Hybrid Saga 01 - Hybrid (44 page)

“Pilots develop a bond with their ships,” Mac explained. “They put countless hours of work and care into them, hoping that when the chips are down, they’ll pull through for them. They spend so much time in them they become like a familiar companion. One that gets you out of as much trouble as you get into.” Mac gestured up towards the ceiling. “When you’re out there, it’s just the two of you surrounded by a whole lot of space. Out there, your ship is your best friend.”

Ethan nodded with understanding, though he didn’t completely. He had never had a ship, or a home to call his own for that matter, so the feelings Mac was describing were unfamiliar to him. Even so, it was the one thing he had always wanted, more than anything else. To have a ship that was his, and to be able to call it home. Looking around himself, he thought about how quickly things changed. Right now he would settle to just be anywhere but here.

A horribly familiar stench brought him out of his thoughts as it began to seep in through his mask’s air filter and he felt the sudden urge to vomit. “This stupid mask is leaking again,” he almost gagged, smacking the oxygen intake valve.

“Mine too, kid,” Mac replied. “Just try breathing shallow.

Ethan looked up at the man, who looked nauseous himself. “Does that work?”

Mac shook his head, negatively. “No, not really.”

A loud buzzer sounded, signaling an end to their work shift and Ethan sighed in relief. He and Mac climbed out of the waste tank as their bracelet warning sequences began to tone, right on schedule, and made their way to a set of stairs that connected to an elevated walkway ten meters above the tank area. They continued chatting as they traversed the narrow catwalk, which was slow going with the dozens of other workers that were also trying to make their way back from the numerous tank holding areas that filled this expansive wing of the waste treatment plant.

The walkway itself stretched from one end of the facility to the other, suspended above the holding tanks by support rods and cables that connected it to the ceiling at various points along its length. It led to the facility’s only access point, or the only one they were permitted to enter and exit through, which was sealed shut while they worked and only opened to allow passage at the beginning and end of their work shifts.

Mac continued on with another tale concerning the transport of six Ferusian exotic dancers to a renowned club owner and a mid trip power failure that left them drifting in space for a week without comm capabilities. Only half paying attention to the story, Ethan’s attention fixed on the open doorway ahead of them and the hot shower and tasteless meal that waited just beyond it, he simply nodded to show his interest.

Mac noticed his half hearted attempt, looking a bit disappointed. “You’ll come to appreciate those stories when you get a little older, kid. They help to remind us that when something bad happens, sometimes there’s a little good that comes with it.”

Ethan thought about that for a moment and tried to make the link between the story and where they were now. He wished he could find the upside to this place, but he guessed it was most likely one of those times when a bad situation was just a bad situation.

“What did you do for the week you were stranded?” Ethan asked.

Mac grinned. “Considering I knew we might all die out there, I got to know my passengers . . .
very
well.”

Ethan considered that maybe
that
was the upside to their current situation as well. As terrible as this place was, he had also found a friend here in Mac, which made the situation a little easier to bare. Maybe Mac felt the same way. By the older man’s mischievous grin, Ethan knew that there was more to his story than that, but he didn’t bother to ask and added it to the annoyingly long list of things he assumed he would come to understand when he got older.

A loud bang ended the conversation and Ethan turned to see a segment of ceiling mounted exhaust pipe swinging free of its support housing. He watched in shock as it collided with the catwalk, only a few meters away from where he was standing, sending everyone sprawling to the grated floor. Screams of terror sounded out and he looked up in time to see the pipe section fall free from its housing completely and drop down into the large waste basin below. The section of walkway that had been hit by the swinging pipe swayed back and forth as the damaged support rods holding it in place fell away, leaving only the cabling to keep it from crashing into the basins as well, along with the handful of people who clung to it.

Under the encouragement of numerous voices around him, Ethan watched as the people trapped on the damaged segment, or on its opposite side, attempted to crawl across to the stable end of the walkway. Mac grabbed hold of his arm and gave him a reassuring look that said
stay put
, before he began to move back towards the damaged section, helping those trying to cross the dangerous gap. Many others were quickly moving in the opposite direction and heading for the exit hatchway.

With three people still struggling to cross the unsteady floor, one of the cables, followed by another two snapped under the pressure and the damaged section fell away from the catwalk at one end, hanging from the remaining cables and where it was still partially attached to the rest of the walkway.

More cries sounded out and many of those that were helping to get people to safety turned to flee for their lives, running past Ethan towards the exit. To his surprise, Mac remained where he was, lying on the floor of the walkway and reaching down for the three people still clinging to the hanging section of catwalk. Ethan watched in amazement as he helped two of the people up, letting them climb up his body to make it onto the walkway. The last remaining person wasn’t attempting to move at all, seeming apparently frozen with fear as he held onto the swaying section. Mac shouted at the man to reach for him, finally getting his attention and he climbed high enough for Mac to get a hold of his arm.

Suddenly, Mac began to shout for him to stop. Ethan watched as the still terrified man climbed up Mac’s body, at the same time, pulling him further over the walkway’s edge. By the time he had climbed over Mac and onto the ledge, Mac had slipped more than half way over the drop off, and as the man moved away in a panicked shuffle towards the exit, he disappeared over the edge completely.

Ethan ran to the edge of the walkway and looked down, expecting to find Mac floating in the waste basin far below. Instead, he found him hanging precariously from the back of his coveralls where its material had been snagged by the sharp end of what was left of a broken support rod.

“Mac!” he called out. “Are you alright?”

“Do I
look
alright?” Mac asked back.

“Could be worse.”

“Yeah,” he said, after a moment. “That’s what I get for trying to do the right thing. Let that be a lesson to you.”

Ethan shook his head. “Can you climb up?”

Mac reached behind himself and got a grip on the grated floor of the catwalk segment. “I don’t know. I’m kind of stuck here.”

“Can you try to unhook yourself?” Ethan asked.

Mac squirmed a bit and then twisted his head to look up at Ethan. “I don’t know if there’s time.”

Ethan furrowed his brow in confusion until he remembered his bracelet’s alarm sequence. It’s repetitious warning tones had been drowned out by all of the commotion. Now, registering the sounds again, and the rapid rate in which they were beeping, he realized they
didn’t
have much time.

“Get out of here, kid,” Mac called up to him. “Save yourself.”

“I’m not going to leave you, Mac,” Ethan answered.

“You can’t help me,” he shouted back. “There’s no sense in us both dying, kid. Now go on.”

Ethan’s heart was racing in sync with his bracelet’s rapid tone sequence and he took a breath to calm himself. Panicking wasn’t going to save Mac. Looking around, he spotted a length of support cable that been torn free of both the catwalk and the ceiling and was lying across the floor of the walkway. He ran the few steps back to it and tied one end to the railing. Moving back to the edge of the walkway he dangled the other end over and lowered it down to Mac.

“Hey, kid,” Mac called up to him, blindly. “You still there?”

“Yeah,” Ethan answered. “I’m still here.”

“Oh, good. For a second there I thought you had actually taken what I said seriously.”

Ethan smirked as he lowered the cable down to where Mac was hanging. “Just grab on and start pulling yourself up. We’re running out of time.”

Mac gripped the cable as it fell in front of him and used it to pull himself off of the piece of broken support rod. Turning himself around he climbed the cable while walking up the the floor of the catwalk segment. Once he reached the ledge of the walkway, Ethan grabbed hold of his arms and helped him up onto it.

“Thanks for not leaving,” Mac said, between heavy breaths.

“Thank me later,” Ethan replied, pulling the man to his feet. Their bracelets were beeping so rapidly that it was beginning to sound like a single high pitched tone, and he knew all too well what that meant for them if they didn’t move quickly.

“Let’s go!” he shouted.

Mac didn’t argue and they turned to sprint down the walkway. The opening looked as if it was a kilometer away, the blaring tone in his ear telling him he only had seconds left, if that. As they neared the doorway and he heard the subtle but distinct transition of the rapid beeps into a solid ear piercing shriek, he closed his eyes against the shock of vaporizing energy he expected would come, and reached out desperately into the darkness.

SOLTA

Rho’uk stood before the room wide viewport of the office formerly occupied by the late Governor of Trycon, gazing out at the stillness of the city. Far below in its darkened bowels, beyond his scope of vision, he knew it was not so. The initial heavy flow of incoming drop ships had only recently begun to ebb, having deposited legions of Durak’s troops into the expansive metropolis. Those soldiers scoured the streets and avenues, rounding up loose elements of the populace, while working to contain the rest.

Their great city had now become their prison. It was not a fate he would have wished even upon his enemies. All beings deserved to die with honor. With dignity. But by the will of the Gods, this was to be done. He was not prepared to question Their will, or Their wisdom. The Gods gave life to all beings, and They also chose how and when those lives would end.

“The orbital blockade is in place,” Durak was saying. “And Trycon city itself is contained.”

Rho’uk glanced at the reflections of both the High Commander and Shu’ma in the glass of the viewport as they continued their conversation . . . or argument. He hadn’t quite decided which yet. It had been a constant battle of wills between the two, each of them offering their own subtle, and sometimes not so subtle, challenges to one another’s authority. Rho’uk was growing tired of the game.

“And how will you ensure it remains so?” Shu’ma asked, from where he sat behind the former Governor’s long wooden desk, which he had taken as his own along with the office.

The High Commander stood off to one side of the desk, his gaze transfixed on something outside the viewport, not wanting to appear subordinate to Shu’ma by standing directly across the desk from, and therefore, before him, Rho’uk assumed. His expression betrayed his obvious displeasure with being questioned.

“The necessary steps are being taken to ensure Solta’s isolation,” he answered flatly, making it clear he did not intend on elaborating any further. “Our operations here will proceed with the desired level of discretion, though for the time being, I would recommend that you relocate to my command ship. It is rumored that the terrorist faction may be planning an attack on the governing district.”

Unable to see his face in the viewport’s reflection, he suspected Shu’ma’s glare would be venomous. After a long hostile moment had passed in silence, Shu’ma finally spoke again, changing the subject.

“Very well. What progress has there been in tracking the heretic?”

The question was intended to draw a reaction from the High Commander, as they all knew the answer, but to his credit, Durak’s expression remained rigid and cold.

“Little, I am afraid,” he responded, between clenched teeth. “If she remains on Solta, it is only a matter of time before we locate her.”

“And if she does not?” Shu’ma pressed.

When Durak did not reply, Shu’ma continued. “You’re repeated failures in her apprehension leave much to be desired, High Commander. I am beginning to wonder if the situation is beyond your ability to manage.”

Durak’s voice was a low rumble. “I assure you, it is not. If she
has
gone off world, my intelligence networks will eventually find her. She cannot hide forever. Wherever her cohorts attempt to flee, when they attempt to make dock, we will know of it and then we will have her.”

“Your assurances hold little weight with me,” Shu’ma dismissed. “You’re forces have proven themselves ill-equipped to handle this task, which is clearly the reason I have been sent. You needn’t worry yourself with these matters any further, High Commander. You and your
forces
may continue with Trycon’s preparations as planned. Leave the heretic and her cohorts to me.”