Kella gasped as she got a clear image of the Praetorian from her scanner. The damage was worse than she had feared. Half of its PDEs were leaving trails of gaseous discharge indicating severe damage, and several had been outright destroyed leaving large chunks missing from the swept wings. Moving inward from the wings, Kella also saw ruptures all over the top hull, with long scores of burned metal crisscrossing all over. It looked as if the plane had been in a catfight and lost.
“Gavin,” she called out. “Gavin, can you hear me?”
“Yeah, I read you,” Gavin replied, but sounding distracted.
“I’m nearly there, open up the bay doors,” Kella said evenly as she maneuvered her Scythe onto an intercept course with the upper bay. She wasn’t sure how much damage the plane had internally, but if the outer hull was any indicator, it was ugly.
“Can’t,” Gavin replied. “I’m about to hit the atmospheric boundary. It might be easier for you to make your own entry. I’ll meet you planet-side.”
“Are you sure?” she asked cautiously.
“Yeah,” he said casually. “Your Scythe is capable of reentry on its own. So don’t worry about anything. It might get a little warm, though,” Gavin said, chuckling nervously.
“Gavin,” Kella said earnestly. “You’d better make it. I’ll never forgive you if I lose my ride and you strand me down on that planet.”
“Are you kidding? This landing will be a piece of cake,” he lied. “See you down there, kiddo.” Gavin signed off the channel. Kella watched as the plane pulled away and then vanished from her sensors as the air superheated around the plane. Her visual scanner only showed a fireball disappearing into the atmosphere. The Praetorian was designed to be able to make reentries, even if damaged. Kella only hoped those designs weren’t flawed.
Unable to see anything more of the plane except for a fire trail leading down towards the planet, Kella turned her attention to her own reentry. According to Gavin, her Scythe was capable of making an atmospheric reentry on its own. Kella pulled up the VI interface, and called up the program. Immediately, the little remote avatar popped up on her screen and listed the procedure. To Kella’s amazement, the entire program was automated. All she needed to do was to initiate it.
She hit the large green OK button then sat back in her harness, tightening the straps nearly to the point of cutting off circulation. She watched as the computer took over the controls, and assumed the re-entry procedure. She released her armatures, and the metal-braced gloves floated safely off to the sides. She grabbed the safety handholds and braced herself for the turbulence to come.
Outside, the Scythe was curling up into a fetal position, drawing its knees up and inward and crossing the arms over that. As the air began to heat around the mech, the VI concentrated power to the barrier shields projected by the forearms. With the arms acting as a heat shield, the mech careened through the atmosphere slowing down in the quickly thickening atmosphere.
Three minutes later, Kella grabbed the armature controls in shaking hands. The trip had been a little rougher than she would have liked, but she was safe and sound, and gliding through the sky at a leisurely pace. The Scythe had extended the wings from its backpack right on cue, and with the assistance of the PDE trailing its signature purple spiral, had completed a near-perfect atmospheric reentry.
Sweat rolled into her eye, making her wince. She scrubbed at her eyes with the cuff of her suit, and then mopped her brow. Things had indeed gotten warm as Gavin had warned; only, in reality, it was more like broiling. If there was one thing she disliked about Gavin, it was his tendency to understate things; another item on her list of things to chat with him about.
The computer released the last measure of control back to Kella, and she notched up the power to her PDE. The Scythe accelerated across the sky riding a purple spiral that was easily visible against the dark sky. Falldown was a strange planet of pleasant pressure, gravity, and temperature. Other than the heavy amounts of poisonous gases posing as atmosphere, the planet exhibited all of the traits humans looked for in a possible colony world. According to the rumors, Falldown had originally been intended as a major colony and massive terraformers had been built, but the Military had pulled funding just months into the effort and the entire program had been scrapped. If Kella was lucky, the only ship she’d find would be the Praetorian.
Too bad my luck’s been awful recently, Kella thought to herself as she watched the sensor holodisplay. The Scythe’s scanners looked in every direction for miles, but didn’t pick up any traces of the Praetorian. Kella was sure its entry vector would have put the craft in her general vicinity, but the scanner was telling her otherwise. That left really only two possibilities. She’d mistaken the entry vector, or the plane hadn’t made it.
Deciding not to even consider the second possibility, Kella extended her search pattern and continued well into the night. At last, the scanner’s harsh ping brought Kella around from her doze. She brought up her visual scanner and magnified the area in question. She saw a long strip of plowed earth, and then finally, the massive fantail of the Praetorian sticking out from the jungle. She double-checked its position and then mentally berated herself. She’d been way off on the entry vector. What the heck was wrong with her?
Clicking off autopilot, Kella swooped down for a closer look and breathed a sigh of relief as she discovered the plane was resting on its landing gear, having made a safe landing. The ground, being muddy from the tropical rains, had not taken the weight of the massive plane and the Praetorian had carved long troughs through the mud. Still, it was a miracle the plane had survived at all. As Kella made a quick pass over the Praetorian, it was obvious that the ship would not be able to fly again without serious repairs.
She quickly opened a channel. “Gavin, can you hear me?”
Kella winced as static erupted across the channel. She quickly dialed down the volume and tried again. “Gavin, do you read?”
“Kella…” a voice whispered, partially clouded by static. A chill ran up her spine at the pain flooding the familiar voice.
Hughes awoke with a start. He was cold, his body ached, and he was on the floor. What the heck happened? Hughes tried to remember. The Praetorian had engaged in combat with an unknown opponent. That much had been certain by the violent maneuvers and loud booms that had reverberated through the hull. Finally, there had been a huge explosion causing the whole plane to buck, and the bulkhead in the cell next to his exploded inward. Hughes had known instantly that his men in the adjacent cell had died, unable to escape from the explosion, but he wasn’t given a chance to dwell on it. That same explosion had flung him across his cell rendering him unconscious. He was lucky to be alive at all.
Hughes slowly picked himself up from the floor. The chronometer on the wall across from the cells informed him that he’d been out for a little less than an hour. Shakily, he called for his men in the next cell over, but as he expected, they didn’t respond. The battle was apparently over, but who had attacked?
From down below, it had been hard to tell, but Hughes had a rankling suspicion that the Praetorian had not initiated the attack. Could it have been the Gladius? That was a large possibility, but that would mean Deckert had proceeded to Phase Two which was beyond his authority. Hughes couldn’t see the man doing such a thing. So if it wasn’t the Gladius, who was it? Hughes highly doubted that another Military ship had come hunting, but it was possible. But whoever it had been, it was obvious the Praetorian was the victor as he was still among the living. The thought didn’t sit well with him. In fact, Hughes had been highly uncomfortable with the entire situation since Tal Rho’an.
Hughes shook his head. His priorities were becoming muddled. He needed to concentrate on his mission. He needed to bring the Praetorian back to Colonel Davenport on Dulabar. Once that was done, he would have his promotion and be back on track with his life. That was all there was to it, it was just that simple.
Or was it? What about the man in the belly of the beast? What was his name? Gavin Cross? That man and his particular situation had not been in Hughes’ original plans. The female mercenary had been more in line with his expectations, but the other… That man’s situation bothered Hughes; like a small splinter he just couldn’t seem to work loose. To be honest, in Hughes’ opinion, the man named Gavin Cross was a slave.
No matter which way Hughes looked at it, Gavin was a slave to the plane, and therefore to the Military. The Military would deny such a thing, he knew. Slavery had been outlawed for eons, only practiced by the most powerful of crime syndicates, and the Military would never be caught in such a scandal. But no matter what the Military called it, or how they justified it, Hughes knew it for what it was.
That piece of gleaned information explained every action Gavin had taken to date. The man was rebelling against his fate, and Hughes could understand that. But was that reason alone enough justification for Gavin’s actions? Was that reason alone enough for Hughes to capture him and return him to the Military? Was that enough reason to have ignited this confrontation? Hughes shook his head. He didn’t know. What Hughes did know was that he was capable of a lot of things, but slavery was not one of them. He was not a slaver, and would never allow himself to become involved in that ugly profession. Still, the contradiction between his duty and his own moral code battled in Hughes’ mind.
Hughes suddenly looked up from his pacing. His choices were horrifyingly simple, he realized with a start. He could either live with the personal shame of condemning a man into slavery, regardless of what it was called, or he could betray his government and turn his back on his duty and everything else. Hughes shook his head in frustration and he began pacing around his broken cell again. What was he supposed to do? Betray himself, or his country? When the hell had things slipped from his control? Had he ever been in control, or had that just been some illusion cast by Davenport?
Hughes held no love for that man, and realized that there was a very large possibility he was being used by him. And that would add up. Too many things had not made sense from the beginning: the sudden, frantic chase to capture the stolen Praetorian; the amazing skills of the thieves; the sudden convenient appearance of the Gladius – the perfect ship to hunt the missing Praetorian; and finally, the second Phase of the operation. He’d never quite understood that part. He’d originally just chalked it up to Military paranoia, but Phase Two was just a tad extreme for Hughes’ liking.
Hughes had been a career Military man from the start. He knew the score. He knew standard operating procedure. He’d served with distinction and poured every effort into his service to the state. But how had he been rewarded? By the wily manipulation of a paranoid soon-to-be-retired Admiral that didn’t like his attitude. He knew firsthand what the Military was capable of doing; and even more so when obstacles hindered their progress. Hughes looked back despairingly on everything he’d done with his life and came back dissatisfied.
Frustrated and hurting, Hughes continued pacing around his cell. He went over the contradiction and his choices over and over again, but didn’t want to make a decision. If he made a decision, he would be committed and would act, accepting the consequences of those acts. Knowing that, and even though he didn’t want to, Hughes, to his great irritation, already knew his answer. He even knew why he made it, and his reasoning angered him.
In his anger, he lashed out with his fists and pounded on the cell door. It fell forward with a snapping of metal. Shocked, Hughes watched it fall, his fists still raised. Slowly, he inched forward and gingerly looked around. No alarms sounded and everything remained quiet.
Needing to know, he quietly checked the next cell. The damage was far worse than he thought. The explosion had ripped through the bulkhead behind the cell and had destroyed the anchor for the cell doors. Anything that had been in the cell had been obliterated. Hughes bowed his head in silence for his men for a moment, and then walked from the cell. He’d made his decision. Now it was time to act.
Kella brought her Scythe to a peaceful stop in the top bay, belying the turmoil of fears gnawing at her mind. She looked around briefly and noted that there didn’t seem to be any damage in the bay itself. That was a hopeful sign. She activated the remote signal and closed the bay doors above her and she popped the hatch on the Scythe. The cowling moved upwards and out, revealing the hatch behind the armor and Kella hopped out.
She quickly repelled down the cable ladder and touched down in the bay. She called out to Gavin, but there was no response. Her gut tightened with anxiety. Had something happened to him? He’d said the AI Core was the safest place in the ship, but why wasn’t he responding? Why had he been in such pain? With her imagination showing her awful possibilities, she quickly made for the lower decks. She stopped only briefly in the lounge to grab a medpak, although she wasn’t sure how useful it would be.
She noted, as she walked down the stairwells to the lower levels, that damage ranged anywhere from light to moderate. She’d managed to connect to one of the Praetorian sub-VIs via her d-com and was reading the damage reports as she went. Several charge relay boxes had blown out, and there had even been signs of a hull breach near the brig, according to her VI link-up. She’d worry about that later. Her first priority was Gavin. The VIs didn’t mention anything about the AI Core. She picked up her pace...
And collided with Hughes as he came around a corner at a quick jog. Both were sent reeling, but Kella recovered first. She reached for her blaster only to realize it wasn’t there - it was back on the Scythe where she had left it in her haste. Instead, with nothing else at hand, she chucked the medpak at him, and he took it square in the face. He hadn’t even been expecting it, still recoiling from the collision, and his defenses had been down. He immediately cupped his face grunting in pain.
Kella moved forward to subdue him while he was blinded, but Hughes was ready for her and his hands were quick and strong. He pulled her arm around behind her in a lock and forced her over double. She had no choice but to desist as she felt her arm pop warning. The pain was thick and she grunted as Hughes simply used his weight to keep her pinned.
“That hurt,” he said in a voice thick with blood, somewhere behind her ear. Kella couldn’t see him, but knew his nose was bleeding profusely, hopefully broken.
“You should be glad I didn’t have my blaster,” she snarled.
“Oh believe me, I am,” he agreed, trying to spit out some of the blood running into his mouth. “Tell me, what’s going on?”
“Can’t you tell?” Kella retorted through clenched teeth.
“I was in the brig, remember? No monitors. Ok, look,” he sighed, easing up on the pressure just a fraction. “I just want to know what’s going on.”
“We were attacked. By your friends,” Kella said heavily as she relaxed some. Her arm wasn’t protesting quite so much, but it wasn’t enough for her to break free.
“Not possible,” Hughes said confidently. “They wouldn’t without authorization.”
“Must’ve thought you bought it then,” she said defiantly. “Cause they sure didn’t seem to care.”
Hughes’ mind raced. Had Deckert really given him up for dead? Hughes thought back to the briefing with Davenport. There had been omitted facts, sure - what Military operation didn’t? But still, some things hadn’t added up then, and they definitely didn’t add up now. Hughes had expected as much, but just because this happened to justify his decision all the more didn’t improve his mood one bit. The voices were saying really nasty things, and Hughes didn’t like it. He released his hold.
Immediately, Kella spun out of his reach and adopted a combat stance. Hughes simply held his hands up in surrender.
“What the hell are you doing, Military?” she demanded angrily.
“Surrendering,” he said simply.
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