REHO: A Science Fiction Thriller (The Hegemon Wars) (7 page)

Reho checked the bag. There were several dozen rounds of ammunition inside for his OldWorld pistol and L86.

“I figured you wouldn’t part with that pistol and rifle,” Ends said.

***

The sun had already set. The full moon casted shadows around the docks. The ash continued to fall, painting the distance grey beyond the evening shadows. The copper gaslights scattered along the empty walkways cast golden halos of light on the otherwise bleak town. A loud, airy whistle sounded in the distance, overpowering the hundreds of steam engines fueling the town.

Reho found the others talking fast, yelling over the noise of the steam-mule. Ends voice rose, silencing their scattered conversation. Ends rose above the others, standing on a lower step connected to the side of the steam-mule.

“The whistle is a train,” he said. “It’s our ride out of Darksteam and across New Afrika. The locals here are not going to want us to get on it with unchecked cargo. So, our buyer in Jaro has arranged a disturbance between some rival political factions in town. A zeppelin will signal the start of an uprising by a weaker faction called the Monets. This isn’t the first time they’ve rebelled, so their fight is not on our hands. We are not to interfere, only to take advantage of the distraction.”

Sola cringed. “What is this, Ends?” she asked. “We’ve never taken advantage of something like this.”

“The zeppelin is going to come from the north,” Ends said. “They may try to attack us. If so, defend yourself; kill them if you have to.” Reho saw it for the first time. He was a military leader. Something Reho had never seen before except in movies. His crew was his army, and they would go into battle for him. Despite what they disagreed with or didn’t understand, they would fight for him.

Mounted on the front of the steam-mule was a sizable lever for steering and speed control. Speed and temperature monitors were housed on brass knobs with glass faces and mounted on pipes suspended a foot from the controls. Sola took the position at the lever. The machine was already running, steam lifting from pipes below it.

“Defend the wagon and move to the train. Don’t shoot unless the bullets are coming toward us
,”
Ends said.
“
And remember, plans are only good until the fighting starts. So, use your best judgment and we’ll make it out alive!
”

“Roger that, sir,
”
Thursday said, lighting a cigarette. The smoke from his cigarette disappeared into the steam. He held one out to Gibson, who responded with his middle finger.

“Gibson, pull the trigger with the other finger this time.” Thursday laughed, the cigarette bobbing on his lower lip.

“Won’t we look suspicious walking through town with this?”
Reho asked, looking at Sola.

“Who is going to notice us?”

She was right. No one was out. The streets were empty.

“Do we even know for sure that this will go down tonight?” Thursday asked, stubbing out his cigarette.

“Our buyer wants these things bad enough to get involved in the politics here. This is the first time I’ve ever seen him do this. I’d say he wants them pretty damn bad
,”
Ends replied.

Reho took the rear with Thursday as they entered the town. The streets were vacant except for parked automobiles. The copper gaslights flickered a dull yellow light onto the sidewalks and storefronts, but they did little in the way of illumination. Their steam-mule’s front lights emitted a bright yellow beam that was only good for a few feet.

Sola tapped on Gibson’s shoulder. “How far are we from the train?”

“Probably ten minutes, at this rate,” Gibson replied. Then he gestured toward a light in the distance, shining down onto the town farther ahead. “But it’ll be twice that in a minute.”

A zeppelin the size of their boat appeared—half in the ash, half above it—and dozens of soldiers crawled through its miniature windows and onto the ground like ants scurrying home to the queen. The zeppelin then disappeared above the ash clouds.

Thursday grinned as he lifted his rifle. “Here we go!
”

“
We’ll only interfere if we have to,” Ends said. “Let’s push to the steamer
.”
The steam-mule’s top speed was five miles per hour. Reho checked his AIM. It had already mapped the town’s grid. The iron and steam outlined a town that connected the west-side docks with the east-side train station. The tracks waited seven blocks ahead.

***

A mixture of blasts and sounds from OldWorld and pulse rifles filled the air. The bullets ricocheted and pinged through the ashy darkness. When a pulse hit one of the buildings, it didn’t ping like the OldWorld bullets did. Instead, it hit with a thud as energy dispersed through the metal causing it to wobble. It would take several direct shots for a pulse blast to burn through these buildings. Those inside would be safe from most of the violence. Doors were closed, windows bolted.

Reho was sure they were the only ones on the streets. The Monet’s were targeting the Industrialist, their political rivals, elsewhere in the town. Yet, there was something else. It pounded the ground again, its impact strong enough to vibrate the metal on nearby buildings.

Sola pointed ahead. “What is that?” The source of the pounding was partially in sight four blocks from the train station.

Reho knew what it was before Thursday had a chance to give it a name.

“It’s an armored gunner,” Reho replied. “Maybe twenty-five feet high.”

“That’s a Fighter! Those things are bad business,” Thursday said. “It has guns and clamps powered by an engine on its back and six-inch-thick steel.”

“No time to admire. I just hope that thing—” Ends’ words were cut short by a burst of rapid fire from somewhere in the distance. The OldWorld bullets ripped through the street near them. Whatever it was, it hadn’t aimed for them. The crew could hear screams as the next round of fire hit its target. Although the fighting was still to the north, the Fighter was tall enough to take advantage of its distance. It was only a matter of time before the Fighter would spot them.

“
Can we go around?” Sola asked.

“No way,”
Gibson replied.
“It’ll add another ten minutes to go different route.”

Ends lifted his weapon and slid the pulse rifle’s charger to maximum power.
“
Gibson is right.
”

Ends gave directions to Thursday and Sola. They were responsible for guarding the rear of the steam wagon. He commanded Gibson to take the controls. He didn’t say anything to Reho. Ends led them, taking the front. They traveled another block before being pinned down. Any farther and the Fighter would locate them. Above, the zeppelin had reappeared near the docks, away from the Fighter and most of the action.

Sola swung her pulse rifle around in time to blast a soldier with a tall hat and carrying a strange rifle. Her blast sent him skyward, smashing ten feet high into a building. A group of figures appeared to the south. Reho assumed they were not from the same political party as the guy they’d just shot. It was next to impossible to tell people apart in the ash, but Reho could see that both their dress and their weapons were different. The Industrialists wore bowler hats and carried OldWorld rifles. The Monets had tall hats and were using pulse rifles as well as some sort of modified rifle that fired something Reho hadn’t seen before.

According to Gibson, they could make it to the train station in six minutes if nothing interfered. But first, they had to get around the Fighter.

Four Monets wearing black-glassed goggles, piped hats, and long coats fired from behind parked vehicles. Several shots from their modified guns ricocheted off the armored cargo vehicle. From around the corner, five more appeared.

“Now we shoot!” Thursday said, sending a dozen pulses through the air, scattering the approaching men.

Ends kept point, his eyes fixed on the Fighter.

Thursday’s attention was drawn to three more Monets cornering their side of the street. Reho leapt, rolling through the ash to Thursday’s side, and released three shots from his rifle. Each shot opened a five-inch-wide cavity in the Monets’ chests.

“You took my blasted shot!”

“Didn’t look like yours to me
,
” Sola said, smiling at Reho.

The Fighter had now positioned itself directly ahead of them, but still unaware of their location.

“There is no way this Fighter is going to let us stroll past
,
” Gibson said.

“We can’t wait it out?” Sola asked.

“No,” Ends replied, recharging his blaster. “We’ll be swarmed by these guys if we pause any longer.”

“Wait here,” Reho said. “I’ll take care of the Fighter. Get the cargo to the station
.
”

“How?” Sola asked.

“Trust me,” Reho replied, grabbing two hand grenades off Gibson’s vest. He took the walkway leading to the Fighter, clipping the grenades onto his jacket. He stashed his rifle and pack against a hydrant a hundred feet from the Fighter. He unholstered his pistol and shot out the copper lamps ahead, blacking out the area.

He heard the steam-mule move behind him. They would take an alternate route to the station. With any luck, they wouldn’t run into any heavy resistance.

With their doors and windows closed off, frightened citizens waited out the violent conflict in safety. The new moon and thick clouds hid Reho as he skimmed the building’s wall, nearing the steam-fueled armored machine.

He took a mental inventory. His pistol contained thirteen rounds, with two clips on his belt and two grenades dangling off his jacket’s zipper. He would need to get close to the Fighter to even have a chance at taking it out. The center of the machine was a cast-iron boiler, which powered the rest of it. Hundreds of pipes ran across the metal frame, each powering a different part. One main arm contained a spinning machine gun; the other was equipped with a pair of pincers big enough to crush a gasoline.
Everything has a weakness.

Reho had already spotted one of the Fighter’s vulnerabilities: it was built with human proportions. It had stocky, metal legs and a bulky, globe-shaped body, like a ball with massive, lethal arms. Its head was square and the size of a small car. Someone was in there, controlling it, defending the city from the Monets that were dropping from the sky.

He fired several shots at the Fighter, drawing its attention. Its response was exactly what he had expected. Its torso moved, twisted, then its legs lurched forward. He watched as it scanned the darkness. A faint glow at the Fighter’s head gave away its movements. He was not sure if the machine had night vision but thought it safer to assume it did. The Fighter scanned again, moving closer to where Reho waited.

He fired twice more, then tossed a hand grenade, taking cover behind a nearby building. Reho did not expect much from the hand grenade, but it did one thing right: he now had the Fighter’s full attention.

The machine hissed and whined, its spinning machine gun spraying bullets in a semicircle. Reho dove from behind the vehicle. Its rounds tore through some of the building’s metal as it attempted to lock onto him.

Reho rounded the corner and readied his pistol. The second grenade would have a different purpose than the first.

The Fighter pursued Reho at a speed he hadn’t anticipated. One of the massive legs grazed his forehead as he peeked around the corner of the now tattered building. The impact broke his skin, sending blood down the side of his face.

Reho dove under the Fighter, the one spot where the machine would be vulnerable.

To keep from being trampled, he had to anticipate the machine’s movements. At first he was knocked back and forth between its legs, but he was a fast learner. He could hear the whining sound of a leg lifting, then the cringing sound of steam escaping as it lowered its leg. Then came the inevitable thud of the leg hammering to the ground, followed by an earthquake-like aftershock in its wake.

Using his AIM as a light, Reho searched for a weakness in the Fighter’s underbelly.

Its body was impressive; thick metal protected nearly every space. It was scarred and dented, but there was no sign that it had ever been pierced.
How much metal does it take to make something indestructible?

He spotted it. Under its belly, where the legs connected, there was a crevice where the metal did not completely join. This would be it.
It has to work, what else—

Reho’s thought was cut short as the top half of the machine spun and fired into the distance.
Had it spotted the crew?
Reho felt a sting on his neck followed by dozens more along his neck, then his cheek, then down his back.

Red-hot shells glowed in the darkness, raining down from the spinning machine gun. The shells continued to pelt his skin. Pushing aside the pain, he pulled the metal pin in the hand grenade and shoved it deep into the crevice near the Fighter’s belly, timing the move carefully to avoid having his hand crushed by the creaking metal legs.

Reho rolled out from under the Fighter and slid in the ash as the explosion sent shards of metal flying into the air. An intense heat blanketed him, followed by the slushing sound of flowing water.