Sunspire (The Reach, Book 4) (2 page)

“Knile, are you there?” she said.  There was a crackle in response, something unintelligible that might have been Knile’s voice coming through from the longwave.  She glanced at Silvestri, who gave her a questioning look.  “I don’t know if it’s working.  I’m not hearing anything back.”

“Tell him what you need to tell him, and hope that he’s listening,” Silvestri suggested.  “That’s all we can do right now.”

She nodded.  “Listen, Knile, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I have a plan to get to Sunspire.  My old boss, Bagley, might still be in Link.  He coordinates a dirigible construction facility.  I’m hoping we can negotiate a deal with him.  Travelling by air will get us there a lot quicker.  Do you read?”

Static again, and something that sounded like interference or crosstalk.  Talia thought she heard Knile’s voice in there somewhere, but she couldn’t be sure.

“Anything?” Silvestri said.

“I don’t know.  It’s hard to tell.”

“Try again later.  It might clear up.”

She gave him a worried look.  “You don’t think he’s–
?”

“No.  You’ve been hanging around Knile long enough to know that he’s practically unkillable.  He’ll make it to Sunspire.  We just have to make sure that we hold up our end of the bargain.”

“Yea
h.”  She hung up and returned
the phone to her pocket, then glanced over as Yun approached, a troubled look on his face.

“What’s the matter, Yun?” Silvestri said.

“Something’s been bugging me,” the tech began.  “Something that’s pretty damn vital to this whole scheme of ours.”

“And that is?”

“The cruiser that was going to meet us at the habitat and take us off-world.  We were going to use the comms up there to talk to the captain.”  He jabbed his finger toward the sky.  “Up in the habitat.  That isn’t an option anymore.  So even if we make it to this Sunspire place, how are we going to make sure the captain meets us there?”

Silvestri stewed over that for a moment.  “There’s a relay we can use down in Link.  I know the location, used to organise trades with buyers from off-world in my smuggling days.  I’m pretty sure we can get it going again.”

“And what if it’s been trashed?” Yun said.

“Then we go to Plan B.”

“Which is?”

“I’ll let you know once I figure that out.”

There was a shout from the elevator as the RECS reached the door.  Inside, the hostages from the night before, including the Consort
ium techs and the attackers, had
been assembled at the rear of the elevator car, still bound, as they waited to descend.  One of the hostages, a bearded man with a gash on his forehead, was attempting to hop clear of the ruined RECS that still lay across the doorway.  Zoe, who was standing nearby, strode forward and shoved him backward again, levelling her handgun at the crowd.

“We should get out of here,” Silvestri said.  He glanced around, as if checking to see if they’d missed anything, then gave Yun a gentle push toward the elevator.  “After you.”

Yun trotted away obediently, and Talia fell in beside Silvestri as they moved along the narrow path.

“What’s going to be waiting for us down in the Atrium?” she said, a note of dread in her voice.

“Hopefully a coffee stand and an assortment of piping hot dirt-buns.”

“Uh-huh.  That’s taking optimism to a whole new level.”

Silvestri gave her a grin.  “I can probably go higher, if you’d like.”

“No, I’m good.”  Ahead of them, Roman had used his RECS to grip the prone machine in the doorway in preparation for dragging it aside.  Zoe and Duran moved into the elevator, keeping a close eye on the hostages, and Silvestri, Yun and Talia clambered across after them.  With no one left to follow, Roman hauled at the debris, pulling it free amid a squeal of metal, then quickly drove his RECS forward before the doors could shut.

It was a tight fit, but somehow they squeezed in.

The doors closed, and the roof disappeared from view.  A feeling of bitter defeat washed over Talia at the thought of leaving this way, but she pushed it down and tried to focus on the task at hand.

Silvestri hit the button, and the elevator began to descend.

2

Roman watched as the power gauge on the RECS receded to nothing more than a faintly glimmering wrinkle, like the last hint of sunlight on the horizon before darkness came.  It flashed once, then went out, then hesitantly returned with even less conviction than before.

He wondered for a moment if he should ask Silvestri to run him through the plan one more time, then thought better of it.  Silvestri didn’t really
have
a plan.  That was the whole problem.  None of them knew what would be waiting down in the Atrium when they arrived.  For all they knew, it might be a whole squad of Redmen, or a legion of those crazy insurgents with circles carved in their heads.

Or maybe it’s empty
, he thought. 
Maybe everyone left.

He grinned wryly to himself.  That was wishful thinking, the least likely scenario.

In all probability, there would be a host of desperate people out there, armed to the teeth.  People wanting answers, or blood.  Maybe both.

And it was Roman himself who was
in the firing line again, the one inside the RECS.  The bullet magnet.  Only now, the hull of the RECS had been greatly weakened after the punishment it had taken the night before.  Granted, up to this point it had repelled everything that had been thrown at it.  It had done an admirable job.

But that wasn’t going to last, Roman knew.  Pretty soon those rounds would be punching through the weak points in the alloy and finding their way into the cockpit.

He swallowed nervously.  As frightening a prospect as it was, being riddled with bullets was not his main concern at this point.  For a start, he wasn’t sure that there would be enough juice to walk the RECS out of the elevator once the doors opened.  Silvestri had told him that the RECS, along with a couple of riot shields they’d tossed in the elevator, would be all the cover they had as they tried to make it across the Atrium.  If Roman couldn’t get the RECS moving, they could kiss that idea goodbye.

He was so preoccupied by the power gauge that he didn’t realise the elevator had stopped.  He glanced through the cockpit window in confusion.

They’d reached the Atrium already.  This was it.

“Let me do the talking,” Silvestri said, stooping behind the protection of the riot shield.  On the other side of Roman, Zoe did the same.

Then the doors were opening, and Roman saw a cluster of men and women in dishevelled clothing standing about idly, rifles slung over their shoulders as they chatted amongst themselves.  Makeshift barricades had been erected outside the elevator, and beyond, the Stormgates had gone dark, the once majestic arches now twisted and bent grotesquely.  As far as Roman could see, the floor of the Atrium was covered in black residue, as if it had been doused under the flame of a giant blowtorch.

For a moment, no one moved.

Those who had gathered outside seemed to have been caught off-
guard.  Casual conversations came to an abrupt halt.  Those who had been resting on the floor hastily got to their feet.  As realisation dawned, they began to scatter haphazardly, snatching up weapons and finding cover behind the barricades.  To Roman they looked like a bunch of teenagers sleeping off their hangovers from a bender the night before, thrown into a panic at finding their parents arriving home earlier than expected.

Silvestri remained very still and patient as they organised themselves.  He
waited behind the riot shield, calm and emotionless, observing the behaviour of those outside as if he were an ornithologist studying a flock of birds.

Finally, a tall man wearing a black bandana shouted for the others to move back from the elevator.  He squinted at the newcomers from his position behind a stack of crates, then levelled a rifle at the elevator.

“No sudden movements,” Silvestri said quietly to those in the elevator
.  “
Be cool.”

“Identify yourselves!” the man in the bandana bellowed.  Beyond him, Roman could see more reinforcements arriving from other parts of the Atrium.

“We’re not here to fight anyone,” Silvestri called back.  “We’re just seeking passage down into the Reach.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Silvestri, and I’m here with several of my companions–”

“You work for the Consortium?”

“No.  We’re from Gaslight.  We were trying to hijack the railcar.”

“So what happened?”

Duran glanced at Zoe.  “It didn’t work out.”  He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder.  “We have hostages from last night.  They’re unharmed, and you’re welcome to take them in exchange for our safe passage through the Atrium.”

“What about the elevator?” the man in the bandana said.

“It’s yours.”

“Bullshit.  There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“No bullshit.  Let us walk out of here and you can see for yourself.”

The man stepped out from behind cover, his rifle still trained on the elevator doors.

“What the hell is that tin can you’ve got with you?” he said, gesturing to the RECS.  “Some kind of bomb?”

“It’s a shield.  It’s for our protection, that’s all.”

The man conferred with a nearby companion, a stocky woman with streaks of charcoal across her cheeks and a distrustful glint in her eyes.  She shook her head and then gestured impatiently behind her.  Then the man looked back to Silvestri.

“Let our men go,” he demanded.  “After we’ve made sure they’re okay, we’ll let you through.”

“No deal.”

“Suit yourself.  You can rot in there, buddy.  See if I care.”

“Don’t you want to see what’s waiting up there?”
Silvestri said.  “Isn’t that what you came for?”  The man glared at Silvestri but said nothing.  “Okay, then.  Sounds like this is as far up the Reach as you’re going to get, my friend.  Close the doors!” Silvestri barked to no one in particular.

“Okay, okay,” the man said.  He lowered his rifle.  “Come on out of there and give us the elevator.  We’ll let you leave.”

“You’re a bad liar.”

The man turned to those around him, his voice ringing out across the Atrium.

“We’re letting them through.  That’s on my authority.  Anyone lifts a hand against them, they’ll answer to
me
.”  He glanced back at Silvestri and made an exaggerated sweep of his hand.  “After you.”

“You don’t trust this guy, do you?” Duran muttered from behind Silvestri.

“No.  But I don’t see another way to get through here.”

Silvestri waited a few moments longer, assessing the situation, then rapped his knuckles on the hull of the RECS.

“Go for it, Roman.”

“Yeah,” Roman said warily.
 
The bullet magnet.
  “Thanks for that.”

He pushed forward on the controls, and for several heartbeats there was no response.  Then the RECS shuddered and grudgingly edged forward, moving in slow motion like a wind-up toy in need of a crank.

“Good idea,” Silvestri said, moving in behind with his shield raised.  “Keep it slow and steady.”

“Uh-huh.  I’ll do that.”

Roman could see Talia, Zoe, Yun and Duran following in his rearview camera, the group forming a tight cluster behind the RECS.  They made achingly slow progress out into the Atrium, past the first line of barricades, where the man in the bandana stood watching them impassively.  For the first time, Roman became aware of just how many people had gathered here.  There must have been at least a hundred, a rag-tag bunch of weary militia toting weapons and supplies amongst their ramshackle fortifications.  They watched the newcomers with bloodshot eyes, haggard expressions.  Distrust.

Further afield, Roman could see blackened mounds, like the remnants of colossal bonfires still smouldering in the early morning light.  He wondered if perhaps the attackers had been burning something through the night to keep themselves warm, but then he understood.

“It’s people,” he said, horrified.  “Mounds of dead people.”

These must have been the poor unfortunates who had been cooked in the explosion, he realised, hauled together from all parts of the Atrium and piled in great heaps.  He began to see details – a blackened skull, a hand, a stack of charred boots – and was filled with revulsion.

The stench that seeped into the cockpit made him want to retch.

He looked away from the mounds and kept pushing the RECS forward, under the gnarled arches of the Stormgates.  Then, just as he was beginning to hope that they’d escaped, the lights on the console before him suddenly went dark.

The RECS rocked to an abrupt halt.

“Keep going,” Silvestri hissed.

“I’m trying,” he muttered, slamming at the controls, but there was no response.  He tried hitting buttons and pushing levers desperately, but nothing helped.  The RECS had taken its last step.