In Earth's Service (Mapped Space Book 2) Page 13

  Realizing it would have to drive me out, it started around the skeleton. Thick muscles rippled under a dark brown hide pulled taut against bone from days without food. As the big meat eater skirted the tankosaur’s rounded skull, I moved back, trying to keep the skeleton between us. Suddenly it leapt forward sweeping a massive forearm at me, but I rolled away with ultra-reflexed speed, coming to my feet and slamming my clumsy weapon onto the point of its black snout.

  The sawtooth roared angrily, shaking its head in surprise as I darted away. Seeing me run, it immediately charged, leaping with both forelegs outstretched, but I dodged sideways around the skeleton. When it landed, it slid across the smooth rock floor into the cage wall causing the entire structure to vibrate from the impact.

  “You like to chase, don’t you,” I said to myself, realizing it had evolved to bring down fleeing prey. It expected me to run, because that’s what herbivores did out on the flatlands. As soon as I ran, its instinct was to charge after me, but it couldn’t keep its footing on the laser smooth rock floor.

  The sawtooth scrambled to its feet, then we circled the skeleton again in a deadly stalking game. After one full circuit, I broke into a sprint, testing my theory. The sawtooth instantly charged around the end of the skeleton, losing its footing and sliding on its side across the slick rock floor. Before it righted itself, I rushed forward and hurled my bar like a spear, striking the beast’s sloping forehead with a thud that filled it with fury.

  It got to its feet, exploding with rage as I ran back to the rib cage, triggering the sawtooth’s pursuit instinct again. Its large feet scrambled on the smooth rock as it rushed to chase me down. A threading indicator flashed into my mind, warning it was almost on top of me, then I dove between the tankosaur’s ribs, landing on the segmented anvil spine. I rolled and dived again, leaping through the other side of the rib cage and scooping up my second iron bar.

  The sawtooth charged blindly after me, hurling its massive shoulders against the giant bones, shattering them on impact. Its chest bounced off the anvil-jointed spine, then its head speared between the far side ribs, coming to rest with its shoulders wedged against the tankosaur rib cage. Its head and shoulders were pinned by its own weight and its small rear legs were left sprawled across the backbone, flailing helplessly in the air.

  Seeing my chance, I charged, holding the metal bar above my shoulders with both hands, then drove the blunt end like a lance into the creature’s eye. It roared in anger, twisting its torso, trying to break free, but for all its immense physical strength, it couldn’t move backwards. On Hardfall’s endless plains, it had evolved incredible power going forward, but no ability to step back.

  There wasn’t room for it to move its forearms, only to push its enormous shoulders against the bone edifice trapping it. Knowing I didn’t have long before the tankosaur skeleton collapsed, I drove the metal bar deeper into the sawtooth’s eye socket, trying to puncture its brain, but the metal bar struck bone and would go no further. I released the bar, now firmly wedged in its skull, and stepped back as the creature whipped its head from side to side, causing the metal pole to carve wild arcs through the air.

  When the sawtooth lifted its head, raising the bar vertically, I leapt forward, catching it and vaulting my weight toward the tankosaur skeleton. As I passed over the sawtooth’s head, I jerked the bar forward, hearing a loud crack as the creature’s neck snapped, then its head rolled sideways limply, forcing me to jump clear.

  Before I was even on my feet, my DNA sniffer was flashing another warning, of multiple contacts approaching from the west. Fast, hopping contacts! Dozens of them! The roars of the sawtooth and my scent had attracted them and now the prospect of food was sending them crazy. Knowing I couldn’t stay inside the bait trap, I ran to the entrance as a swarm of infra red wisps appeared out of the darkness, bouncing toward me through long grass on short, powerful hind legs. My listener amplified the patter of little feet and a chorus of barking growls as the plains piranha closed in.

  With nowhere to run, the only direction was up. I clambered from the fallen gate to the top of the cage, then turned and kicked furiously at the trap door’s rusted hinge, trying to knock the gate down. Suddenly, fleshrippers surged out of the long grass in a wave of growling, bouncing death. They swarmed over the flat rock toward the bait trap, then as the first one reached the fallen gate, the rusted hinge snapped. The ripper leapt off the gate toward me, slashing at my leg with blade-like claws extending from its small forearms. I pulled back as it carved the air and wrapped one deadly paw over the edge of the cage, then tried to scramble up, but I smashed the heel of my boot into its little round face, sending it flying.

  The fleshripper pack swept into the bait trap toward the dead sawtooth, yelping with glee to have found one of their most dangerous enemies dead before them. They swarmed over its carcass, tearing its thick hide open with their claws and gorging themselves on its still warm meat. The big animal’s blood spread across the bait trap floor as more of the ravenous little creatures swarmed into the cage, eager to join the feeding frenzy. The sawtooth’s carcass disappeared beneath a mass of squawking, slashing fleshrippers, then once the food was gone, their attention turned to me.

  Dozens of blood crazed little carnivores squealed furiously as they tried to find a way to reach me, clawing the bars, hopping onto the tankosaur skeleton and leaping hopelessly up at me. Perched on top of the cage, I was trapped, but just out of their reach. Even if my P-50 had been fully loaded, I could never have killed them all. There were too many and they were too aggressive. Watching those ravenous, little fleshrippers staring up at me, it was abundantly clear why every attempt the colonists had made to move down from their high fortresses had failed.

  It was the uncompromising brutality of life on Hardfall’s dying plains.

  Several hours after the fleshrippers had swarmed the bait trap, a dozen of them still prowled the rock floor below, staring up at me in frustration. The rest had drifted away into the grass, some to sleep after gorging themselves, others to wander restlessly nearby waiting for their next victim.

  Far off in the distance, the lights of a speeding ground vehicle pierced the darkness of the plain as it raced south. For a long time, it seemed unaware of my presence, then it slowly turned toward the bait trap, following an old dirt road linking the trap to the colony.

  When it was still some way out, my infrared optics picked up another heat source approaching from the opposite direction. As it drew near, I realized it was larger than a fleshripper, smaller than a sawtooth, heading toward me at a leisurely pace. There was no stalking, none of the initial caution shown by the sawtooth or the frenzied charge of the rippers. Soon the ghostly apparition took on the form of a man, walking alone across the plain, seemingly unaware of the danger.

  When he was several hundred meters out, he stopped to study me and my little friends below. I tried DNA-locking him, but got nothing. I considered shouting a warning, but feared that would rouse the rippers sleeping in the grass between us. I tried waving him back, but he ignored my efforts, renewing his approach. Soon he was close enough for my threading to read his body temperature – a few degrees above the human norm.

  On the rock flats outside the bait trap, a fleshripper got wind of his scent and hopped uncertainly into the long grass, toward him. Its red blur moved leisurely at first, then it emitted an excited barking sound, rousing the others. Suddenly the long grass was alive with movement as rippers surged toward him. The creatures below immediately lost interest in me and raced after the pack, fearful of missing their share of the prey.

  The humanoid stopped as he became aware of the wave of death rolling toward him, then calmly reached over his shoulder and retrieved a two-handed weapon. When the rippers were almost upon him he fired a steady energy blast, sweeping left to right and back again, creating a cone-shaped inferno that incinerated all before him. High pitched squeals of shock and agony filled the air as the ripper pack died while the alien continued to unleash
controlled destruction upon them. The glow of the flames revealed his dark helmet and body armor, identical to what the large humanoid who’d pursued me on Krailo-Nis had worn.

  Suddenly I realized neither the Tau Cetins nor the Intruders were following us. It was him! He’d tracked me from the streets of Nisport to the plains of Hardfall, making me – not Izin – the target!

  More infrared fleshripper ghosts converged on his position from the right. For a moment, I thought he’d hadn’t seen them, then as they were almost on top of him, he leapt away. Ionized light glowed from the base of his boots as he power jumped through the air, drawing them after him. When he landed, he waited for the second wave to swarm after him, then he fired again, calmly annihilating his attackers. When the only thing left alive out there was him, he locked his weapon on his back and power jumped over the spreading grass fire toward the bait trap.

  Wheels skidded on smooth rock behind me, then the metallic click of a hatch opening sounded. I turned to see a six wheeled, all-terrain vehicle with four powerful floodlights mounted on top parked alongside the bait trap. It was painted in savannah camouflage, shielded by rectangular plate armor that gave it a faceted look and crowned by a round roof turret mounting an impressive seventy five millimeter autocannon. Painted across the side of the hull were images of plains animals and in red letters the words ‘Prairie Runner’. Above the middle pair of wheels, a hatch lifted up vertically, gull wing style, pushed up by a black prosthetic claw.

  The same weather beaten face that had followed me across Hadley’s Retreat looked up from the ATV’s hatch. “Kade,” Clawhand yelled, “Down here.” He was holding a triple barreled scatter gun in his real hand, but it wasn’t aimed at me. It was pointed low, ready to blast the first ripper that showed its beady little face.

  I hesitated, glancing back at the approaching alien now walking toward me, certain this was one fight I wasn’t going to win, then slid down the side of the bait trap to the ground. The humanoid power jumped to the top of the cage, landing with a heavy metallic thud as I dived head first into the open hatch past Clawhand, who pulled the armored door down behind me.

  Inside, the Prairie Runner was all raw metal, roll bars, gun racks and ammo lockers. A pair of padded bench seats ran down the middle, back to back. I landed on the metal floor as a pretty young blonde in her early twenties turned from the steering position up front and flashed me a broad smile.

  “Hey mister! Glad you’re still alive.”

  “So am I,” I said uncertainly, climbing onto the bench seat.

  “Last fella we tried rescuing,” she added, “was dead by the time we got here!”

  “That’s Emma,” Clawhand said. “My daughter. Ain’t she pretty?” He nodded to her. “Let’s go honey!”

  Emma turned and pushed the twin throttles halfway up. The armored all terrain vehicle lurched forward with a roar, skidding on the smooth rock as its tail spun out, crashing into the bait trap, then it straightened as glowing boots appeared out of the sky ahead of us.

  “What the hell …?” Emma said confused as the alien landed in front of us.

  “Go!” I yelled.

  Emma glanced at her father uncertainly. “He’s not one of ours.”

  “Do as the man says, honey.”

  She slammed the throttles to full, driving the ATV straight into the large humanoid, bouncing him off the sloped frontal armor and hurling him into the air. The Prairie Runner bounced off the rock flats into the grass and picked up speed. Through the slit rear window, I saw him float to the ground on his glowing boots, apparently unharmed.

  Clawhand followed my gaze to the alien who stood watching us race away. “Friend of yours?”

  “I very much doubt it,” I said, wondering if the ATV’s armor could survive a blast from the alien’s energy weapon. I waited, but he didn’t fire. Either he judged the ATV too tough a target or he wanted me alive.

  When the dust obscured the alien from sight, Clawhand turned to me with an appraising look. “Let me get this straight. You been here less than a day and already Metzler and his bully boys want you dead and you got some big-ass alien after you as well. Son, you got a talent for making enemies.”

  I smiled. “It’s a gift.”

  “If you’re looking for trouble, you’ve come to the right place.”

  “How’d you know I was here?”

  “After you jumped off the Link, one of my boys saw them grab you off the street. When they flew you south, we knew they were dropping you at this old trap.”

  “Good guess.”

  “No guess. You’re not the first man they dumped out here. Won’t be the last.”

  “Why are you risking making an enemy of the Governor by helping me?”

  “I’m already his enemy and if that lying, murdering dog wants you dead, I want you alive.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want him off my planet – or dead,” he looked thoughtful. “Preferably dead.”

  Emma turned back and grinned. “Metzler feels the same way about Daddy.”

  “He wants me in that bait trap,” Clawhand said, “but I’d rip open his guts and tear out his spine if he tried.” He flexed his metallically brutal prosthetic meaningfully.

  “What’d you do?”

  “It’s not what I did, it’s who I am.” When the blank look on my face told him I had no idea who he was, he added. “I used to be the Governor. The name’s Quentin Tobias Hadley, direct descendant of old A.M. himself!”

  We drove through the Boneyard south east of Hadley’s Retreat as the sky began to lighten, past bleached skeletons, wrecked vehicles and triangular obelisks engraved with lettering I couldn’t read. Each time we passed one of the memorials, Emma dimmed the ATV’s lights in respect.

  “They got the names of everyone who didn’t make it,” Hadley said when he saw me trying to read the inscription on one of the stone monuments. “The locations mark where they were taken. Most of the bodies were never recovered.”

  Once we left the bones behind, we drove north along the eastern side of Hadley’s Retreat as Hardfall’s sun began to peak above the horizon. There were glimpses of buildings perched atop the cliffs and of a few people out walking before breakfast, safely out of reach of the dangers prowling the flatlands.

  Soon, two cylindrical turrets standing like sentinels in front of the cliffs came into view. They were armed with long barreled autocannons placed to cover each other and destroy any creature pursuing an incoming vehicle. Emma turned the ATV onto a well worn track between the two guns and headed for a large rectangular door set into the cliffs. It lifted up as we approached, revealing a long cavern filled with many vehicles. They ranged from fast two seaters to crane equipped tow trucks all the way up to massive ten wheeled transports. All were armored, most had portable weapon mounts and a few – like Hadley’s ATV – were fitted with turreted cannons.

  The cavern had once been a natural feature, but the colonists had smoothed and expanded it, drilling a vertical elevator shaft down from the top of the mesa. The armored door closed behind us as soon as we were inside, showing that even with two robot guns guarding the entrance, Hardfall’s colonists took no chances. Emma parked the Prairie Runner in a large space close to the cavern door, then we took the elevator up to the mesa top.

  Hadley’s house was the largest on the plateau. It had been built more than a century ago, with a stately grandeur befitting the colony’s founder and a view over the eastern cliffs toward the wreck of the Dahlia. A rocky promontory, which doubled as a memorial lookout, hid the house from the surface battery a few clicks south. When we arrived, Emma went to fix breakfast while Hadley directed me to a chair in front of open concertina doors and offered me a cigar from an ornate box.

  “Hardfall’s own,” he said proudly.

  When I declined, he lit one up and settled into a nearby chair. He was a typical Faller, almost a head shorter than me with hard muscle and thick bones engineered for the planet’s uncomfortable gravity. His face was
tanned, framed by white hair and apart from his robotic arm, he appeared to be in excellent health.

  He pulled on his cigar, then exhaled blue smoke slowly. “We don’t get many traders here, Kade.”

  “I’m not surprised. The Acheron’s a little close for comfort.”

  “It is and yet, here you are … and with Metzler in a God awful hurry to see you dead. I’m wondering why?”

  I wasn’t sure I could trust Hadley and I certainly wasn’t about to share classified information with him, but he had rescued me from the bait trap and the alien and that counted for something.

  “Maybe I ask too many questions.”

  “You seemed real interested in Loport and you got here right when that smuggler ship landed. I’m guessing that’s no coincidence.”

  “You know the Merak Star?”

  “I’ve seen her before.” Hadley fixed a penetrating gaze upon me, deciding how useful I might be. Eventually, he said, “Most of the time Loport’s used by hydro farmers. They land their hilljumpers down there to avoid Hiport’s fees. Then every few months, Metzler shuts it down. Sends in his private army. Won’t let anyone near it, not ever the croppers. That’s when we know we’re getting visitors.”

  “Like now,” I said thoughtfully.

  “Uh huh.” Hadley tapped ash from his cigar. “I figured it was only a matter of time before someone like you showed up.”

  “Like me?” I said, feigning innocence.

  “Someone with an unhealthy curiosity in Metzler’s side business,” he said, giving me a quizzical look.

  I could have spun him a song and dance cover story he wouldn’t have believed, but I wanted his trust and his help. “He’s got my interest,” I conceded, telling Hadley nothing about myself and leaving him in no doubt I was not what I appeared. A flicker of hope flashed across his face, then I asked, “How’d Metzler get control of the colony?”

  “He was appointed by the Union’s Colonial Administration.”