Stolen Earth, page 28
“Go, go, go!” Lynch said into the comm, setting action to his words as he burst from his crouch and started sprinting toward the airlock. Laurel was on his heels and Federov, for all his size, kept pace easily with them. It took less than fifteen seconds to cross the open space, but Laurel felt each one. This was one of the most dangerous moments, moving across an open field with little but the shroud of darkness and the efficacy of their distraction protecting them from the enemy. One observant guard, one citizen looking the wrong way at the wrong time and with an idea of what to do about it, and their plan would crumble.
No spray of bullets greeted their mad dash and while cries of alarm and sirens were the order of the day for the off-world compound, none of it seemed aimed in their direction. They crashed into the transparent composite of the dome and for a few seconds, they did nothing but pant, struggling to catch their breath after the sprint.
“Bishop,” Lynch said over the comm, “we clear?”
“Far as I can tell, Cap,” came the immediate reply. “The fireworks definitely got a reaction. Most of the buildings that I can see are showing positive pressure seals on their hatches. I’ve got movement, what looks like some kind of emergency response team headed for the far side of the dome, but most of the compound seems to be keeping their heads down.”
“Understood,” Lynch replied. “Getting ready to enter.”
Federov was already at the airlock. He had the access panel open and was working the revealed circuitry. Laurel had read his file; the mercenary wasn’t a technical specialist by any means. He was, however, a spacer. The best security measures in SolComm required someone with the knowledge of Dr. Hayer to bypass, but airlocks were a different story. By law, there were certain overrides that had to be included for safety measures, in the event that a rescue had to be executed on a ship or station. She knew the protocols herself. But they were also common knowledge among the criminal underbelly as airlocks afforded the quickest and most reliable entry for pirates and thieves alike. On ships and stations, these weak spots were reinforced with electronic surveillance and human security. Their own reconnaissance hadn’t shown any human assets in place and whatever surveillance they had was irrelevant; Laurel knew that their raid would be recorded, regardless. The footage making it back into the hands of SolComm was just one more worry in the long list she already had to deal with.
The doors hissed open and Lynch made entry, rifle up and at the ready. Laurel followed, conscious of Federov dropping into the last position in their stack. As she passed through the airlock, the sound of the alarms intensified. Three quick blares followed by a recorded message: “There has been an unexpected breach of the dome. For your own safety, please remain in your homes. The matter is being investigated. Message repeats.” That followed by three more blares and the message again. Her comm was picking up a broadcast as well, over the SolComm standard emergency channel. She didn’t need to activate it to know that it would be the same message as the audible broadcast. It was, however, even more proof that whoever was behind this compound was using SolComm standard-issued equipment and SolComm operating procedures.
They weren’t sprinting now; instead they moved at a steady trot, angling toward the nearest building for cover. Laurel had pulled up an aerial map—courtesy of One—and had it displayed on her visor. Without global positioning satellites or other tracking measures, there was no real-time placement, but the compound wasn’t large enough for that to be necessary. She could monitor their progress based on the few landmarks easily enough.
The compound had four airlocks, one located at each of the cardinal compass points. The building housing the prisoners was located closest to the southern airlock and that is where they had made their entry. The prefab structures at this end of the compound were placed more closely together, in line with what Laurel would expect from a colony. They also had a more utilitarian air about them; not that they looked all that different from the others farther to the north and east, but spend enough time executing raids and serving warrants, and you developed a sense for things. These places didn’t feel like residential buildings, and Laurel trusted her gut. At this hour, industrial and commercial buildings were less likely to be occupied, which gave them an additional measure of cover.
Lynch guided them against the closest wall, keeping low to stay beneath the level of any of the windows and keeping an arm’s distance from the actual structure. Laurel approved. While the cover and protection of the wall would be useful, bullets had a tendency to ricochet and travel down broad flat surfaces and could still be lethal despite being indirect; in this case a little bit of distance was the safer approach. He paused for a moment at the primary door to the structure, verifying that the pressure-seal indicator was lit. That didn’t necessarily prevent anyone from coming out; if the buildings followed the standard SolComm pattern, they would have integrated airlocks. But the green seal would at least give them a few seconds’ warning. When it stayed burning bright and steady, Lynch moved on.
They made their way deeper into the domed compound, closing on the makeshift prison prefab. By Laurel’s estimation, only one more row of buildings separated them from their target. She kept some of her attention on the captain, but most of it was focused toward their right flank, her assigned area of responsibility. If anyone under arms came into her line of sight, it was her job to assess whether they had been seen or would be seen and, if needed, eliminate the threat. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that; even with the allowances for her assignment, she was on shaky legal ground. So far, she hadn’t outright killed anyone, though. Once she crossed that line—and she knew that for the purposes of this mission, she would cross that line if it meant rescuing the prisoners—whatever already thin chances she had of coming in from the cold would evaporate entirely.
“Contact front.”
At Lynch’s words, she dropped into a low crouch, scanning her own area before throwing a glance forward. She dialed up the magnification on her visor. The explosion and ensuing alarm had caused emergency lights to blossom from the buildings, creating a pooling effect of alternating light and shadow. It was through those shadows that they had been moving.
The contact, however, was not taking the same precautions. She stood in front of the door to their target building, bathed in the emergency light and dressed in a black paramilitary uniform that Laurel recognized as the preferred dress of any number of private security contractors in SolComm. Her weapon was a modern military rifle, easily the equal of the one Laurel had left in Bishop’s hands or the ones that Lynch or Federov carried. The guard didn’t seem to be paying much attention to her post. Her eyes were focused on the opposite side of the dome, where the response to Federov’s distraction was still ongoing.
“Federov,” Lynch said, his voice crackling over the comm. “Take her down. Quietly.” There was a moment of silence. “And without killing, if possible.”
Federov didn’t reply, but Laurel pressed tight against the wall, giving the mercenary room to slip around her. He pushed past Lynch and flowed into the deeper shadows, disappearing into the darkness.
As the point man, it was Lynch’s job to take down the target if she showed any signs of becoming alert to Federov’s presence or moving to raise the alarm. Laurel felt a little surge of guilt over the fact that she was glad about that. Not that it would matter in SolComm’s eyes; she would be just as guilty. But she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to do it. In a firefight, sure, but pulling the trigger on an unsuspecting person wasn’t part of her training. She doubted that they’d be able to get out of this without firing a shot, but she hoped that Federov wouldn’t have to use lethal force against the guard.
When it happened, it was fast and brutal. Federov knew how to avoid notice, but it was only in the vids where a target was disabled silently and with a single well-placed strike. While theoretically possible, the odds were long even for a highly skilled combatant, and speed, surprise, and overwhelming violence were far more effective. Federov exploded from the shadows at a dead sprint, coming at the woman from her dominant side, ensuring that she’d have to turn her entire body to bring her weapon to bear. Not that she had the chance. By the time she had recognized the threat, Federov was on her, barreling into her with bone-jarring force and carrying her from the pool of light into the shadows beyond. The bodies collided with enough force that Laurel actually heard the impact, but the mercenary must have knocked the wind from the guard, because the woman failed to let out any further sound as they tumbled into the darkness. Bare seconds after they had crashed from the pool of light, Laurel’s comm squelched twice, indicating that Federov had silenced the sentry.
Lynch was up and moving again. Now that they had encountered resistance the time for stealth was nearing its end. Once they broke into the prison barracks, speed would be their best defense. They crossed the intervening block and as they closed in on the prison the captain let his rifle fall to its sling mount as he drew his holstered sidearm. Unlike her firearm, the captain’s pistol featured an integrated suppressor. He raised it, pointed it at the emergency light bathing the door, and squeezed the trigger. It wasn’t a large caliber weapon, and from the barely audible whisper of noise it made, it must have been loaded with sub-sonic ammunition. Not the best package for taking down living, breathing targets, but two quick shots made short work of the lights, and the impact of the bullets against the composite and glass was far louder than the firearm itself.
As soon as the lights winked out, Federov popped up again, his back to the street, trusting Lynch and Laurel to cover him. By the time they reached the mercenary, he had the door open and was tossing aside an entry card that must have come from the guard. That was sloppy of the off-worlders, and the first clear departure from SolComm standard operating procedure she had seen.
Laurel slipped past Lynch and Federov, entered the room with purpose, shotgun hanging loosely and hands raised palm forward in what she hoped was a universal symbol of peaceful intent. She took the place in in a quick, well-practiced glance. The building was a single-story prefab, mostly open, and the only windows were set high up in the two-story-high interior. It could have been a gymnasium, if it weren’t for the rows upon rows of cots that lined either side. At the back of the structure was another pair of doors, almost certainly leading toward the sanitation facilities. Six rows of cots—standard-issue SolComm from what she could tell—marched down the floor in a way that was very reminiscent of a military barracks. There was no way to get an accurate count, but she guessed there must be close to a hundred cots.
There were also people.
The cots themselves were empty, their occupants having vacated them when the explosions and sirens sounded. They had moved away from the door and gathered at the back of the room. They stood cheek by jowl, as far away from the most likely source of harm—the door—as they could possibly get. Laurel suspected that more were sheltering in the sanitation facilities, and for a moment she wondered how the life-support systems of the Arcus would be able to handle so many. Then she remembered that they weren’t planning on taking them off planet and that air and water were much less of a consideration when you lived in breathable atmosphere.
“It’s okay,” she said, staring into the frightened faces. She forced a smile, though it was one she didn’t really feel, hoping to set them at ease. “We’re here to get you out. We’re here to take you home.”
That set off excited muttering among the prisoners. A man with broad shoulders and a face that looked like it could have inspired sculptors stepped forward from the others. “How?” was all he asked in a resonant baritone.
“Through clear thinking and violence of action,” she grinned. “And also, because we have a ship. And people working on distracting and disorienting the enemy. What we don’t have, though, is a lot of time.” As if to underscore her words, she heard the distinctive bark of Lynch’s rifle. At the same time, her comm came to life.
“Contact,” Lynch’s voice rang out into the room on the heels of the gunfire. “We’re getting low on time, Morales.”
“Understood.” She looked at the prisoners. This was her first rescue op, but she’d been through the training scenarios. One of the things her instructors had stressed was that there came a time in any extraction where a decision had to made; the people you were trying to save almost always outnumbered those doing the saving and you couldn’t force a group of hostages or detainees or prisoners to follow you. If you did, you’d almost certainly blow the mission as their reluctance translated into much higher degrees of danger for everyone involved. At some point, those who wanted to be rescued, who wanted to be free, had to step up and contribute. Laurel wished she had more time to persuade and cajole, but time was a luxury they didn’t have. There had only been a few shots, which meant that things weren’t desperate… yet. But whatever had just happened, someone was going to notice, and she had no doubt that the response would be swift.
Some of the prisoners had flinched back at the gunfire and her crackling comm, but the man before her still regarded her steadily. “How do we know we can trust you?” he asked. Concerned murmurs floated among those gathered behind him. Clearly, he was a leader of some sort.
It was a fair question. Unfortunately, it was a question for which there was no good answer, at least not one that they had time for.
“You don’t,” she said simply. “But the question you should be asking yourself is, ‘What are the chances that whoever these people are or wherever they’re taking me, it’s worse than here?’”
The man nodded at that. “A point,” he agreed.
“Look,” Laurel said, conscious of the seconds slipping past. With each one, the possibility of a serious firefight increased, and they didn’t have the manpower to deal with the entire compound. “We blew a hole in the side of this dome to get you folks out. But we can’t make you come with us. I’m walking out that door in about ten seconds. Whether you come with me or stay here is up to you. I can guarantee you that we won’t be back for a second attempt.”
If Laurel had her way, they wouldn’t be on planet long enough to try, but even if they were, the only reason this crazy plan had a chance to begin with was because the off-worlders were unaware anyone else had a ship. Once they figured out what had happened, their security would increase dramatically. They might even enlist more off-world aid. Which meant the crew of the Arcus would have exactly zero chances of a second successful mission.
Unless they could convince the AI or one of its counterparts to offer material assistance.
Her speech seemed to resonate with the crowd and a young woman—they were all young, Laurel realized; none looked older than their mid-twenties—pushed her way to the front. “I’m going with them,” she said.
It was the pebble that broke the dam. As she spoke, the others surged forward, some quietly, some with declarations. More began making their way into the main room from the back chamber. Laurel raised her hands and they eventually quieted. She looked at the first man who’d spoken to her. “We’re going to leave this place and break immediately for the southern airlock. You understand where I need you to go?”
“Yeah,” the man replied, and several of the others nodded. “But what about the people that took us?”
“I’ve got two people outside. They’re going to be our rear security; it’s their job to keep anyone off our backs. I’ll be out front. It’s my job to stop anyone that gets between us and the exit. And we’ve got another pair on overwatch outside the dome. They’ll be spotting for us and keep us safe when we’re covering the open ground.” Laurel didn’t bother mentioning that one of those people “supporting” them was, in fact, an academic with little combat experience. “I need you all to stay on my six. Keep close, move fast. We’re going to be hugging the buildings. If we get into any kind of fight, move to the nearest cover or drop flat. If anyone gets hit, grab them and keep moving. No one gets left behind. Understood?”
That got a few scared nods as the gathered people began to understand the danger they were about to step into. Laurel had one more question that she had to ask, though she feared the answer. “Is this all of you? Are there any other prisoners?”
“Not as far as I know,” the man said. “They take some of us from time to time.” There were a number of grimaces and dropped eyes at that. “This is everyone who lives here.” He waving his hand around the barracks. “There might be others that we don’t know of.”
Laurel nodded. That was a risk, but they were already operating at the edge of their capacity. Beyond it, really. Sometimes you had to settle for the win in front of you. At least she could tell herself that they weren’t leaving anyone behind that these detainees were aware of. “Okay. Good. Now, we’re getting out of here. Keep your heads down. Move fast. We’re going to get every one of you out.”
She gave them one final, reassuring smile as she engaged her helmet. “Getting ready to make exfil,” she said into the comm.
“Understood,” Lynch replied.
Bishop cut into the channel. “I’ve got a response force heading your way, Captain. ETA maybe a minute out. Looks like they’ll be coming from your three o’clock. I’ve seen at least four, but the sightlines suck. Could be more.”
“There are in fact seven,” One said, its monotone cutting seamlessly into the channel. “And according to thermal imaging, it looks like there might be another force gathering near the building you have postulated as a hangar.”
“Roger that,” Lynch replied. “Let’s expedite that exfil.”
GRAY
“Moving now.” Gray squelched his mic twice in acknowledgment. He and Federov had taken up positions on the north side of the building, placing themselves in such a way that the prisoners wouldn’t have to cross their line of fire as they made their exit. The interior of the dome was small enough that ground-based vehicles weren’t really necessary and, apart from a few benches made of the same prefabbed composites as everything else, there wasn’t much available for cover. Those benches could stop bullets but they were slotted for airflow, rendering them ineffective for ballistic protection. Instead, he and Federov were crouched opposite one another in an alley between the building that housed the prisoners and what appeared to be some sort of administrative unit next door. They both hugged their respective corners, using as much of the wall as possible to obscure them from sight and catch any incoming rounds.
