Outriders Page 32

  “Ha!” Rinko uttered in triumph. “Didn’t get us killed. I was afraid the truck would zero in on our location instead.”

  Taylor wiped moisture streaming from his eyes amid airborne particulates and lurched upright. “At least I wouldn’t have survived to lecture you.”

  “Security guards are recovering from the impact and still lurking,” Tessa announced. “Give them another half minute and even those dimwits will find us.”

  Taylor’s comm chirped and he heard Kyla’s voice in one ear. “Coming at you from the southwest.”

  “Cavalry’s here,” Taylor declared. “Southwest side. Get ready to hustle.”

  He thumped against a water pump, its surface cool to the touch even through his clothing, and waited for the first relieving glimpse of their escape vehicle. A roomy airspeeder, one marketed for families with rambunctious children who needed additional space, heaved toward the building and jerked to a whirling halt with one side hanging over the roof. Its passenger door slid open to reveal Kyla leaning out with an assault rifle cradled in her arms.

  Taylor shoved the others out from their hiding nook and sprinted for sanctuary in the newly arrived airspeeder. Startled cries of discovery sounded from the security guards and Taylor heard the telltale discharge of handguns. Framed by burning wreckage and bathed in a sallow orange glow, Taylor charged across the rooftop as bullets spewed over his head.

  Kyla shifted her stance and raised the weapon to fire, its muzzle flashing white and showering the vicinity with indiscriminate carnage. Taylor glanced over one shoulder in full stride and saw security guards break off their attack and dive for cover behind the nearest obstacles. Kyla continued to rain gunfire in their direction, causing surfaces to crackle and spark with bullet strikes.

  The four infiltrators leapt through the yawning door and collided in a heap of entangled limbs. Kyla sealed the door and Taylor’s stomach somersaulted when the airspeeder pitched into a sharp dive away from the hotel with Reyes at the wheel. Taylor bowled over Harun and felt Rinko’s knee thump into his chest while Kyla casually braced herself using overhead handles. Finally Reyes leveled their vehicle and slipped into a skylane below.

  Taylor groaned and felt Tessa pound her elbow into his ribcage, dislodging him from their jumbled pile. He rolled aside, wiped grime from his forehead and looked upward to find Kyla staring down at him with the assault rifle propped on her shoulder.

  “Hey.”

  Taylor grimaced and struggled into a crouched position. “Since when were you able to find a goddamn weapon?”

  “Never did,” she responded. “This one’s a fake meant to be used as a prop gun. Fires harmless pellets that burst on impact like tame firecrackers. Makes a hell of a noise though. Those security guards will feel awful silly when they stagger upright and notice there aren’t any bullet holes in the vicinity. Think I might’ve even clipped one before he wised up and dropped to the roof. He’ll feel duped worst of all.”

  “You fired pretty lights against all those armed guards trying to kill us?”

  Kyla spread her lips in a cheerful though oddly cruel smile. “You know I did. Perception and grandstanding count for more than actual resources. Plus they’re hotel security. How bright can they be?”

  “Evidently not very.”

  Kyla stepped over Taylor’s prone figure and reached down to help Rinko onto her feet. “After all that, please tell me you got what we needed.”

  “I got everything,” Rinko answered. “Every last repugnant detail Vanderlin didn’t want the public to learn.”

  “And I stole a painting,” Taylor proudly said.

  “Our objectives changed, I see,” replied Kyla. “Well, just so long as no one came home empty-handed.”

  Chapter 23

  Clara gripped the steering wheel of her borrowed airspeeder, currently parked at ground level outside a café, and stared down the boulevard. Civilians wandered past with drinks in hand, though Clara’s attention was focused on the military facility at the avenue’s end. The base was part of a Confederacy armed forces division called STRAFE Command, the Strategic Reserve Aerial Force responsible for policing certain worlds designated non-essential or deemed peaceful. Since Thoth was in the heart of a stable system and did not contain valuable military targets, STRAFE held responsibility for its defense rather than the Ascendant Starfleet or Army.

  Though official numbers were classified, she could reliably estimate the staff of this facility based on her own experience with armed forces installations, and did not expect more than around one hundred to be stationed here. Located in the heart of a modest city called Senusret several hours to the west of Heliopolis, this garrison held a small complement of troops and four Stiletto-class interceptors to counter atmospheric violations. Clara intended to commandeer one of those starfighters.

  She regretted abandoning the Solar Flare and its crew without speaking a word to anyone, even knowing this mission was mandatory. After Alexis shared the truth about her friends and comrades, after learning Triaxus was responsible for slaughtering her squadron, she could no longer envision another path. Determining who was guilty of orchestrating this war meant little to her, not if she was unable to exact her own retribution. She could not achieve that purpose without a machine built for war, and the Confederacy possessed the deadliest weapons.

  Having manually disabled her airspeeder’s braking system and automated anti-collision detection software, while carefully leaving all other functions intact, she now controlled an improvised torpedo. Though the strategy was undoubtedly a reckless one, it also happened to be the likeliest way to enter the facility with minimal preparation and recon.

  She only hoped Confederacy protocol did not instruct soldiers to open fire on a civilian vehicle approaching the installation without authorization.

  Clara brought the airspeeder online and shifted into traffic, weaving between trucks and models similar to her own. She accelerated, slipped into the center lane and cruised on a trajectory pointed straight at the military base’s front gate, maintaining a modest speed for the sake of her own safety. Snapping her neck on impact was to be avoided if possible.

  She tore through an intersection less than a hundred yards from the facility’s walls, twisted her face into an appropriately terrified expression, and hurtled toward the front gate without veering off course. Guards stationed outside scrambled in front of the onrushing vehicle, screaming instructions and waving their hands as if the driver might possibly have failed to notice the looming installation. With their frantic warnings ignored, the sentries dived aside as Clara struck the gate.

  Even bracing for impact, the strike hurt something awful. She slammed forward and whipped her neck before the airspeeder deployed collision safety features and its gravitic decelerator cushioned her body, holding Clara in place while the vehicle crumpled against the gate. Acting was barely required, since genuine pain rippled through her limbs as the protective cocoon dissipated.

  Knowing the guards would be climbing to their feet and watching her, Clara widened her eyes and gripped the bent steering wheel in white-knuckled hands, all while gibbering unintelligibly. Two sentries appeared in front of the idle, broken vehicle, each grasping a drawn weapon and creeping closer. Clara hoped each man kept the safety features enabled, or at least set the ammunition to an incapacitating variety.

  She spoke in abrupt, sobbing whispers as they reached her and opened the unlocked driver side door. “I’m sorry…so sorry…I didn’t mean…”

  One surveyed the scene, jumped to conclusions as she hoped he would, and holstered his weapon. “Are you okay, ma’am? Are you hurt?”

  “I pressed – my foot hit the pedal – It wouldn’t –”

  “Doesn’t look as though she was injured,” one guard remarked. “Try to find out who she is.”

  The other man leaned into the airspeeder and tried to get Clara to focus on him. “Ma’am, can you hear me? I need to see your identification.”

  “I tried braking
– I tried—”

  “Do you have ID on you? I need—”

  “It wouldn’t respond!” Clara hollered.

  “Damn it to hell.”

  “She’s in shock,” the other guard affirmed. “We aren’t getting any answers from her until she recovers. Just bring her inside.”

  “I can’t do that until I see her identification.”

  “Well we don’t have the authority to forcibly search her belongings, and she isn’t responding. So either you take her inside until she calms down, or keep giving her instructions out here that she doesn’t understand. I’m sure you’re close to a breakthrough. Just repeat your instructions for the seventh time and she’ll snap out of it.”

  “Shup up and file the report.” The guard redirected his irritated gaze to Clara as she continued babbling and feigning confusion. “I’m taking you inside the facility for questioning, ma’am. Do you understand?”

  “—hadn’t renewed my insurance after the claim from an earlier accident.”

  “I’m interpreting that as a yes.”

  He reached for her wrist, helped Clara exit the vehicle and guided her through the gate in an unexpectedly gentle manner. Clara almost expected him to march her in at gunpoint, but this was a moderate garrison in a quiet city. Annoyed at his current duty or not, he was softened from this posting.

  Clara played along while he entered the nearest building and escorted her down a corridor, occasionally passing another staff member who either nodded or ignored him entirely.

  “You haven’t been charged with a crime, ma’am. We’re only holding you until we can verify whether you’re innocent or guilty of wrongdoing. If your little incident was an unfortunate accident or the result of negligence, you’ll likely be released. But we can’t question you while in this state, which means I’m finding you a nice place to recover. Maybe we can find a doctor or psychiatrist if you need medical attention.” The guard directed her toward an empty conference room and pulled a chair away from the table. “Wish I knew what to say to make you feel better, but I’m not much for comforting words. You can wait in here until you’re ready to explain what happened outside. There aren’t any cameras, so it’s private. In case you’re feeling overwhelmed or something. I’ll bring you water in a few minutes.”

  He shook his head, turned to walk away and uttered an anguished exhalation. “I don’t even know why I’m bothering. You don’t understand a damn word I’m saying.”

  “I understand you perfectly well, Private.”

  He halted in midstride and faced her wearing a befuddled expression, one hand reaching for a holstered sidearm. Clara pivoted and hammered one fist into his throat, sweeping her leg between his and pitching him off balance while he fumbled to breathe. The guard toppled backward with Clara’s knee on his chest and one hand clamped over his mouth. She wrenched his biometrics-coded handgun from its holster and tossed the useless weapon beyond the man’s reach.

  Clara walloped his head against the floor and leaned closer until her face filled his entire vision. “Where’s your hangar?”

  Stifled sobs greeted her inquiry and his red eyes moistened while he choked and sputtered.

  “Christ, I didn’t strike you that hard,” she hissed. “Calm yourself and inhale shallow breaths through your nose. Can you do that? Yes, just like that.”

  She allowed the flustered and panicking guard to steady his breathing, though continued pinning him to the floor. “I’ll ask this question once more. Where is your hangar?”

  “You…you can’t—”

  “This is a simple scenario, Private. If you don’t tell me what I want, I’ll have to kill you. Not my preferred choice, but a necessary course. So if you choose to be stubborn, you die and then I go interrogate one of your colleagues. Your defiance will only slow me down briefly and you’ll have thrown your life away for nothing. On the other hand, if you’re cooperative you get to live and no one else is placed in danger. Don’t play the hero today, soldier.”

  He wheezed for breath between her rigid fingers. “Building…HA-06. Connected to this…this one via tunnel U14.”

  “Are flight suits and equipment kept in the hangar as well?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Thank you, Private. Your help was invaluable.”

  Clara let her knee slip from the guard’s chest onto his throat and rendered him unconscious by applying pressure. He pawed and slapped at her leg as oxygen was deprived from his brain, an instinctive reaction when faced with strangulation which she did not hold against him. Clara released his throat, made certain he continued to breathe in a normal rhythm and unbuttoned the overcoat she wore to reveal her own military fatigues. With the rank insignia and Elathan Starfighter Command emblem removed, the garment resembled typical clothing worn by off duty pilots from any navy or armed force.

  Kneeling alongside the unconscious man, she unbuckled his belted holster, strapped it around her own waist and collected the guard’s handgun. Though useless in her hand, Clara needed to play the appropriate role. Next she retrieved the guard’s identification card and vacated the room, closing the door behind her.

  She pinned his identification to her belt and turned the card around so his photo faced inward and rested against her hip. If she could avoid close scrutiny and unnecessary conversations, Clara should be able to pass through the base unhindered, provided she avoided suspicious behavior.

  Clara chose a direction and moved through the hallway at a brisk pace, as though someone given an important task who was unable to waste time speaking with others. A woman with the rank of corporal on her sleeve exited a chamber as Clara strode past and scarcely even paid her any attention. After several random turns, Clara finally found directions to tunnel U14 and felt relief flood her anxious stomach. She had noticed several cameras positioned throughout the facility already and knew automated facial recognition software would eventually identify her as unknown. Her time was limited.

  She approached an unstaffed security checkpoint, inserted her stolen keycard and walked through when the doors unlocked. Assuming standard security procedures were in effect at this installation, the guard’s location and card swipes would be logged and trigger an internal investigation if his route deviated too far from standard assignments. She needed to reach the hangar within the next few minutes or face the repercussions from an internal alert. At least a minor base such as this rarely featured biometric scanning at each entryway.

  Clara found the access corridor leading to the facility’s hangar without further incident, passed two other base personnel during the walk and entered the hangar by using her keycard for the second time. Since some leeway was necessary, she estimated two uses was the limit before security examined why an entrance guard abandoned his post.

  Entering the hangar, Clara saw four powered down Stilettos on the landing pad beneath a retractable roof. Painted jet black with dual white stripes slashing across the dagger-like fuselage, the sleek interceptors featured outthrusting wings on each side that tilted upward at an angle. Plasma batteries crowned the wingtips.

  These starfighters fulfilled a strictly emergency response role, which meant protocol mandated each one be fuelled, armed and ready to fly at any given time. She paced beyond cylinders of coolant and disarmed missile racks and found lockers with flight suits following a brief search.

  A technician ignored her as he wandered past consulting a tablet and Clara reached the lockers. She dumped her now useless boots, unclipped the keycard and weapon holster and tossed them on a bench before withdrawing a uniform and pulling the suit up to her waist over the fatigues. The material was designed to fit most individuals and felt adequately comfortable.

  “Pilot?”

  Clara turned around with the flight suit only halfway on and found herself facing a woman holding a tablet and wearing the triple-chevron insignia of a warrant officer on her shoulders.

  “I don’t recognize you.”

  Clara snapped a formal salute and straightened. “Pi
lot Officer Aylett reporting for duty, ma’am.”

  “I received no notification of a transfer.” The woman caught sight of Clara’s keycard perched on the bench and pointed. “Give me your identification.”

  “Of course, ma’am.”

  Stooping to retrieve her card, Clara approached the warrant officer with one outstretched hand holding identification. As the woman stepped closer and glanced down, Clara lunged for the tablet and smashed its screen into the officer’s chin. She floundered backward with blood dribbling from her mouth and Clara heaved the woman’s head against the nearest locker, knocking her to sprawl over the bench unconscious. Clara dragged the body to an alcove adjacent to the lockers, dumped spare clothing on top and used fabric to wipe a blood smear staining one surface. She finished dressing, sealed the flight suit and collected a helmet, hurrying toward a waiting Stiletto.

  Clara placed the helmet over her head and climbed a ladder positioned beside the starfighter until she reached the cockpit and leapt inside. Her flight suit automatically linked with the shipboard computer and words flashed across her visor:

  AUTHORIZATION AND IDENTIFICATION REQUIRED.

  “I don’t have either.”

  YOU ARE IN VIOLATION OF CONFEDERACY REGULATION 89-N, WHICH PROHIBITS UNAUTHORIZED USERS FROM SUBVERTING OR ATTEMPTING TO ACCESS EQUIPMENT AND VESSELS BELONGING TO A MILITARY DIVISION. PROTOCOLS DEMAND I CONTACT SECURITY. PLEASE REMAIN WHERE YOU ARE SO YOU CAN BE ARRESTED.

  “Don’t. Not yet. Please let me explain and then you can decide what needs to be done. I won’t touch anything unless you give me permission. I’m a starfighter pilot from Elatha on a crucial mission.”