Rebels

  * * * *

  Had he arrived a few minutes earlier he might have detected the subtle differences in the general aura of fear that he induced in those around him and that of a genuine member of the Brethren who had something to hide. As it was, fortunately for Tracy, she'd been scheduled to depart for a new life as a private on the drop-ship that had left a few moments before his arrival.

  Given that the life expectancy in the southern iridium mines was barley eight months for a worker and not much better for a grunt on guard duty, due to the exceptionally high concentrations of Iridium-192, it was not an assignment she’d relished, even if she'd been a loyal Malstrom employee, but the Brethren had other plans for her.

  It had been easy to slip quietly away when Wilkes and the others weren't looking. The constant rotation of drop-ships, arriving and departing as the remainder of Anderson's command was broken up and reassigned to the dirtiest and most dangerous jobs on the planet, meant it was hard to keep track of who was coming or going. People milling around, waiting for orders, creating an air of general confusion. She'd slipped quietly away from the crowd as they tried to round them up and herd them onto the waiting drop-ship. When she was sure no one was looking she'd unzipped one of the unattended body bags and swapped ident chips, before walking casually away.

  She'd smiled quietly to herself as she heard a frustrated Sergeant-Major bawling her name. “Tracy, Tracy, where the hell is Tracy? I'm going to put that useless grunt on a charge before she sets foot on that damn crate!”

  “Over here Sarge.” called a hapless lackey with a hand held scanner pointed at the body bag. He nearly wretched as an infuriated Sergeant-Major came storming over unzipped it and rooted around inside before pulling out an indent chip with a blood soaked hand.

  “Pull yourself together private or you'll be taking her place in the mines.” he snapped. “No wonder Anderson's command's being broken up.” he turned back to the row of soldiers shuffling slowly onto the drop-ship. “Miserable maggots! You can't even keep track of who's alive or dead. Now move it double time or I'll be shipping the lot of you out in body bags!”

  They obliged by braking into a trot.

  Moving discreetly through the wreckage, by the time the drop-ship and short tempered Sergeant-Major had lifted off she was secreted in a battered container on the deserted and unwatched far side of the battle zone. She activated an emergency fabricator identical to the one she'd given Anderson and slipped out of her Malstrom armour. Shedding the markings and rank of her old life for good. Slipping into her new clothes and persona before sliding a sleek new mag-ski out of the container. A long, slender, silver machine like a bike, except that instead of wheels it had a single sled running along the full length of its underside. It was capable of seating two with a passenger immediately behind the driver on the pillion. She straddled the seat clasped the handlebars and hit the ignition. There was a low hum as the reactor burst into life and began to throb rhythmically under her generating a small magnetic field that lifted it a few millimeters clear of the ground. She activated the mag-ski and envirosuits dynamic camouflage mode and opened the throttle. The sun was already sinking rapidly over the jagged mountains, casting long dark shadows down the valley, as she sped across the frozen wastes towards the co-ordinates she'd given Anderson.

  She flashed up the external temperature on her HUD. It was falling rapidly as the sun set and would quickly deplete the power cells of anyone unfortunate to be caught out in the open. At least she had the luxury of drawing power for the suit from the mag-ski's engine. Zipping between the windswept boulders that littered the frozen wasteland as fast as she dared in the quickening night, it was too risky to use the lights, she instructed the bikes on board computer to scan on a pre-set frequency for Anderson’s emergency transponder. Like most of the tech the Brethren used it had been set to an obscure, little used, frequency to minimise the risk of discovery. To anyone scanning that band without knowing what to look for it would simply appear as static. Pulling clear of the boulder field, onto a flat featureless expanse of ice, she opened up the throttle and sped deeper into the night.

  Anderson shivered involuntarily he was down to his last power cell and still well short of the co-ordinates she'd given him. As far as he could tell he was heading for a remote location on the coast. Although he doubted he'd make it. The bitterly cold night was sapping the capacity of his suit, which wasn't designed for prolonged exposure to extreme temperatures, to keep him warm. He'd just cleared a vast flat featureless ice field and was now resting at the foot of a narrow mountain pass, on the far side of which he would find his destination. Unfortunately even with his suits thermal settings turned right down to the bare minimum for survival his calculations showed him coming up a few hours short.

  He shrugged took a deep breath and whispered to himself. “The Brethren will provide.” and added as an afterthought. “If I'm deemed worthy.”

  He pushed his tired aching muscles into action once more and staggered into the pass. He cursed Jasper, without the benefit of his deactivated Malstrom combat armours stim injector, he was now feeling the full impact of the accumulated fatigue of the last forty-eight hours without sleep. Suddenly he was aware of a low thrumming hum rapidly approaching him from behind. He reached for his pistol turned and stumbled, cracking his helmet on a large boulder. He was dimly aware of someone looming over him. As he struggled against the odds to remain conscious he was struck by the sheer humiliation of it all. That someone who had worked their way up through the ranks to command an elite force should die like this, because they'd tripped over their own two feet and were too incompetent to defend themselves.

  “I've been judged and found wanting and this is my fate.” was the last thought to echo through his mind before he passed out.

  Tracy leapt off the mag-ski and pulled the green emergency kit out from under the seat. Breaking open a small tube of sealant she applied it to the damage helmet carefully checking his vital signs as she did so. He was alive, but only just, the combination of stim withdrawal and exhaustion had taken its toll. Gently she lifted him into a sitting position and looping his right arm over her shoulders picked him up and dragged him back to the mag-ski. Deciding against injecting him with more stims, she administered a mild sedative. The last thing she needed was him waking up and unbalancing the machine when they were travelling at speed. Then carefully laying his inert body over the pillion, she activated the luggage straps to hold him firmly in place, attached a power feed from the bike to his suit to ensure it would keep him warm and remounted. Even with the additional load the high energy power cells that powered the machine would get them to their destination with fuel to spare. She opened the throttle and moved effortlessly up the narrow pass.

  A couple of hours later they were clear of the pass and speeding down a gentle slope towards the ocean. A large black silhouette of an abandoned fish processing plant loomed up before them, against the flat featureless grey ocean beyond and the broken ice fields and icebergs that moved silently on the currents beneath it. She opened the throttle as far as it would go to cover the final expanse of snow between them and shelter. The rhythmic throbbing becoming a low howling whine as she pushed the machine to its limits.

  The mag-ski skidded to a halt outside the dark lifeless hulk of the redundant plant. Tracy opened her comm on the same obscure frequency that she'd used to track down Anderson and transmitted the pass code. 'Salvation'. There was a brief pause before a steel shutter rolled slowly up to allow them access to the packing plant, before rolling back down behind them again. She was greeted by a couple of men in plain green overalls who gently lifted Anderson's unconscious form off the pillion and carried him away for treatment. She hid the Mag-ski between two dusty pallets of preformed packaging waiting patiently to be filled with fish that would never come. Then tossed an old tarpaulin over it before finally removing her helmet.

  “Brother Anderson has had a difficult journey, but we should not save those who have been jud
ged and found wanting.” the man who spoke was dressed in a plain blue suit that matched the colour of his eyes, strangely at odds with his shaggy unkempt black hair and rough beard.

  “Easy for you to say Oscar.” she said as she turned to face him. ”But we provide for the faithful and Brother Anderson has served us faithfully.” Oscar smiled as she continued. “He lured the hooded one there with false intelligence and ensured they had access to the facilities computer records. The wheel has been set in motion as you instructed. They will join the search for the ark and activate it believing they can use it against Malstrom and advance the Day of Judgement when the ancient ones shall return. Unless your plan is flawed and it is you who will have been judged and found wanting.”

  He laughed. “We are the children of the ancients, the chosen people, we should serve and not fight one another.” he pulled her to him and kissed her, before she could pull away.

  “Being a priest of the order may give you certain privileges but that isn't one of them.” she snapped pulling herself back.

  “Don't get too attached to Anderson child.” he called after her. “He is old and weak and has served his purpose, our moment is still to come.”