2.44 The Return

44 – The Return

The first thing through the rift was an armored, tank-like vanguard drone. It wasn’t big—only about the size of one of the team’s mules. That was a feature of the rift, though; anything much larger and it would have caused a ripple. The drone, unable to communicate through the rift, was operated by an AI, and Hector knew it had protocols to follow: if there were hostiles near the opening, it was supposed to lead them away before being destroyed. In the current situation, where the rift opened onto a relatively peaceful riverside meadow, its job was to establish something of a perimeter.

Everyone in the little dugout watched, careful to keep from jostling the tree branches that hid them. They were nearly a thousand meters from the rift, but they knew the sensors on the drone would be sensitive. The machine’s shell opened, and six smaller, flying drones launched into the air, buzzing like hornets as they flew in separate directions, no doubt scanning and mapping the local terrain. One of them streaked off along the river, and Hector knew it was tracking the hook titan’s progress. It would discover the massive corpse in minutes.

Another vanguard drone appeared, hissing and steaming with rift gasses. This one was mounted with a large, automated turret, and it moved off to the side, scanning the terrain. After that, the rescue team came through. At first, it was just eight heavily armored Imperial Guard soldiers and six support personnel—medics and techs—with a white-and-red-painted medical drone that crawled on six legs.

Then, an imposing figure in gleaming black power armor came through. It looked a lot like Freddy’s armor, but it lacked the golden highlights and had mirror-polished armor plates that made his look paper-thin.

“I know him,” Freddy hissed. “My cousin’s pit-bull, Lux.”

“A friendly cousin?” Hector pitched his voice so low he wasn’t sure Freddy would hear the question.

“No!” the kid hissed.

“That answers that question, then,” Mathews whispered. “This isn’t a standard rescue party. No chance he’s here to see you home safe?”

“Not a chance. Balus—my mother’s cousin—would sooner slit my throat than rescue me.” Freddy leaned close to Hector, gripping his bare shoulder with his armored gauntlet. “This man, Lux—he’s Praetorian-class, or damn near. I mean, he never served, but I’ve seen him in duels. He’s a psychopath with a black aura. My cousin uses him as an enforcer and a bodyguard. He…he slagged a megastructure belonging to Harvest TC when they sabotaged one of our family’s trade routes.”

“Watch,” Hector said, nodding toward the rift. It was a reminder to everyone that they had to see what these people did before deciding on a plan. Of course, he took Freddy’s words to heart; he wasn’t ready to fight anyone at that level of power, so Lux’s presence threw a lot of possibilities out the window.

Just take the bait.

Almost as though he’d willed it to happen, Mathews pointed to the sky. “Look!” One of the nearer drones sped off over the canopy of marsh trees. “They’re sending it to check the distress signal.”

“Good,” Hector grunted softly. Inside the cave, where they’d left most of their damaged gear and equipment, they’d set up the signal. More importantly, they’d also collapsed the entrance; there’d be no quick inspection by a drone to prove if they were alive or dead. This man, Lux, and his crew would have to make the trek.

“What about the titan? Won’t they know?” Kristy asked, turning her battered, evil-rabbit helmet toward Hector.

He shook his head. “Won’t be much left. The crabs in the river will be feasting.”

“They’ll assume another titan killed it,” Mathews agreed.

Something screamed, and Hector jerked his gaze up and to the left to watch as one of the many raptor species of the rift world attacked a circling drone. The auto-turret on the armored vanguard drone rumbled a staccato burst, and the creature—along with the drone it had attacked—tumbled out of the sky.

“That’ll put some pressure on,” Mathews muttered.

“Maybe the other drone won’t even reach the cave,” Freddy whispered.

“Watch,” Hector reminded them again. As for him, his eyes were glued to the black-armored aura user. He couldn’t feel him, not that close to the rift, but he could see it in his bearing—in the way he looked over everyone else, scanning the horizon with his black-mirrored visor. He didn’t carry weapons, which also spoke volumes. Unlike Mathews and the rest of her team, Lux had aura abilities that he was confident in.

After a few minutes, the rescue party broke into two groups. Two techs and two soldiers began setting up a small fortified base near the rift, and the rest of them, with Lux in the lead, trudged across the field toward the marsh. Their drone had either failed to reach the cave or it had reported its inability to reach the source of the signal. They left behind the two armored vanguard drones, but that didn’t matter. If what Freddy said was true, then Lux by himself was more potent than the rest of the team combined.

“Plan’s working,” Mathews whispered.

“So, since he went with them, we don’t need to—” Freddy started to say, but Hector shook his head, interrupting.

“He got on the team, probably with the excuse that you were lost in here. The IG might not know he wants you dead, but answer me this: would your mother have allowed him to come through instead of her people? Instead of her man, Flint?”

Freddy’s face, visible through his scratched-up visor, was pensive as he considered the question. After a moment, he whispered. “No. Does that mean she’s…”

“We won’t know for a while yet, kid,” Hector said. “I’m just saying, there probably isn’t a friendly reception waiting for you on the other side of the rift.”

“So, we stick to the plan,” Mathews said. She, along with everyone else, turned to regard the young Royal. “Sorry, Freddy.”

###

Gregory Cole was not enthusiastic about his job. In fact, he had a calendar app that was counting down the days until his enlistment was over. He’d thought he wanted to get away from home—away from his mom and sister—but he was fast learning that the life of adventure the IG brochures promised was a lie. He was fast learning that his mother’s attention was much more pleasant than his sergeant’s.

It wasn’t just the sergeant, though; there were a dozen sergeant wannabes in the unit with hard-ons to prove themselves, and those efforts usually came at the expense of soldiers like Greg. Just prior to his shift that day, he’d been dressed down for the state of his bunk, and he knew, he just knew, Francisco had whispered something to Decanus Howser about it. As if it weren’t obvious! Cisco had been giving Greg shit about his corners that morning.

“Is it supposed to do that?”

Greg turned to the voice—one of the Royal’s personal soldiers who’d come to help monitor the rift. Greg shuddered at the thought, grateful that the one in black armor had gone through and wasn’t still standing around making everyone walk on pins and needles. “Uh, what?”

“The beeping?”

Suddenly it registered; the rift monitoring suite was indicating a transit. Heart hammering, Greg looked at the rift—perfectly normal red-tinted pulses—and then at the crystal-glass. He sighed with relief when he saw the levels. “Someone’s coming back through. Maybe they forgot something?”

The soldier lifted his matte-black blaster. It was a shock-trooper’s weapon, with batts that had to weigh ten kilos. It made Greg feel pathetic with his little flechette SMG slung over his shoulder. “Get ready!” the soldier barked, and his comrades—a full squad of similarly armed-and-armored men and women, lined up in a semicircle, weapons trained on the rift.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Um, it’s just—” Greg looked back at the display. “Just a few individuals coming through—we can’t see all the way through the rift, but there are three nearing transit apogee. It’s clear they aren’t rift denizens, though…” He trailed off, watching the strange soldiers brace themselves, apparently getting ready for a battle. Greg glanced at his IG comrades guarding the gate. They looked just as bewildered by the Imperial soldiers’ behavior.

Greg moved a little more squarely behind his console; he was a good twenty meters from the gate platform, which was comforting, but he eyed the plasteel stairs leading down to the concrete and the gate below, wishing he hadn’t pulled console duty. The crystal-glass beeped, and he glanced at it. “First will come through in three, two, one—”

With a crackling hiss and a cloud of red-tinted steam, the first individual appeared on the platform. It was one of the IG soldiers—not from Greg’s unit. The man held up his arms when he saw the blasters aimed his way. “Ugh,” he grunted, trying to speak and failing, thanks to the transit vertigo. He fell to his knees and then managed to choke out, “I’ve got five survivors coming through. Put those guns down!”

“The missing Royal?” one of the Imperial soldiers asked.

The IG soldier accepted a soldier’s aid, allowing her to pull him to his feet. “Nope—not with these survivors. They say they got split up early on, running from hostiles after the terrorist attack.”

Greg watched as the Imperial soldiers exchanged looks. He figured they were chatting on their private comms. One of them asked, “And Guardian Primus Lux?”

“Investigating—” The soldier was cut off as another crackling hiss announced the arrival of the first survivor. Greg belatedly realized his panel had tried to warn him.

The woman who appeared on the pad was a sight to behold—her armor was cracked, torn, and burned. She yanked her visor up and leaned forward to puke while everyone stared. Greg was suddenly even more grateful for the distance between them. She straightened, and he briefly saw bright, fierce eyes and a scarred visage as she scanned the platform. “What the hell kind of rescue committee is this?”

Greg’s console beeped. “Um, another coming—”

With a sizzling flash, another soldier appeared, just as battered as the first, but this one held a massive tusk-like thing in her arms. When she appeared, she stumbled, fell, and the object hit the platform with a resounding clangor, bouncing toward the assembled soldiers.

“Reapers’ balls, Kristy!” the first woman yelled. “Careful with that!”

“What are—” the Imperial soldier began to ask, but then the second survivor ripped her battered, rabbit-eared helmet off and threw it to the decking.

“You want me to be careful? You’re lucky I survived transit with that damn thing! I could feel the rift pulling—”

Greg’s console beeped a bit more frantically. “Uh,” he held up his hand, “two more incoming.”

The next arrivals collapsed as soon as they appeared—a slender woman who was trying to support a one-legged man. Greg frowned, watching the chaos unfold as the survivors tried to gain their bearings in the face of the Imperial soldiers’ questioning. He knew it was technically possible for two people to transit together like that, but it was frowned upon; the more biomass in close proximity, the greater the chance of a ripple. Still, there wasn’t much risk with two smallish individuals like that, especially as the man was missing more than one limb…

“…don’t give a good Goddamn what your orders are! Clear the way and let us get to the infirmary!” the first woman was screaming at the soldiers, when Greg’s console beeped again.

“Another two…” he let his announcement trail off; no one was listening to him.

The air crackled, and for just a moment, he thought he saw two outlines, but then yet another woman appeared, this one wearing typical scientist equipment—light armor and a fully transparent face-shield. She was dragging another one of those tusk things, and let it fall to the plasteel with a clang as she leaned forward, gripping her knees for balance.

“She’s the last of us, now clear a path to the med building!” the first woman—clearly some kind of leader—barked. To his alarm, she limped toward him and jerked her thumb at the two black tusks. “I want those hooks tagged and a chain of custody drone assigned!”

Greg nodded, reaching toward his console to start the procedure, but then his eyes drifted to the rift transit log, and he frowned, looking up to run his eyes over the survivors and the sole IG soldier who led them through. “It says here there were seven arrivals.”

The woman frowned, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, the Imperial soldier who’d ordered the ready formation walked over. “What did you say, guardsman?”

Greg shrugged, suddenly feeling uncomfortably warm in his uniform. “My panel says there were seven arrivals.”

“Your panel?” The soldier turned to run his eyes over the survivors, already limping down the steps toward the gate, two of them supported by his soldiers as they struggled to walk.

The woman didn’t make things easier, piling on with her demands, “I said I need these damn hooks tagged!”

“I count five survivors and one guardsman,” the soldier said.

Greg nodded, wanting to be done with the matter, wanting to have their eyes off him. “Um, right. I think there was a glitch. When that last one came through with the, uh, tusk thing—”

“Hook,” the woman corrected, thumping her filthy gloved knuckles on Greg’s console. “And I need it tagged.”

“I was, uh, saying,” Greg said, looking at the soldier. “Maybe the scanners picked up an echo or something.”

“That happens?”

Greg shrugged. “We get all kinds of anomalies trying to read rift traffic.”

The Imperial soldier stared at the transit display a moment longer before turning toward the survivors.

###

Hector charged straight for the gate, knowing full well that his Ghost Reaver ability would only keep him on the other side of the veil for a few seconds. He’d considered using Shadow Stalk instead, but the rift was the subject of some of the most advanced scanning technology in the Empire, and he was certain some of it would pick up his signature. No, the only way to be sure was to slip through the veil.

Of course, the biggest hurdle to that effort was the fact that, according to Evie, trying to cross the veil while transiting the rift would have torn him apart, so he’d had to wait until he passed through. That meant he’d been present, been observable there on the platform for a fraction of a second—just long enough for him to pour his aura into the Ghost Reaver ability. He’d been cloaked in rift steam and static, though, and he hoped it was enough to throw doubt on his ever having been there.

As he cleared the gate and sprinted for an armored transport in the parking lot, he glanced over his shoulder and didn’t see anything alarming. He didn’t hear any klaxons, nor did he see soldiers swarming out of the nearby barracks. When he reached the transport, he slid underneath it and then, a heartbeat later, his ability faded, and the physical world came rushing back with all its sounds, smells, and colors.

//I’m online.//

Good. Message everyone. Find out where they all are.

//On the encrypted message board?//

Yeah. Hector squeezed his eyes shut. The air, so much dryer than the rift world, was stinging them. Worse, his lungs burned, and he found his inhalations shallow and painful.

//Your body will adapt. Give it a few moments.//

Hector trusted Evie, and he believed she was right, but it was a long, painful few minutes that he lay there beneath the transport, watching as Mathews and the others were escorted down the long sidewalk toward the IG installation. It didn’t seem like they were in any trouble—yet. None of them were cuffed, and Ling had been put onto a stretcher. He imagined things would have been different if Freddy had been with them.

He touched his thigh, reassuring himself that the dense, metallic rectangle was still there. Everything that Freddy had been, everything he was or would be, was in his pocket. It hadn’t been easy to talk the kid into letting Hector remove his neurodeck. He’d never “died” before; his skin was his original body. Still, he said he knew his mother had a clone for him—at least one—and he’d finally come around, especially after he’d seen his cousin’s hired killer there in the rift. Apparently, Lux had made an impression on the young Royal.

Hang on, kid. We’ll find your mom—or your uncle, if it’s too late.

Before long, Evie was proven right; Hector’s breathing evened out, his eyes stopped burning, and he began to feel normal—better, even. His aura pool was full again, so he slid to the far side of the transport and activated his Ghost Reaver ability again. Once again, he leaped into action, sprinting with everything he had through the strange, twilight realm of the veil.

He covered more ground than he would in the physical realm, so by the time the ability wore off for the second time, he’d passed the roadside guard station and was jogging on the pavement toward town. As soon as he transitioned, he channeled aura into Shadow Stalk—far more sustainable—and, as light-bending aura coated his body, he stretched his legs into an easy, ground-devouring lope.

He’d covered almost ten klicks when Evie interrupted his thoughts. //No response from Lemon or Orin, but Sass has replied.//

Show me.

A window appeared on his AUI, and Hector read the message there:

Hector! Is it really you? I knew you weren’t dead! Don’t go to the house; it was wrecked when the IG raided it. I can’t get ahold of Lemon, but I got your…stuff. Do you know what they’re saying about you? I guess, since you came through the rift, you must. I know you didn’t do it! I know you didn’t blow up the rift or whatever. Do you want to meet at my hotel? Someplace else? Where are you?

What’s she talking about?

//According to local news outlets, it seems the Kessler’s Reach Imperial Guard base has been commandeered by Balus Ventress. He’s taken control of Gladia Ventress’s ship, the Maidensong, and is leading efforts to apprehend the terrorist cell responsible for the rift sabotage. He claims to have evidence that Frederick and Gladia, along with many of her personnel, worked with local terrorists to achieve a ‘blow against the Empire’ by disrupting the ongoing rift harvesting efforts.//

People believe the kid trapped himself in there, huh?

//Balus claims that part wasn’t intentional. It’s perhaps worth noting that none of his evidence has been made public, but he has a press conference scheduled for Thursday.//

Hector grunted, glancing at his time display. It expanded, showing a calendar. “It’s Tuesday.”

//Yes.//

Okay, figure out a spot I can hide for a few minutes and message Sass to pick me up. If we’re going to have to deal with this Balus asshole, I’d like to do it before his pet monster comes out of the rift.