Chapter 40

DAY 56 – HADES – RUZA

The transport barreled down the street, the rows of prefabs that usually dominated the city giving way to larger, more permanent structures as they drew closer to the anchor. Gone were most of the residential buildings, replaced with the large-scale industry of warehouses and loading areas designed to support the great tether. It wasn’t too different from the industrial band on the city’s outskirts, with large parks dedicated to storage buildings, cranes, and truck depots. Above it all towered the anchor – a mountain of ribs and girders that served as the foundation of the kilometers-long tether, the station serving as its orbital counterweight.

Ruza remembered seeing the old watchtower at the East Gate of the Rask territory for the first time and wondering how it was possible to stack sandstone so high. It was infinitesimal compared to the anchor, like a sprout compared to a great tree, and that wasn’t even including the elevator itself that rose up into the sky like a thin strand of black. It was harder to see now, with the dark smoke from the raging fires hanging over the colony like a ceiling.

The fighting still raged, the remnants of the PDF trying to restore order – a task that grew increasingly difficult as time passed. Not as many resistance fighters or protesters had ventured so deep into the heart of the colony, but evidence of unrest was everywhere. Every other warehouse was on fire, and the road was littered with abandoned industrial vehicles that their truck had to carefully drive around. They encountered the occasional squad of PDF, but they seemed disorganized and lost, presenting no opposition.

“He cannot have gone far,” Ruza said, ducking down a little lower into the hatch. “We should expect an ambush.”

“He might leave his team behind to cover his escape,” Petrova added. “Don’t let him sneak away.”

No sooner had he spoken than they saw a roadblock on the street ahead. Instead of the careful placement of sandbags and road barriers, this one was assembled from heaps of refuse, a pair of industrial tractors parked longways across the path and heaped with tires and cargo pallets. Ruza ducked all the way inside the vehicle as slugs began to hammer the truck, cratering into its armor and cracking its bulletproof windows, their assailants firing from gaps in the yellow machines.

Harlequin hit the handbrake, and the truck screeched to a stop on the right side of the road, skidding in the sand.

“Disembark!” Brenner ordered. “Petrova – go straight down the middle and flush them out! The rest of you, flank right with me!”

Ruza felt Petrova’s weight leave the truck, its suspension bouncing as she jumped off the back, moving around to its left side and laying down suppressive fire. Her shield sparked, but they could not penetrate, the shooters forced to duck into cover as she fired off accurate shots.

Brenner opened the passenger side door and hopped out, leaning his rifle around its armored panel and firing off bursts, helping to cover the rest of the team as they piled out of the troop bay. To their right was one of the industrial areas that serviced the anchor, the expanse of dusty concrete filled with stacks of cargo containers and loaded truck beds, the large warehouses rising above it all. Trade had crawled to a stop since Barbosa had taken control of the colony, and it had all piled up here, thousands of tons of goods and raw resources sitting idle with nowhere to go.

Brenner caught up with them, and they proceeded deeper, the stacks of crates and colorful containers providing cover. It was Brenner’s team and his allies versus Barbosa and his loyal SWAR agents now. Silverback followed behind Ruza with his machinegun and Lily’s sword strapped across his back, tailed by Wasp, her pistol clutched in her hand. Kingfisher, Rancher, Eyeball, Flatline, Caveman, and Strzyga marched with Brenner, all of them wielding XMRs of various configurations. With Ruza, Reed, Petrova, and Harlequin, they made thirteen – enough to even the odds. The opposition had at least twelve men and perhaps Barbosa’s PCE.

In some ways, Ruza preferred this more intimate arrangement. It was difficult for one soldier to turn the tide of a battle, but here, he had the power to change things. He stowed the bulky AMR on his back and retrieved his trusty rifle, pointing its bayonet ahead of him. Barbosa could appear at any moment, but his chances of encountering an operative were greater.

The agents moved with purpose, sharing data, Petrova feeding them information on their enemies that Ruza couldn’t see due to his lack of a helmet. The enemy had the same capability, but as long as Brenner’s agents were not broadcasting over radio – only receiving, they would remain invisible.

Ruza didn’t need to see the enemy to know their plan. They would have abandoned their roadblock and moved to the cover of the warehouses to escape Petrova and to intercept Brenner. Battle would soon be joined. He watched as Harlequin crawled up a stack of cargo containers to his right, the alien making up for his inability to fly by using his chitinous fingers and toes to find purchase. He vanished, moving out of sight to find a better vantage point. The team began to split up to cover more ground, the stacks of containers forming alleys much like the gabions had. Silverback stuck beside Ruza, keeping the heavy barrel of his rifle raised.

“I’m driving them to you!” Petrova warned over the comms. “Get ready!”

“Left side, coming up,” Silverback muttered, knowing that Ruza had no HUD.

Ruza’s eyes worked well in the low light, and he spotted a figure rounding a container ahead of him. The enemy was moving cautiously and quietly, but Silverback already knew where he would be before he showed himself, a burst from his squad support weapon cutting the agent down in a hail of slugs. More gunfire rang out all around them, their comrades engaging the enemy, the two opposing teams clashing.

Ruza’s sensitive ears heard a sound to his left, and he turned his head just in time to see a spry SWAR agent leap up onto the container. Their rifle was already raised, ready to fire, Ruza catching a brief glimpse of a snarling animal marked on their visor. A shot rang out, and the agent fell back out of view. Ruza snapped his head in the opposite direction to see a blur of camouflaged chitin as Harlequin changed positions.

“Lost visual!” Petrova warned, signaling that there would be no more technological trickery.

Ruza and Silverback moved together, stalking through the maze of containers, everything taking on a darker hue as the ash from the fires coated it. The stinging stench of it filled Ruza’s nose to the point that he could smell little else.

They approached a corner, rounding it to find another agent waiting for them in ambush, his prosthetic hand reaching out to grip the barrel of Ruza’s rifle. Noting the bandage on the Rask’s arm, he reacted quickly, uppercutting the injured bicep from below. Ruza growled in pain, loosening his grip on his weapon enough that the agent could tear it from his hands, ramming its stock into his belly and doubling him over. A flashing blade went for his neck, but Silverback was upon him, shouldering Ruza aside and delivering a punch to the agent’s visor that stunned him.

Ruza crashed into the container to his left, watching as Silverback delivered a vicious jab to the operative’s ribs strong enough to break bone, followed by a left hook to the helmet that sent the man reeling. Even moreso than a normal human, Silverback used his fists like hammers, his massive augmented arms driving them like pistons. The agent tried to strike back with his knife, but Silverback caught his wrist, crushing the limb in his hand. Using it as leverage, he dragged the man closer and drove his right fist into his visor, the helmet doing little to cushion the blow. The agent dropped, unconscious before he’d hit the ground.

As Silverback grabbed the heavy machinegun that was hanging from his strap, Ruza spotted a shape to the agent’s right – a shadow emerging from cover. Ruza drew the sidearm from beneath his jacket, aiming it at Silverback, and the agent knew to sidestep it a moment before he fired. The slugs passed close enough that Ruza could see their molten glow reflected in his comrade’s visor, and they struck another enemy agent, sending him slumping to the ground.

Silverback gave him an appreciative nod, and the two pressed on, the sound of more gunfire coming from their left and right as they moved through the containers. Ruza detected a sound beneath it – a rhythmic thudding. He turned his eyes to the ground, watching the grains of sand bounce softly, feeling the vibrations travel through his paws.

“You feel that?” Silverback whispered. “It’s coming from our right, and Petrova is to our left. I have her on the scope.”

“Barbosa,” Ruza confirmed, stowing his XMR and reaching for the AMR on his back. His bicep still hurt, fresh blood dripping from the already soaked bandages, but he endured it.

“We should pull back and wait for backup,” Silverback insisted, more gunshots echoing. “They have us spread out and split up. We need Petrova’s PCE.”

“All I require is one clean shot,” Ruza replied. “If we do not act quickly, he may slip away.”

The sound drew closer, the thudding increasing in speed – the PCE breaking into a run. Ruza and Silverback began to back away, the Rask keeping his AMR level.

“Petrova, Brenner – converge on my position!” Silverback barked over the radio. “We have contact with Barbosa! We need support!”

Ruza was aiming at the aisle between the shipping containers ahead, expecting the PCE to approach from between them, but Barbosa barreled into them instead. His suit was strong and heavy enough to send the three-container-high wall toppling over on top of the pair, Ruza and Silverback scrambling for safety as they fell. The heavy containers crashed down, one of them splitting open, spilling its contents of raw ore across the sand in an avalanche. Silverback was knocked to the ground, the edge of a container crushing his legs and trapping him, while Ruza barely leapt clear. He moved to help free his struggling companion, but Barbosa was already climbing over the debris, his heavy suit making the colorful metal sag beneath its weight.

“Run, Ruza!” Silverback bellowed. “Get out of here!”

The agent fired his machinegun, but Barbosa ignored it – the slugs intercepted harmlessly by the flickering shield. The PCE’s camera dome was fixed instead on Ruza. The Rask continued to retreat and aimed his AMR, but there came a bright flash of light from the suit’s canopy, the violent strobing blinding him. It was followed by the deafening crack of a stun grenade, his ears ringing as he fell to the sand, too disoriented to stand.

He was vaguely aware of being lifted, cold mechanical fingers closing around his head, his paws dangling just off the ground. Barbosa tore the AMR from his hands, and between metal fingers and blurry afterimages, Ruza saw the feline decal on the suit’s armored canopy snarling back at him. The PCE was holding him aloft with its fist closed over his face. Despite being a head shorter than he was at seven feet, its arm was extended high above its canopy, the AMR clutched in its free hand.

“After studying your combat footage, it didn’t escape my attention that you never wear a helmet,” Barbosa said through his speakers. “Didn’t bring one from home like you did your rifle, I assume. Those heightened senses of yours must make it a real bitch to get flashbanged. Thanks for the AMR,” he added, disconnecting the rifle’s cable with a sharp tug. “The PDF barely have any of these damned things in their armories, and I gave the last one to Crow. I’ll use it to kill that traitor Petrova when I’m done with you.”

“The fuck you will!” Silverback yelled from somewhere behind him.

“I’ll deal with you in a moment!” Barbosa snapped. “Wait your turn.”

Ruza bared his teeth and growled, thrashing around and kicking with the sharp claws on his paws, scratching at the suit’s armored forearm with his hands. It was futile. Even a Borealan’s strength paled in comparison to a PCE’s machinery. It could crush his skull like a fruit with nothing more than an errant twitch.

“Look at you,” Barbosa began with a cruel chuckle. “After all this mayhem, you’re finally reduced to what you truly are – a wild animal. Hard to believe that this is our first face-to-face meeting after all this time. You’ve caused me no end of trouble. Hoff couldn’t kill you, Petrova couldn’t kill you, Song couldn’t kill you, Roach and Crow couldn’t kill you. Me? Took me a couple of minutes,” he hissed, Ruza’s eyes widening as he felt the mechanical hand squeeze his head tighter. “I should never have played at governing this shithole. I should have come down here in force and imposed my will from the beginning. That’s my punishment for keeping the kid gloves on and trying to reason with these bumpkins. They don’t want to be elevated – all they want is to roll around in the filth with the likes of you. I offered them the stars, but they’d rather burn down their own city than lift their eyes from the dirt.”

Barbosa turned on the spot, ensuring that Ruza could see the anchor and the tether that rose up into the smog-choked sky.

“You see that? Know what that is? That’s not a monument or a wonder to us – it’s infrastructure. We can put one of those up in a few months, and what has your species accomplished? Stacking a few blocks of stone and calling it a tower? You don’t even understand the damage you’ve done because anything beyond banging rocks together is too taxing on your brain.”

“Killing me changes nothing,” Ruza said, his voice muffled by the PCE’s metal palm. “It will not bring your dead comrades back to life, return your carrier, or restore your control over this place. You are already undone, and I will go to my grave savoring my part in it.”

“Delighting in wanton destruction for its own sake is certainly in character for your kind,” Barbosa muttered. “You’re a millstone weighing down my species, do you understand that? The Brokers are devious traitors, and the Jarilans are playing the long game, but you do harm simply by being a dead weight that we have to drag along behind us. You want to be feared and respected, but your very existence is only possible through our charity and protection. It’s pathetic. We could wipe out your species with a button press.”

“Yet it is you who are marked for death by your Admirals, not us,” Ruza replied. “My territory prospers while everything you have tried to build here burns.”