Tractors for Sale 7

Lannetay said, “Surprise for some of us and the Wantis.” She drew two Rant 23s from their slots, handing them to Carnifor and L-T. She took one for herself and joined the others inside the lock.

“Cycle us through, Bill.” Lannetay hefted her rifle and waited for the outer hatch to slide open.

Olthan is drawing a bead on the lead scout, Lannetay, Bill sent. I’ll direct him to take that one and the ones left of there if you want to take the pair to the right.

Lannetay didn’t reply, but crept down the ramp and to the right, taking cover behind the spire there. She motioned Carnifor to take the left side of that granite tower, then pointed L-T in the direction of a hillock in front of the ship.

L-T threw himself on his belly and muttered about the sharp rocks.

You’ll heal, Lannetay sent.

Goofball is turning, Bill sent. He’ll be making a pass at the main platoon in a few seconds.

Lannetay peered into the desolation, looking for movement. Bill used his sensors to paint two Wantis in her in-eye display – a very handy overlay to have. Carnifor, take the left one, L-T the right. Wait for Bill’s command. That includes you, Olthan.

Olthan repositioned himself as the closest scout crept closer.

Now!

Olthan fired before Bill’s “shout” died. He shifted aim and thought-clicked the trigger again.

Carnifor sighted in on his target, then a gout of dust and rock flew into the near-vacuum around the approaching platoon as Goofball strafed on the far side of the ridge. The man in Carnifor’s sights froze as the commander depressed the physical trigger on his rifle. A clean miss. He fired again as the Wanti dove.

L-T didn’t bother trying for a clean shot. He slowly swept a steady beam of disruption across his target, tearing the man’s space suit open across the chest. Circuitry shredded along with the armor, spewing air and particles into the rocks around him.

Lannetay saw Carnifor’s miss and L-T’s hit. She tried to line up a shot on Carnifor’s target, but the man had taken cover. Carnifor, L-T, cover me. She advanced.

***

Goofball worked his controls to drift his aim back and forth across the formation of men and women setting up and guarding a squad-manned blaster. Three people could work the gun, but usually a half-platoon guarded the position.

Goofball raked the soldiers below, but Tabby’s disrupters missed the weapon. Those standing in the area were not that lucky. He executed his low-speed pass and a few blaster bolts followed him as he extended to line up for a second pass.

After sweeping around, Goofball took a bead on the heavy weapon nearly ready to fire on him and the William Placard. Only a dozen Wantis had survived his first pass, and he wanted to clean up on the second. Anticipating the fighter’s return, they’d spread out to make sure a single run wouldn’t get them all.

Four Wantis struggled with the gun while eight fired volley after volley of rifle fire at Tabby. Built to shrug off attacks by enemy fighters, the Tromant could easily withstand blaster rifles.

Goofball swept his disrupters across the area, taking down three soldiers and the squad gun. He throttled up as he passed, dipping as low as he dared. There might be enough air to knock some of the remainder from their feet.

***

Olthan, wearing the medium combat armor which had been a secret, fired a fifth time at the only remaining Wanti on his side of the ship. He wondered if his rifle had been damaged somehow, but he’d never been a marksman. The soldier popped up in Olthan’s sight picture again and dove for another bit of cover. A trio of blaster bolts reached for Olthan. One was absorbed by endurasteel plating on his thigh, the other two sang as they flew past his helmet.

The Marine, anticipating the Wanti, set his disrupter rifle to continuous firing mode and aimed over the tiny hillock. He fired, holding down the trigger.

A dozen meters behind the Wanti dirt and stones flew up. The Wanti jumped up into the beam, which tore the suit open from helmet to mid-chest.

Lannetay charged forward along with L-T and Carnifor. The last remaining Wanti scout, snuggled in a small depression, let loose with a barrage of yellow blaster fire. One bolt took L-T in the left arm as he dove to the side.

“L-T!” Lannetay ground to a halt and turned as the lieutenant slowly fell in the weak gravity of Rubineker.

Carnifor returned fire, carving chunks out of the Wanti’s cover. A moment later a blaster rifle flew out of the hole and two hands reached for the pale yellow sky.

Lannetay knelt by L-T, who laughed as if insane. She asked, “Are you okay?”

The pained expression on L-T’s face contrasted with his mirth. “I’ll be okay. Go to Carnifor.”

Lannetay glanced at L-T’s wound. A large piece of the shoulder had been vaporized. Bone protruded from charred flesh. Lannetay reached for L-T’s good arm to help him back to the ship, but he waved off the offered assistance. The support belt’s force field helped hold the arm’s position. There might not be enough connective tissue to support the weight of the arm without the field’s assist, especially in the full gravity of William Placard.

“Check on Carnifor.” L-T fought his way upright.

Lannetay turned back around to find Carnifor following a suited Wanti toward the ship. With a blaster rifle over his left shoulder, Carnifor prodded the prisoner with his Rant-23 disrupter.

“How’s L-T?” Carnifor asked.

Lannetay stood silent for a moment, swallowing past a lump in her throat. “He’ll be okay.” Belatedly she brought her own rifle to bear on the Wanti and yanked the Wanti’s blaster pistol from the hip holster. “You’ll have to be more careful, Carny.”

As they reached the top of the boarding ramp, Lannetay braced herself against the airlock’s frame when a shock wave hit the William Placard. “Goofball?” she asked Bill. The outer airlock hatch hadn’t quite closed as dust rose from the planet’s surface. L-T still chuckled to himself.

Bill said, “Yes, and he’s left with a seven-ten split.”

Pressure built and the inner hatch opened as support belts switched themselves off. L-T’s arm flopped at an awkward angle and the man’s laughing turned to screams. Lannetay cringed. “Let’s get him to the infirmary.”

The aft bulkhead of the common room held a lot of options – a compact medical bay among them. As the four approached, the Wanti shed space suit parts. Lannetay did a double-take when she realized their prisoner was female.

The woman pointed to LT. “He’s losing a lot of blood.”

“Not for long.” Lannetay pressed a contact point on the bulkhead and an examining table folded out. They lowered L-T to the platform and an array of diagnostic equipment emerged.

Bill said, “Blood loss. Parts of bones missing. Muscle and tissue vaporized. Hit by a Wanti blaster, Loch-Fen Corporation. Probably a type nine or ten.”

Carnifor returned to where he’d dropped the weapon just inside the inner hatch, but the Wanti soldier answered Bill. “Loch-Fen 9c. Specially modified to accept an improved power cell.”

Carnifor picked it up and looked for the updated power cell, then nodded.

Marc stepped in from the aft corridor. “What’s going on?”

The airlock on the opposite side of the ship opened to admit Olthan. “Wanti!” He drew a bead on the enemy soldier, but Marc inadvertently stepped between them. Olthan shouted, “Marc, down.”

Marc froze in his tracks, eyes widening.

If you're wondering more about these characters, their origins are detailed in Ebony Sea: Origins. If you appreciate this story, please share on social media, and consider supporting the author's ability to continue writing by purchasing the Origins story and leaving a review at the link above.

The Brotherhood #32

By Mark W. Meier

Part 32

Act IV

Windowed The Soul

Chapter Five

Header

A wind shift towards a sailing vessel’s bow.

The factory was engulfed in flames. Someone had set off a series of explosives typically used by demolition companies. Six people were dead.

You returned to Grambic Tower just as Howe would normally be shutting things down for the night. Instead, you went to your conference room on the eleventh floor.

Multiple phone calls were in progress when you arrived, one with a French liaison officer from the Paris Police Prefecture. As soon as you entered the room your employees on cell calls turned toward the sound dampening walls of the room to allow you a clear conversation.

“This is Michael Grambic,” you announced to the speaker phone. “To whom am I speaking?”

The accented voice spoke clear English. “Liaison Roger Lepine, Mr. Grambic.”

You imagined him as a bald-headed man, similar to a ball peen hammer, to remember his name. “Can you tell me what’s happening over there, Monsieur Lepine?”

Lepine’s frustration indicated he was repeating himself. “A series of explosions has killed your maintenance staff and night guards. The building itself will most likely need to be razed. At the moment firefighters are searching the facility for hot spots, bodies, and any fortunate survivors. They are not hopeful, as the damage is extensive.”

One of your lackeys whispered. “The French army fire team was called in.”

Lepine must have heard. “Your underling is correct, Mr. Grambic. The Paris Fire Brigade has already made the decision to condemn your entire facility as unsafe. Commandant Papon has said only a miracle has kept the structure standing.”

You considered options for a moment. “Please keep my people informed, Monsieur Lepine. I appreciate what you’re doing.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Grambic.” Lepine’s tone of voice told you he found dealing with overseas owners a hassle.

One of your people picked up the handset. Since you’d never met the man you didn’t know his name.

You turned to your assistant as numerous people around the room murmured into their phones. “Looks like we’ll be here for a while, Victor.”

“Yes, sir. I’ve made arrangements for everyone here, and called your home staff to have a meal brought to your office.”

You nodded. “Have people from Legal, Finance, and Human Resources meet me there. Tell my chef to bring enough for all of us.”

“Very good, Mr. Grambic.” Howe turned to a corner of the room to make the phone calls.

I could probably have manipulated more chaos from the situation, but why bother? Humanity, for the most part, needed very little help in destroying their own lives.

By the time you settled at your desk the sun had gone down. As twilight faded to night the city lights came on, setting up a dark and light patina outside your window. Eventually even the dimmed lights inside your office made seeing outside impossible.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened to show your assistant. “Mr. Grambic, I’m sorry, I forgot to fog the windows.” He hastened to his desk and turned the proper control. Another twist and the lighting increased to normal levels. “Your people will be here momentarily.”

A muted hum told you the elevator had departed to collect senior members of your staff to deal with the tragedy.

“What happened in Paris, Victor?” You couldn’t believe someone would blow up a factory making ceiling tiles. You shook your head in frustration and sorrow over what some families would be feeling. You knew firsthand about the loss of family members and sympathized instinctively.

I’d make sure you felt even more than loss in the very near future. Even the anticipation of it pleased me.

“Some people just don’t like Americans, I guess.”

You nodded. “Six dead, probably more injured.”

A signal must have illuminated on Howe’s desk. He checked a video monitor, then okayed access to your floor. The elevator dinged again, and three department heads stepped out. Three assistants followed, each already tapping away on mobile devices.

You motioned for them to take seats at your conference table. “First things first. For any of the deceased, match any insurance payouts. If they have none, average out the ones who do and pay that. People are more important than cash or property.”

Patrick Strutt from Finance nodded. “Done.” The subordinate behind him made a note.

You turned to Kristy Erickson from Legal. “Find out what our obligations are in France. Close everything down as soon as possible with the minimum of fuss.”

Erickson replied, “We’ll be out by the middle of March.”

One more decision to convey. “Susie, find out if anyone currently employed with Grambic Tiles in France wants to relocate to Canada. Give them a moving allowance, and provide an additional incentive to people who are valuable enough to warrant it.”

Your director of Human Resources nodded, and the assistant standing behind her tapped away on his phone.

Howe must have been notified of an elevator arrival. He noiselessly moved to his desk to check who it was, then allowed the doors to open. Your home chef and two other women pushed carts into your office.

“Supper is served.” You knew it would be a late night for everyone. “Help yourself when you get the chance.”

***

By the time everyone left at midnight everything had been arranged. Paralegals would come in early to deal with the preliminaries of decommissioning and selling your property in France. Accountants would begin the search for insurance policies and payments, and Human Resources workers on the overnight shift had already called employees who might want to move to Canada.

You rolled into bed about an hour after leaving Grambic Tower, knowing you had capable people taking care of what needed to happen.

That night you dreamed of sailing Sell Short on Lake Marion. It exploded.

Not only did you die, you lost your race to Judge Boynton.

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Tractors for Sale 6

Lannetay looked up when the aft hatch in the common room opened. Othan walked over to the port side airlock, opened the weapons locker, and slotted the Wanti blaster rifle. One of the ship’s other surprises was behind a hidden panel right beside that cubby.

Goofball stepped into the common room with a satisfied grin. Lannetay knew that look. He’d succeeded at a difficult goal, probably with the hidden fighter he called Tabby.

Bill, tell everyone I have an announcement, Lannetay ordered.

Marc and L-T saved their game, switched it off, then turned toward Lannetay. Carnifor glanced up, but otherwise kept his simulation running, and Olthan met up with Goofball at Lannetay’s position just outside the control cabin.

The captain stood. “I was going to wait for supper, but since we’re all here I’ll ask now. In case you didn’t know, a Brock Class cutter launched a while ago to search for us. The question is, should we deploy the Five-K manually while that cutter is looking for us out in space, or should we wait?”

Carnifor paused his simulated fleet action. “They’ll never find a person wandering the surface, and doing something beats doing nothing.”

“Is the cutter comin’ back?” Olthan asked. “If it ain’t back, whyn’t we just let Bill do it?”

“We’re on a planet tidally locked to its sun,” Bill said. “The cutter’s on the other side of the planet, presumably headed to the outer regions of this system. If they turn around we’re unlikely to notice, what with a planet blocking our sensors.”

Goofball dropped into a recliner still being assembled beneath him. “The worst thing we can do is nothing.” The macrites of the forming chair took his weight and raised his feet. “Thanks, Bill.”

“Someday I’ll let you fall,” the AI said.

Goofball smiled. “Maybe.”

Marc pivoted his seat, wondering if he should answer. He knew most of the decisions wouldn’t be influenced by his input, but maybe this one would be. “I’m game.”

L-T simply shrugged. “Idleness can lead to lethal mistakes, so I’d support doing something.”

Carnifor grunted. “Did you wait for so long to let us get bored?”

Lannetay gave an innocent look. “Would I do something like that?”

Carnifor smiled. “You’d do exactly that.”

“Okay, so here’s the deal.” Lannetay projected her voice the way she’d learned in the Marine Corps. “We have to plant the ten canisters with ‘wall’ nanites before we can do the ones at the center of the circle. That means someone has to walk all the way across the five-kilometer diameter. Twice.”

Silence descended. After a few awkward seconds, L-T spoke up. “I’ll go. And if we don’t linger we could get there and back in the two hours our support belts would last.”

“Thanks, L-T.” Lannetay nodded his direction, working to suppress a warm smile. “But we’ll want a margin of error. Take two belts, like we used on Cayn. Anyone want to back him up, just in case?”

“I’ll go with him.” Marc stood, daring his mother to defy him as a choice.

With her heart pounding, Lannetay accepted the offer. “Thanks, Marc. Carnifor and Goofball, you take the arc to the left, I’ll take Olthan to the right.”

Goofball grinned. “It’s the right thing to do, I guess. Carnifor and I are left with the other.”

Carnifor groaned. “Can’t we swap partners, Lannetay? His puns will be the death of me.”

Goofball stood and headed to the starboard airlock. “A coward dies many times before his death, Carny.”

“The brave die but once,” Carnifor quipped. “You volunteering for that?”

The others made their way to the airlock, too, but Lannetay went toward the cargo bay. “Don’t forget your canisters, gentlemen.”

A half-hour later L-T and Marc, clad in space suits, hiked down the boarding ramp and onto the desolate surface. The rest of the crew followed. The sound of crunching gravel transmitted into the airspace inside suits and force fields.

“You ready for this, Marc? Ten klicks is quite a distance.” L-T spoke over his short range radio on the assigned group frequency.

“Ready or not, here we go.” The two headed out toward the assigned point on the far side of the circle. Marc carried one canister fifteen centimeters long and three centimeters wide. L-T carried two.

Next to the ship Olthan drove the first into the grit near the William Placard’s ramp.“One down, nine to go.” The Marine marched toward the next drop-off point.

Surprised at the rapidity of Olthan’s departure, Lannetay rushed to catch up.

Carnifor stood for a moment, watching Lannetay nearly running. “That’s something you don’t see too often.”

“Want to see if we can finish before them?” Goofball nearly skipped away. “Bill said gravity was thirty-eight percent standard. I’m betting we’ll be first.”

Carnifor sighed. “I’m always running to catch up to someone.”

Before anyone had covered a hundred meters Bill sent to all six crew members, There are Wanti ground troops headed this way. Return to the ship immediately. Five scouts are about three hundred meters to my northeast, the rest of a platoon coming up behind them.

Lannetay swore, then frowned at herself for cursing. Bill, can you lift off and pick us up?

You’re all so close it’ll take longer to fly from place to place. Besides, I doubt they know exactly where we are, so I’d rather not show myself.

Goofball didn’t wait. After hearing about Wantis on the way he turned and sprinted back toward the ship. Bill, prep Tabby.

Lannetay shook her head, not caring her fighter pilot couldn’t see her. “Goofball, you can’t launch when the ship is grounded.”

“Yes I can, yes I can,” Goofball sang. He jumped from the ground all the way into the airlock, which cycled in seconds.

Lannetay saw the boarding ramp retract and the William Placard’s landing struts extend to full length. “Goofball, that’s not enough room!”

Bill broke in. You people are putting out enough comm traffic to light this place up on sensors. Can we all just quiet down?

Everyone stopped in their tracks when the Tromant fighter dropped toward the cracked rocks beneath the ship.

“Goofball!” Carnifor’s exclamation came too late. The fighter had already slowed to a hover over the sharp stones, then eased out from the gap beneath the ship and shot toward the horizon. A thin sonic crack echoed through the area.

Goofball let out a whoop as he disappeared over the low cliffs.

Olthan waved Lannetay to one side and pulled his disrupter rifle from his shoulder. How far away are they, Bill?

Point is a hundred-fifty meters at zero one three.

Olthan looked that direction and sent to Lannetay, Skipper, I got this. He disappeared into the the opening airlock.

Marc, L-T, and Carnifor met Lannetay where she waited for the lock to cycle open again. As soon as the inner lock opened, Lannetay rapped out, “Marc, quarters. And keep your support belt on. You two, rifles at the port airlock.”

Marc stood with hands on hips. “Mom, I want to help.”

L-T walked past Marc toward the far airlock.

Lannetay whirled on Marc. “Training first. Quarters now.”

Marc huffed a wordless objection, but turned toward his berth.

Oh, the language he’s using, Bill sent to Lannetay. This is a side of you they’ve never seen before.

Never been a need for it until now.

Carnifor went to the port airlock and had to wait. “What’s the delay, Bill?”

“Olthan’s leaving the ship with his extras on.”

“What extras?” L-T asked.

Lannetay and Carnifor shared a grin.

“It’s a surprise,” Bill said as the inner hatch opened.

If you're wondering more about these characters, their origins are detailed in Ebony Sea: Origins. If you appreciate this story, please share on social media, and consider supporting the author's ability to continue writing by purchasing the Origins story and leaving a review at the link above.