The Mothership (37 page)

“O-ho,” Bill said apprehensively.

A loud clang reverberated through the
control room, as an access panel was slammed shut on the underbelly of the
transport. A faint machine hum began, then the craft floated silently off the
ground. Outside, the wall fragment was pushed silently away from the transport
by its propulsion field.

“We’re moving!” Cracker exclaimed, feeling
no movement, but seeing the ground outside fall away.

The vehicle rose above the tree tops as
gently as a hot air balloon rising on a thermal. As they gained altitude, the
forest spread out before them. Slowly, the transport turned to the west,
bringing the ragged ochre cliffs of Parson’s Range into view. Without any
sensation of movement, the vehicle accelerated at seventy gravities to twenty-five
times the speed of sound.

Wal appeared on the elevator plate, an
alarmed look on his face. “The back door’s closed!” He pushed past them to
stare astonished at the green landscape sweeping beneath them in a blur. “Hey,
we’re flying!”

 “No mate,” Bill said gloomily, “We’re
history!”

* * * *

Bandaka picked his
way sure footedly down a crevice carved out of the rock by a narrow stream. The
crevice’s normally ochre walls were gray from the ash of the fires that had
raged after the landing. A third of the way down, it opened into a natural
stairway where the water ran over rock ledges in a series of mini waterfalls,
all the way to the valley floor. Following Bandaka in single file was the
payload delivery team, led by Beckman. Only Virus found the going difficult,
but Tucker stayed close to him, catching him several times when he stumbled.

When they emerged from the crevice, they
found themselves in the shadow of a rock spur that ran southwest from the
ridge, hiding them from the mothership. Not far from the spur, ashen waters
crept toward them as the river slowly inundated the lowlands. Floating in the
water were thousands of charred trees and the rotting corpses of countless
birds and animals. A few water birds had flown in from beyond the valley, and were
now picking their way over the watery graveyard while goshawks, falcons and
eagles circled above in search of prey. The birds were unusually quiet,
unsettled by the devastation and spooked by the gray metal mass that now
dominated the valley. For once, they need not have feared the crocodiles, for
none had survived the nuclear-like impact.

Out of habit, Bandaka avoided the water,
choosing to stay close to the cliffs as he led them along the foot of the spur
into the valley. When he reached the end of the cliffs, he stopped and watched
as the soldiers approached in single file. When Beckman reached Bandaka, the
hunter pointed his spear at the edge of the cliff a short distance away. “They
see us there.”

“How far is it to the ship?”

Bandaka looked thoughtfully at the rocky
terrain, made more difficult by so many fallen trees, and knew Beckman’s team
would have trouble crossing it. “You very slow.” He motioned to a point in the
sky where the sun would be by midday. “Sun go there, before we reach other side.”

Beckman realized Bandaka thought it would
take them nearly two hours to cross. “We must go faster. As fast as you.”

Bandaka gave him a doubtful look, then
Beckman raised his voice for everyone to hear. “We’re stealthing from here.
We’ve only got forty five minutes. Bandaka will set the pace. Be sure to keep
up, or you’ll get caught in the open.” He turned to Bandaka and pointed to his
stealth gear. “When I turn this on, we won’t be able to see you. You must make
a sound so we can follow you.”

Bandaka tapped his boomerang against his
spear. “Like this?”

“Perfect. Pick the easiest, fastest path
for us to follow.” He turned to the others. “Stay close together, I don’t want
to lose anyone going in. Virus, are you going to make it? Last chance.”

Virus’ face was pale. “I’ll make it,” he
said as he popped another painkiller.

“All right, let’s do it.”

Beckman activated Bandaka’s power pack. The
tall black hunter blurred before him, then when he stepped back from the light
bending field, Bandaka vanished completely. One by one, the rest of the team
activated their power packs and faded from sight within spheres of warped
light. When Beckman activated his power pack, the world transformed to an
altered dimension of shifting shadows and gray silhouettes created by the
merest ray of light penetrating the field enabling him to see.

“OK Bandaka, go! Fast as you can.”

The hollow click of wood tapping on wood
moved off around the rocky spur. Beckman immediately followed the sound while
behind him, the rapid crunch of boots told him the others were rushing to keep
up. They’d trained long and hard for stealth movement, mostly with blindfolds,
but occasionally with power packs. Normally Beckman or Hooper made the guide
sound, but Bandaka had a good eye for the terrain, and was their best chance
for a fast crossing. He followed an ancient track around the spur until they
were well away from the river, then he moved out from the cliffs, and started
on an oblique course toward the ship. Beckman looked up at the great bulk of the
mothership looming before them. Even in the shadowy, ethereal world of warped
light, the sheer size of the dark mass ahead overwhelmed his senses. He forced
himself to focus on Bandaka’s tapping, but the closer they got to the
mothership, the more its sheer bulk distracted him.

A shadow streaked overhead, catching
Beckman’s eye. It came from the east, moving too fast for him to recognize its
rectangular shape in the stealth field’s shadow world, but he guessed it was a
vehicle of some kind. For a moment, he wondered if it was searching for them,
then it was gone, passing out of sight above the mothership.

Whatever it was, it hadn’t seen them.

* * * *

“Strewth!” Wal
declared as the transport skimmed over a vast gray metal plain. To their left,
the hull sloped gently up toward the ship’s central spine half a kilometer
away, while to their right, it ran almost level for more than a kilometer until
it curved down out of sight toward the burnt out wasteland below.

“It’s a big bastard!” Bill said.

Cracker nodded. “Bloody Oath!”

“It’s a wreck,” Slab declared, motioning
towards the jagged holes that were wide enough for the transport to fly into.

“Geez, I hope they have insurance!” Wal
said.

Slab gave Wal a harsh look, then realized
the transport was decelerating rapidly. The abrupt change in velocity, with no
inertial effect, defied their senses, yet they could see how rapidly they were
slowing against the hull below. A large rectangular hatch with smooth, rounded
edges began to open in the hull ahead of them.

“That must be where we’re headed,” Bill
said uncomfortably.

“Not me,” Cracker declared as he slid a
detonator into a stick of dynamite.

“You can’t use that in here!” Slab said.

“You got a better idea?” When Slab gave him
a helpless look, Cracker said, “Get back!”

He set the timer, then placed the dynamite
on the control console beneath the cockpit window. The panel’s molecular
structure immediately dissolved, filling with swirling three dimensional shapes
as the explosive sank into it. For a moment, they watched surprised as the
console tried unsuccessfully to establish a bioelectric link with the dynamite,
then they dived for cover in the rear of the control room.

When the dynamite exploded, the front panel
directed the blast upwards, blowing out the cockpit window. The blast was a
bullet into the transport’s brain, scrambling its control systems. The
propulsion field bubble around the transport vanished, unleashing a blast of
wind through the shattered window, while the lights in the cockpit failed and the
interior acceleration fields collapsed. The sense of motion violently returned
as air buffeted the transport and gravity took hold. With no wings, the
transport’s non-aerodynamic shape meant gliding was impossible, and it fell
like a stone.

“Good one, Cracker, you bloody idiot!” Slab
growled, shielding his face from the air roaring through the window.

“Hang on!” Bill said, grabbing for the base
of one of the pilot’s chairs.

The transport belly flopped onto the ship’s
upper hull, bounced into the air and careened over the open docking bay.
Waiting in the bay was a battloid, a tracker and three seekers. They detected
the transport shoot across the open hatch, already aware that it had gone
silent in the last few seconds of its approach. The seekers jumped up through
the docking bay’s open hatch, and bounded over the hull after the transport,
while the heavier machines moved toward a nearby cargo lift.

The transport hit the hull again, bounced
several times, and slid across the thick armor, sparks flying from its
underside. It narrowly missed one of the yawning wounds in the hull as the
gentle downward slope edged the transport toward the side of the ship.

Cracker used one of the pilot’s chairs to
pull himself to his feet and get a look outside. “We’re not going to stop in
time,” He yelled, pointing to where the faceted hull bent down to the vertical.

Slab hung on against the wild vibrations.
“A metal probe up my arse would have been better than this!”

“Let’s jump,” Wal suggested.

Slab glanced outside incredulously. “Great
idea, Wal! You go first.”

The transport began to skew sideways,
losing speed as it slid obliquely towards the edge of the ship. Bill looked
back through the starboard window and saw tiny silver shapes leaping over the
hull, vainly trying to catch them. At the other side window, Cracker spotted a
dark cavity in the hull, dead ahead. Before he could shout a warning, the
transport skidded into the hole and the grinding of metal was replaced by the
whistle of air through the shattered cockpit windows. The transport clipped the
inside edge of the inner hull, and ricocheted down hard onto the deck, knocking
them off their feet. The vehicle bounced several times, then careened through a
darkened hangar, skidding past several wedge-shaped fighters that had been
saved from explosive decompression by their magnetic deck locks. It clipped one
fighter, sending it skidding across the deck into several other which exploded
in flames. The transport grazed a side bulkhead, smashed more fighters, then
speared nose-first through the wall at the end of the hangar and stuck fast.

Wal lay piled against the control console,
staring up dazed through the smashed cockpit window. “That wasn’t so bad! Any
landing you can walk away from, right?”

They all looked incredulously at him as
Slab growled. “Piss off, Wal.”

Bill climbed shakily to his feet and looked
out at the darkened storage deck the transport had nosed into. “They’ll be
coming for us.”

Slab aimed his rifle through the broken
cockpit window. “I’m ready!”

“I’ve got a better idea,” Cracker said,
“Let’s bolt.”

Slab hesitated, then realized Cracker was
right. Their best chance was to get away from the transport. He tossed his
backpack through the open cockpit window and clambered out, sliding off the
transport’s stubby nose to the deck. He reached for his pack as movement to his
left caught his eye. He whirled around, bringing his rifle up as a hull
maintenance drone floated past him and began inspecting the damage the
transport had caused to the bulkhead. Slab fired once, instinctively going for
a headshot, hitting the maintenance drone in the coolie hat propulsion system.
It sparked and fell onto the deck where its telescoping arms twitched
momentarily before going limp.

“They’re not so tough,” Slab said as the
others slid down the transport’s nose. “I thought you said these things were
tough.”

“Trust you to pick a fight with a weak
one!” Wal declared.

“It wasn’t weak!” Slab declared. “Look at
those bloody arms, they’re like metal snakes!”

While Slab prodded the lifeless repair
drone with his rifle, the others shouldered packs and took in their
surroundings. The transport’s nose protruded through a bulkhead, its body
wedged tight barring the way back into the hangar. They were in a cargo hold
full of metal cubes about a meter and a half square, stacked on top of each
other. Overhead, isolated orange hued lights created pockets of illumination
surrounded by deep shadows. Bill approached the nearest stack of containers,
noting the strange symbols marked on each.

“Serial numbers?” he said, running his hand
over the cold silvery metal.

When his fingers passed over a cluster of
characters, a circular panel as wide as a man’s hand appeared in place of the
symbols. The panel was recessed, and marked with five pictograms. He exchanged
surprised looks with the others, then tapped each image in turn. When his
finger touched the bottom pictogram, the cube’s side facing him became
translucent, revealing small containers packed tightly together inside. Bill
found his hand could now pass through the translucent surface, so he pulled one
out. It was the size of half a loaf of bread and had one symbol marked on it.
When he touched it, the top of the container vanished, and the cold metal
instantly became boiling hot.