The Lazarus Particle (46 page)

“Remember,” Ohana added, “they may have lighter payloads, but they’ve got the same speed and maneuverability we do. These aren’t those Tyroshi fighters from that turkey shoot before. Whatever you do, don’t let these pilots get their birds behind you.”

“Sound advice, folks.”

“All wings, prepare for contact!”
Harm said. Inside her cockpit, Ohana’s HUD went from red to green, indicating they were in range.
“Weapons free!”

The initial clash was explosive, a maelstrom of wild fire and near-miss collisions. At least two were not so near-miss. One of the unfortunate pilots still showed a heat signature on scan and had more than likely ejected clean; the other was off the board altogether. Ohana fought back a grimace as she pulled back into the fray, dropping in behind a pair of Morgenthau-Hale birds chasing and strafing a pair of Blue Wingers.

Hang in there,
she thought, juking and twisting, trying to predict their path and lead them with her guns.

She squeezed off a quick burst and caught one, sending it wheeling off before its engine went up. The other broke off and suddenly the hunted were the hunters.
 

“Fuck yeah,”
Blue Ten’s voice crackled over her comm.
“Owe you one, Red Seven!”

“Like hell,” she said tersely. Cutting her momentum, she flipped in place and blasted back toward the main knot of combat. God, how she preferred space combat to atmospheric combat.

Yet even with the tech and the training, many of the wings were outnumbered and in no position to aggressively put those advantages to use. Calls for assistance were coming fast and furious over the general comm, starting to overlap each other, drown each other out…

She flinched as a flurry of fire chased past her cockpit. Instinctively pulling the yolk in the opposite direction, she fired off a round of chaff to confuse the targeting computers of any potential pursuers and rolled steep to starboard. With the chaff cloud scrambling their sensors, she eased back on her thrust and rolled in hard to port behind the two who’d put her on blast. She let into them hard. Her guns shredded their engines, blowing them apart one after another. The explosions flared bright before her, though thankfully her Banshee’s mirrored cockpit shielded her from the blinding blast as she flew through the atomized cloud of her former enemies with a mighty whoop.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!”
Dell said as he lined up alongside her.

She was just about to respond when Marshal Harm’s voice cut in over the comm.
“All wings, all wings!
Liberator
has been breached and boarded. We remain in control of the command module and all primary functions. Repeat, we remain in control of the command module and are executing a priority shuttle launch out of
Liberator
Bay One in need of immediate escort.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Marshal,”
Dell replied,
“we’re damn glad to hear you managed to hold command, but we’re a little busy flying and dying out here to run escort duty.”

“Not up for debate, Red Leader. The Major needs an escort, the Major gets an escort.”

“The Major? Shit, what’s he got up his sleeve now?”

“No idea. But has it ever been anything less than spectacular? Personally, I’m inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

“Point taken. Red Seven and I are on it.”

While Marshal Harm barked out instructions to the others, Dell and Ohana made time to rendezvous with the emerging shuttle while the rest of Red and Gold Wings gave them cover. Meanwhile, Blue and Green Wings were preparing to wage capital warfare against the Morgenthau-Hale fleet.

“This is Green Leader,”
a voice unfamiliar to Ohana announced over the comm.
“Targets acquired. Vectoring in with Green Two. Three… two… launch.”

“Green Two confirming launch.”

Ohana could barely contain the grin tugging at her lips as the comm erupted with a chorus of cheers and wild whoops seconds later. Somewhere beneath it all Marshal Harm was fighting to be heard, declaring critical hits on one of the Morgenthau-Hale vessels and their primary weapons pods.

“… on the Morgenthau-Hale fleet. Repeat, focus all heavy fire on the Morgenthau-Hale fleet.”

“You heard the Marshal, Green Wing,”
Green Leader said.
“Let’s show these corporate assholes what it means to make the noise!”

“Green Wing makes the noise!”

“Blue Wing, Blue Leader here. Let’s give our brothers and sisters in green a hand, shall we?”

“Blue Wing goes the distance!”

Ohana formed up with Dell while the bombers took the fight to Morgenthau-Hale’s capital ships in earnest. He tipped his wings, welcoming her on his wing. She reciprocated gratefully. Fighting and dying for the ones you care about, even those you barely knew, has a funny way of clarifying, even expanding perspectives. She certainly felt it, and apparently he did, too.

Just as quickly, the moment passed, replaced by a cold fire fueled by the grim realities of war. Twice, the momentum had swung dramatically. In that limited span, hundreds if not thousands had died on both sides. Now there was a window for them to act, but it was closing fast. They had to seize the opportunity while they could. They had to move quickly and efficiently, to make their enemies’ prospects for victory so pyrrhic as to be unacceptable.

To that end, and above all else, whatever Major Wilkes was planning in that super-genius head of his had to work, and it had to work fast.

Speak of the devil, she thought with a wry little smirk as Fenton’s shuttle dropped into formation behind them.
 

“Red Leader, Red Seven,”
the shuttle’s pilot said over a private comm channel.
“I’ve got Major Wilkes here for you.”

“Nice of you to join us, Major Wilkes,”
Dell answered.
“Mind giving us an idea of what you’re up to?”

“Or at least where we’re escorting you to?” Ohana put in.

Fenton’s voice was tight, pitched with anxiety as it came back over the comm.
“Just get me on the other side of the Tyroshi fleet, then get the hell away, all of you. Fast as you can.”

“That’s not much to go on and only slightly ominous, but we’ll see what we can do. Just let us know when we’ve got you where you need to be. You got my back, Red Seven?”

“Hell yes, Red Leader,” Ohana answered without hesitation. “Always.”

The question asked and answered, neither needed to say anything more. Dell lanced forward as they made contact, drawing the attention of a fresh wave of Tyroshi fighters while Ohana carved a path through those that remained for the shuttle. “Damn, they’re coming in thick,” she growled, limiting her shots to short, harrying bursts to conserve ammo. “Just stay close on my ass and follow my lead.”

“Glad to know we’re on the same page on that count, Red Seven,”
the shuttle pilot responded. Then, a moment later,
“Whoa, contact on my six! Four of them! Deploying chaff.”

“Son of a bitch!”
Dell barked. He was just about to roll in behind the shuttle’s pursuers when the ochre cloud of gas and fine metal shavings burst from its back, forcing them to wave off. Now he had to break and engage them in pairs, a much more dangerous proposition.
“No more chaff,”
he admonished the shuttle pilot, rolling off to chase down the first pair of fighters.
“You just fly, we’ll take care of the rest! Copy?”

“Yes, sir. Copy.”

Ohana swallowed, measuring her instinct versus the odds. They had a better chance if they each took one of the pairs, then regrouped on the shuttle, she knew. But the shuttle would be infinitely more vulnerable in that short amount of time they would both be too engaged to cover its advance beyond the line of the Tyroshi fleet.

“I’m on the second pair, Red Leader,” Ohana said, wheeling off to chase after them.

She swore she heard him curse beneath his breath over the comm.
“Better get ‘em quick!”
He was too busy chasing down the first pair to offer anything more in the way advice. Not that she needed it.

“You know it.”

But these pilots were better than their cannon fodder cohorts. Their tech may have been outdated, but they knew how to push it to the limits. They even seemed to know when she was about to open fire, juking uncannily out of the path of each burst of her guns, but she knew better. They were lucky, and the difference between luck and skill is that luck has a nasty tendency of running out at the worst of possible times. But that could be any time, and she needed them dead and gone now. Every second she didn’t have the shuttle riding her six was one more its own ass was flapping in the breeze.

Ohana felt a single bead of sweat break free of her left temple, sliding inevitably toward the corner of her eye.
Focus
, she ordered herself against the salty sting as it made contact. She set her jaw so hard it throbbed, throwing off bursts of fire every few seconds, but each time the Tyroshi pilots dipped and dodged away cleanly. Drones, she realized; the first wave must have been drones. It would explain why they’d chewed through them so easily. Now they were up against the real thing, apparently. “C’mon, you fuckers,” she snarled, “c’mon, c’mon…”

“Quicker than that, Red Seven!”
Dell barked in her ear.

After that it all happened so quickly. Ohana squeezed the trigger, grazing the stabilizer of one of the Tyroshi fighters. The pilot attempted to regain control but overcorrected, shearing off course and slamming into his wingman. The fighter began to break up on impact, exploding spectacularly as its core was breached. The second fighter was immolated instantly, but the cloud of debris from the first was unavoidable. Her proximity alert beacon started screaming half a second too late. A severed section of wing came spiraling at her end over end, obliterating the space that moments earlier had been her cockpit.

The last thing Ohana Cassel heard as she was claimed by the abyss was the sound of Dell’s voice calling her name over and over and over…

46 • SINGULARITY

“Ohana? Ohana! Ohanaaaa!”

Death. So much death. All Fenton ever wanted was to help people, and already thousands had perished fighting over something he created. And now, Ohana. Granted, Xenecia took her under duress way back when, but she had embraced her new life. She helped train the Irregulars and enlisted even after Marshal Harm offered her a no-strings exit strategy. Whether that was for the cause or just to stay close to Dell or both, he couldn’t say. Did it really matter now, though? He thought back to a night not long ago when Roon told him how Ohana had confided in her.

“She told me, ‘You know, believe it or not, I’m starting to think you guys maybe did me a real favor, taking me along for the ride the way you did.’”

Some favor
,
he thought now. And for what?

“Red Leader, you still with us?” the shuttle pilot hailed. “Red Leader, respond!”

“Here,”
came the belated response. Quiet as Dell’s voice was, Fenton could hear the anger, the hatred, and somewhere below that, the desolate sadness underpinning it.
“I’m here. How much further?”

“Major?”

Fenton pulled himself together. He didn’t have a choice. He owed it to Roon, to Ohana and Dell, to Xenecia and Soroya and Marshal Harm. He owed it to everyone who had already given their life. More importantly, he owed it to everyone who would still if he didn't focus up and get himself right. “A few more klicks. That should do it.”

“And what then?”

“You open the bay doors and I jump out,” he said flatly.

The pilot did a double-take so hard he nearly threw them off course. “What the—are you insane?! You don’t even have a suit!”

“Oh, right.” Fenton frowned thoughtfully, regarding his bare hands. “Give me a minute.”

Throwing away all that mournful anger, that empty pain, he willed the nans, coaxed them forth. It was an excruciatingly slow, mentally draining process. In reality it took only seconds for his body to seize and arch forward. Shoulders pinned back against the seat, he could feel each and every one of the trillions of nans in his body respond to the call.

And then they came. A trickle, then streams upon streams of the tiny nans. They poured from his nostrils and mouth, his ears, even beneath the lids of his eyes. A writhing, shimmering mass, they reformed quickly, encapsulating his face, neck, body, and hands, anywhere there was exposed skin needing to be shielded from the vacuum of space.

Within the span of a minute, the nans had manufactured a suit around Fenton.

“Ho-
lee
…” the pilot started to say, drawing out the second syllable as Fenton threw him a thumbs up. Good to go. The pilot just shook his head in wonderment as he keyed the console to open the shuttle’s bay doors. “I hope to hell you know what you’re doing, sir.”

“So do I. Now, open those doors and get the hell out of here!”

Fenton watched as the shuttle banked away, putting a safe distance between itself and its erstwhile cargo.

He was well and truly alone now. A distant, farflung observer to the war his research helped start. God, it was horrible. Strangely beautiful, but utterly horrible to behold, even from so far a distance.

And now the Tyroshi fleet was moments from entering the fray.

“Well,” he breathed, “it’s now or never.”

Throwing his arms out before him, Fenton did what no man ever could before. God willing, none ever would again.

It began in his fingertips. A raw, elemental tingling. Fenton looked to his hands, marveling as the nans began to rearrange themselves yet again. Slowly, painlessly, they began to
unravel
his fingers. There really was no other word for it. Atom by tiny atom, they disappeared before his very eyes, twisting away in twin helix streams circling one another gracefully. It was almost balletic.

The rest of his body unraveled much more quickly, running like tributaries along his arms and legs, the constituent parts that together made him whole casting off into empty space all around him. Yet even as the nans deconstructed his body, his consciousness remained intact. There was no pain, just the incredibly disconcerting sensation he was everywhere and nowhere, all things and nothing. In that moment of utter and complete clarity, he gave himself entirely to them, glorying in their presence and the disentangling pull of all the sundry elements and particles that made Fenton Wilkes
Fenton Wilkes
. He laughed, the sound lost to the space he occupied—
to the space he was
.