Chapter 132: Chapter 44: Bringing down Hell

Dash stood by the tram doors, counting down the seconds until they reached the executive platform. Milia and Gaius stood on his flanks, all of them breathing heavily and sweating. Only the sounds of the tram’s electromagnetic propulsion and the background melody of electronic music filled the cabin. Behind them, sitting on a bench, a pair of Ghuptos swayed while they observed the out of place trio.

One of them finally summoned the courage or mental capacity to ask, “What happened to you?”

Dash observed them in the glass door. If he had to guess, the Ghuptos might’ve been the same pair he ran into on Terminus the first time around. “Word of advice. Don’t go near the executive lounge.”

“There’s an executive lounge?” one said to the other.

The tram arrived at the executive platform. Dash charged out as the doors parted. They needed to move fast or lose Wesley forever. Gunfire sounded ahead. The tunnel curved around a corner then opened into the plaza. Dash burst out of it, Gaius and Milia trailing behind him. Across the plaza, Mylo and the remaining scavengers retreated into their terminal.

Dash ran, thankful they weren't too late.

He caught a flicker of motion before he heard the booming gunfire. A plume of heat enveloped his gun hand. He felt Betsy drop from his grip as he fell, rolling to a stop behind a short container. He examined his hand, finding some of the skin red and aching. He found Betsy on the ground just out of reach. He stretched his arm and pulled her in as a shot struck where his elbow had been a split-second before.

“You’re mine!” a voice said. Dash recognized it as Boci.

A few more shots struck the container, vibrating the exterior shell. Dash shifted further to the other side and examined Betsy. The shot had hit the guncam. He couldn’t see around cover, or fire with any accuracy without aiming manually.

“Surrender! We’ve got your friends,” Galo said.

Dash peeked around the side and spotted the heads of Gaius and Milia, hands held up and weaponless. 

“Come out now or die. Your choice.”

Dash cursed himself. He’d stupidly charged ahead without sweeping for an ambush. An amateur mistake. Even if he took out Boci, Galo had Gaius and Milia as hostages.

“Think you got what it takes?” Boci said, and shot the container again.

“I’ve got him covered. Move in,” Galo said to his partner. “Remember, we want him alive.”

“Can’t guarantee that,” Boci said, and fired.

Pinned behind the crate, Dash looked to the plaza’s ceiling high above. He could just make out the slanted window for the suite where Kashara had tried to force him into the slave contract. He pictured the room as it was before, the blood removed and the furniture replaced, ready to be reused in another attempt to extort a hauler crew. He almost laughed, seeing where he was now and knowing he would’ve at least been alive had he signed the contract and gone along as an indentured servant like Bania had.

Boci fired again, and a hot bit of debris struck Dash’s cheek. He winced and brushed it away.

“I said alive!” Galo howled.

Boci closed in. Dash had seconds to act. The familiar feeling of helplessness returned, like a childhood trauma seared into memory. Trapped. Out of options. Awaiting capture or death. Neither outcome would help his crew.

His focus returned to the suite overhead, to the slanted glass and framing. The sense of helplessness inside him was wrong then, as it was all those years ago. There was always an option.

Lying on his back, he aimed Betsy down the sight, and fired three times.

Bringing hell down on his head once more.

The powerful shots struck the underside of the suite’s windows, blowing out large chunks of nucrete, parts of the frame, and sections of shattered tempered glass.

The debris—now deadly projectiles—rained down upon the plaza. Knowing what was coming, Dash had begun to roll to the edge of the open space. Boci managed a wild shot before noticing the incoming gigantic scattergun blast, and ran for cover.

Dash dove for a tarp and pulled it over him as the debris crashed upon the ground in a cacophony of industrial death throes. Small bits landed on the tarp, pointed fingers jabbing him through the material. Then it stopped all at once, and he swept the tarp aside.

He bolted upright, Betsy held at the ready. He spotted Boci, his head caved in. Then he searched for Galo, finding the security officer climbing to his feet. The man spotted Dash, and raised his weapon. Dash fired without hesitation, striking the man in the upper body. He dropped, a smoking hole punched through him.

Dash ran over to where his captured team had fallen in between a pair of pallets. Gaius stood, a sliver of blood on his temple. “Where’s Milia?” Dash asked.

“Here,” she said from the other side of one of the pallets. She examined a composite ceiling panel she’d pulled over her head as cover. A piece of framing had punctured through, missing her in a close call. She tossed it away, then found Galo and retrieved her and Gaius’s weapons. She passed the Slyvarkian a pistol. “Let’s finish this.”

Dash led them across the plaza in a proper tactical advance. They slowed near the terminal entrance, spotting the body of the tall recovery agent, repeater still in his hands. He’d been stitched in the back at close range. At least there was only one of them left.

They hurried into the terminal. At the far end, the gate hatch closed, sealing Rakton’s remaining crew off from the terminal. Dash said, “Gaius, take the panel. Milia and I will cover you.”

“Roger,” Gaius said and went to the panel on the opposite side. Milia slipped in behind Dash on the opposite side. Gaius prodded at the panel. “It’s is locked.”

Dash said, “They shouldn’t have access to lock this hatch.”

“Porter’s with them, right? He would,” Milia said.

Dash pressed his ear to the hatch. He heard muffled voices inside.

“The bridge is locked!”

“Cut it open then!”

“I think they’re stuck—” Dash said when, without warning, the gate hatch opened and gunfire erupted from within. Dash pulled back against the wall. On the opposite side, Gaius cried out and clutched his shoulder as gunfire struck the wall near him. Dash hunkered down, unable to help his pilot.

The shooting stopped. Gaius presented the wound to Dash, refusing to look at it. “How bad is it? Am I going to make it? Tell me the truth!”

Dash eyed the wound, and felt a swell of relief. “It’s a scratch. Stop being a baby.”

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Gaius hesitantly peered at the wound and saw the trickle of blood. “I should probably put on a tourniquet to be safe—”

“Stop talking,” Dash said, and peeked around the hatch’s edge. He spotted a few slivers of movement behind the loading carts. The hatches to each of the ships—the Terran and the Stardancer—were closed. “The docking bridges are closed. They said they couldn’t open them. They’ll have to cut through then.”

“That buys us time, but one of those other crews is bound to be on our tail,” Milia said.

“We need to get Wesley before we’re caught in a crossfire.”

“Milia, that you out there?” a voice called out from the gate.

“Yes, Mylo, it’s me,” Milia answered.

“Sorry, I didn’t know it was you. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have tried to shoot you,” Jido said.

“Milia, please save us!” Draug shouted.

“Shut that thing up!” Mylo said. “Milia, I’m so glad you’re alive. Listen, things got pretty crazy in there. Maybe we can reach an agreement.”

“They must be low on ammo,” Dash said. “Why else try to make a deal?”

“Like what?” Milia called out to Dash’s annoyance.

“You were right,” Mylo said. “We weren’t strong enough to stand up to Rakton. Only you were. Twice, in fact. Rakton’s gone now. That changes everything. Come on out, let’s talk.”

Dash glanced at Gaius, who shook his head in exaggerated motions. “So you can shoot us? How about you come over here and we’ll talk,” he said, and froze when a barrel pressed into the back of his neck. “Come on, Milia, you’re seriously doing this again?”

“Hand over the gun,” Milia said.

On the other side of the hatch, Gaius aimed his pistol at her. “Let him go.”

“Drop it, or I drop your captain.”

Rage and humiliation swirled within Dash. In that moment, dizzied by the vortex of emotion, all he wanted was for Milia to lose. He locked eyes with Gaius. “Take the shot.”

Behind him, Milia stiffened. The pilot’s hands trembled, his face twisted with panic and fury. “But if I miss, or she—”

“Then I’m dead either way,” Dash said.

“Don't listen to him,” Milia said, her voice breaking with a hint of fear.

 Gaius shifted his feet, settled his aim, and focused down the sight.

Dash nodded, and stared into the barrel, awaiting the flash of light that would be his last conscious thought.

 “I’m sorry,” Gaius said. His gun lowered to his waist before he bent and placed it on the ground.

“It’s okay,” Dash said, and handed Betsy to Milia.

“I’m coming in. Don’t shoot,” Milia called out, and waved Dash and Gaius forward.

---

The maintenance tunnel stretched on into never-ending darkness.

Wesley’s sprint had settled into a jog. Sweat trickled down his forehead as he passed another substation. The motion-activated lights illuminated the corridor a few meters on either side. Only occasional numeric wall markings stemmed the tide of his growing conviction that he was trapped inside a ripple in the space-time continuum.

He wondered what Jo would think, knowing what trouble he was in.

A stitch in his side became a stabbing pain. He slowed, then leaned against a support arch. Alone in the pocket of light, darkness loomed on either side. He slumped to the ground and wondered if Dash, Gaius, and Milia were still alive. He’d lost track of them in the fighting when the scavenger crew yanked him and the ops crew out of the lounge. All that death and destruction because of him. The desperate move to summon the recovery agents had worked, but at what cost? Some part of him said the other crews deserved it. Slavery was a reprehensible sin, but it wasn’t his duty to judge them. That was the Lords’ role.

He breathed out slowly as the pain finally dissolved. He stood and noticed something odd bounced in the distance. He squinted. A small glow in the darkness. Growing larger.

Someone was coming down the tunnel after him. 

His throat tightened. His mind screamed at him to move, but his body froze. Biting down on his lip, he willed himself to run through the pain. He risked a glance back. The bouncing dot was closer, giving a human shape to his pursuer.

He kept running, past another substation. The support arches illuminated as he moved through them. An unfamiliar object formed in the darkness. Small, inanimate. A toolbox. He slowed enough to look inside. Empty. He continued on, breathing through a clenched jaw.

He registered a disturbance in the air and strained to listen. A noise, a hissing in the darkness ahead. His already-pounding heart jumped another level. Which direction did he choose—the danger he knew behind, or the unknown ahead? His mind wrestled with the choices while his legs drove him forward.

A vertical sliver of light appeared in the darkness. It widened, spilling light into the corridor. Wesley slowed but his momentum carried him on, closer. Then a shape cut into the light, a form stirring within. 

Wesley halted close enough to the hatch for the motion lights to activate. His body tightened as his hands raised reflexively, awaiting what lay inside.

A helmeted figure shuffled out of the airlock. The translucent dome on its head retracted into the collar. An emergency vacuum helmet. The man’s pained eyes snapped up to meet Wesley’s. Clutching the frame of the hatch, he straightened to his full height. His bearded chin shifted beneath his hardened face.

“Hello, Wesley Martjan Dennenberg,” the man said. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

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