining officers as his severed head rolled across the deck at their feet.
The ensuing silence hung for a long moment, like a stale fog in the air, before Shu’ma took a step forward towards the visibly horrified security team. Durak’s troop squads now looked on from their scattered positions around the bay with obvious interest. He wanted everyone’s attention. The single, brutal action ensured that he would have it.
“The Gods do not tolerate weakness,” he began, slowly. “And neither will I. Let this serve as a warning. The penalty for incompetence . . . is your life.”
The mechanical interpreter had barely completed its translation when the remaining half of their warriors leapt forward from behind Rho’uk, at a gesture from Shu’ma, cutting down what was left of the security team before any of them could release more than a few muffled gasps of pain.
Though his gaze was still working over the platoon of startled soldiers around him, Rho’uk knew that Shu’ma’s warning had not been directed solely at them. He suspected that the High Commander had also caught the true meaning of the veiled threat. It was not unexpected. Shu’ma hadn’t kept his feelings of displeasure hidden from either of them. Normally, it would have been ill advised for even such a seasoned warrior as Shu’ma to so obviously threaten someone of Durak’s stature and military power. Many highly placed Sect bureaucrats had met their ends at his hands for far less. He held command over, as well as the respect and admiration, of all branches of the Sect’s great war machine. Though bound by duty to the Dominion, the soldiers’ loyalty was to him. They fought for and followed their High Commander.
But, Durak himself was bound to something much larger than all of those things. Before his army or the Dominion. He was devout in his loyalty to the Gods and it was for this reason that Shu’ma could say what he wished without backlash. Durak would not disobey or question what he took to be the wishes of the Gods and therefore, he would bare the insult.
An officer approached Durak from across the floor and saluted, looking noticeably uncomfortable as the High Commander finally forced his glare, with obvious effort, from Shu’ma to rest on him. His voice was a harsh growl as he ordered him to speak.
“Sir,” the mechanical translator began, rendering the officer’s words into Usan as he spoke, “the port security feeds have been retrieved from Trycon’s databanks and are ready for your viewing.”
The interruption was a welcome one, as Rho’uk was beginning to feel that, Gods or no Gods, Durak was on the verge of losing his composure. A direct, and possibly physical, confrontation between Shu’ma and the High Commander, or any of either rival’s followers, would have severe consequences for everyone involved, and would only serve to hinder their mission’s progress. Whether or not any of them were pleased with the current arrangement, some kind of common ground would need to be found, or they would fail in their mandate. The officer’s news served as an obvious reminder of what they were here for, and brought both Shu’ma and Durak out of their personal feud for a moment.
Following the officer, they proceeded to the bay’s upper control room where a number of the local security personnel, being overseen by Dominion troops, worked the various control stations. They were led to one of the stations with a large wall mounted display screen that was divided into multiple sections, all displaying different frozen views of the dock below. Once they had all gathered around the display, the officer directed the station operator to proceed.
The frozen images began to play forward as the officer spoke over them. “The assailants attempted to erase all video recordings of their escape. Luckily, all security feeds are streamed to a central database at TrySec headquarters. It took some time to locate the proper time line recording file for this dock, but we’ve been successful.”