The Paramedics loaded Johan onto a wheeled stretcher, his neck braced and bandaged. The mechanic didn't react as they pushed him to their electric Emergency Response Vehicle, his eyes shut and his face a frozen scowl.
Thulani hovered unhelpfully at their elbows. "Is he going to make it?" he asked.
He didn't get a response; one paramedic recited some unfamiliar medical code, and the other wrote it down.
"Is he going to make it?" Thulani demanded again, an out-of-character heat lacing his words. Johan had saved him before, and now it was Thulani's turn. He made it on time, right? He couldn't accept anything less than good news.
One paramedic detached from the group and barred Thulani from following. "Sir, I know you're worried for your friend, but I promise you're not helping."
Thulani was confident this was a practiced script, but she delivered it tactfully.
"You're bleeding. Do you need immediate medical attention?"
"Huh?" Thulani pulled his eyes from over her shoulder at the stretcher as they pushed it into the cart and hopped into the back. "Oh, no. I treated myself." He raised his hand to show the blood-clotting hemostatic gel smeared over the gash. He had also coated the shrapnel cut on his forehead.
"Please understand we're in a crisis. We have to prioritize urgent cases. Come to the clinic, and we'll redress your wounds after we've stabilized our critical patients."
"I'm fine!" Thulani insisted again with a dismissive wave. "It's just Johan. He — he can't die. Please, save him."
The paramedic smiled reassuringly. Her dark freckles shifted over her light brown skin. "I promise you." She put a hand on his shoulder. "We'll do everything we can." She squeezed his shoulder and nodded, then excused herself and jogged back to her team, leaving Thulani numb. With his adrenaline spent and energy exhausted, the pod tech watched as the ERV drove along the car rail, lights flashing.
Emergency responders swarmed the metropolis. Dozens of paramedics and police officers directed crowds and aided individuals. Thulani's eyes narrowed. Where were the police when the raid occurred? Thulani raised an eyebrow as a pit of suspicion grew in his mind. No wounded law enforcement lay with the fallen citizens. All officer's uniforms were clean and pressed as though they arrived just in time to bring order now that the fighting was over. Had any of them fallen to the raiders, or did they leave everyone to fend for themselves?
Thulani's mind flashed to Mandla, who had passed him in the bay, wearing the enemy's uniform. Mandla had saved him, but Mandla was more of a gangster than a protector of the peace.
Olivia. Thulani found a reserve spike of willpower as he turned and hurried back toward his apartment. Similar scenes of chaos and carnage devastated the rest of the residential district.
An expansive labyrinth of stout bulkheads, open bays, man hatches, and portholes sprawled endlessly, forming the station city's outer shell.
Only the residential district at the colony's core — The Metropolis — featured actual buildings reminiscent of a city from the surface age. A titanium dome enfolded circular towers, their outward-facing apartment hatches rising high above warehouses. A latticework of steel bridges spanned the towers in all directions like industrial spiderwebs. Downward-facing blue UVB lights and bright spotlights cast a sickly approximation of daylight. Tracks for electric vehicles ran down the center of grated roads, dividing pedestrian walkways on either side.
The metropolis was the only place outside the now-flooded bay where Thulani felt he didn't have to constantly duck to avoid banging his head on a valve or a hatch as the ceiling stretched eight stories high.
Thulani passed a pair of police officers laying a sheet over a corpse in a lineup of ten bodies. They had been executed in the street. Thulani furrowed a brow, an uncomfortable thought prodding his mind like a jagged barnacle. The police cleaned up in time to flush the bodies, but what were they when the fallen needed protectors?
An arm encased in black and teal armor protruded from a white sheet, giving Thulani pause. So the Raiders lost men here, too? Maybe the cops had resisted. Was his anger rooted in the fact that he and Johan had been forced to face the adversary alone?
Thshebo. His manager's body flashed in his mind, blood pouring out of three wounds on his chest — wounds that Thulani failed to stem. Thulani reached his apartment tower and rode the elevator to the top. As the lift ascended, his foot tapped rapidly, arms tightly crossed over his chest, hugging something hard hidden inside his jumpsuit — the raider's tablet.
Olivia was okay. He had to be. She stayed home and would have left the hatch sealed as soon as the alarm sounded.
The elevator chimed, and Thulani slid through the opening doors, racing around the rail deck until he arrived at his hatch. With fumbling hands, he overshot the first number on the dial.
He cursed and completed the rotation.
From the other side, mechanical bolts shifted with a metallic click, and the steel door swung open.
Thulani threw himself at Olivia on the other side, a renegade sob choking him as he caught her. More than once today, he had prepared himself never to see her again, yet here she was. She fit just right; her warmth melted tension, her shape pressed against him, and even her smell seemed to shock him from the nightmare.
"Thul!" she gasped, squeezing him tightly and pressing the tablet into his chest. "What's happening? Our hardline is locked out. I can't get updates."
"A —" Thulani took a moment to compose himself. "A raid."
"A raid!" She echoed in disbelief, pulling herself back to examine him more closely. "Are you okay? You're bleeding!"
"I'm fine," Thulani insisted with a dismissive wave. "But Thshebo and Johan, they kill —" Thulani sniffed, his body quaking as tears blurred his eyes.
Olivia gasped, a pale hand flying to her lips. "Thul."
Thulani clenched his fist and ground his teeth, banishing sorrow with rage. "Something's happening, Liefie," Thulani hissed. "Nothing makes sense."
"Come here!" Olivia urged, taking him by the hand and towing him to the sofa. "You're okay, Hartlam. You're home. You're with me." She pulled him down beside her and guided his head into her lap. "It's over now!" She stroked his ear and eyebrow with soft fingers, and his eyes grew heavy. Stress and tension washed away.
"It's okay to be scared," she whispered, her voice soft. "You're safe now."
Thulani's eyes snapped open. "Where's Nandi?"
"I haven't seen her yet."
Thulani cursed and ripped himself from the couch. He rushed to the kitchen, jerked a drawer open, and grabbed the biggest knife.
"Hartlam?" Oliva asked, stepping back, her eyes wide with concern.
"I don't think we're safe yet; there could be more of them out there. I need to find my sister." He started for the door, but Olivia interposed herself, her face nit with concern and determination.
"Thul, think. People are scared, and the streets are full of police; what will they think if you storm out there with a weapon?"
Thulani saw himself momentarily in his mind's eye. Storming down the street, bloodied and frantic with the gleam of desperation in his gaze. He nodded in agreement and placed the knife on the table.
"I still need to get her."
A shadow darkened the hatchway, and Thulani cried in relief to see Nandi step in.
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"What kak of a day ja?"
"Ja ja," Thulani agreed, and they crossed to her. "Did they reach the power plant? Did they hurt you?"
"Men with guns," Nandi said. "No, they didn't hurt anyone."
What? That didn't make sense. They had systemically executed four pod techs in Thulani's bay.
"Did they check your I.D.s?"
She nodded at her brother. "Ja ja, you too?"
Thulani nodded and stepped back. What was happening? Why would they murder pod techs but not power techs? More questions, no answers. Thulani stopped and unzipped his jumpsuit, retrieving the tablet.
Both women gapped. Personal tablets were administratively assigned or a luxury.
"Where did you get that?" Olivia asked, her voice low.
"I took it from a man I left to die," Thulani muttered under his breath. He had broken his promise to the man pinned beneath the forklift. The man's panicked, frenzied eyes seared into Thulani's mind, the raider's head disappearing beneath the water in a maddening loop.
"Huh?" Nandi asked.
"It belonged to the raiders," Thulani said, shoving back unwelcomed nausea. "I think it might hold answers."
"Then you need to give it to the police," Olivia said insistently. "That's evidence."
Thulani clutched the tablet and looked at the hardline screen in the small living room.
Malware was detected. System isolated from the hardline. The banner still flashed over the frozen screen.
He was still locked out from running his old oxygen scan. Thulani growled, unable to interface with the tablet through the terminal. Then he reconsidered. Anything he plugged into the hardline would be traceable, and Thunlani's suspicion about local authorities grew — with Mr. Vermeulan at the top of his list. The councilman had warned Thulani to call in sick. He knew something.
Thulani tapped the corner of the tablet with his finger as if he could drum its secrets out.
Mr. Vermeulin commissioned drives that allegedly destroyed an enemy sub. Why would he destroy them if he was responsible? Whatever role Vermeulan played, Thulani was sure the tablet held the answers.
********
Bullet fragments sparked off the corridor, stinging Mandla's ear. He ducked back to the junction, pulling away from a torrent of bullets. Pinned in a cross-junction with enemies spilling in from three sides, Junior unloaded down a different hallway with his belt-fed Vektor SS-77, recently acquired from the armory. One of Mandla's men fell during the initial skirmish, leaving the five of them to hold the choke point.
A bullet skipped from another hall and sparked near Mandla's hand before deflecting down the corridor. The thing Mandla hated most about submarine warfare was the damn ricochets. Few things were more dangerous than sealing yourself in a titanium tube at the bottom of the ocean and exchanging gunfire in close quarters.
"Boss," Fin grunted. "I'm shot."
Mandla glanced back at the balding man, who clutched his side at a gap between his stolen armor plates.
"Can you patch it yourself?" Mandla unloaded down his hallway as two corsairs tried to sprint to a closer hatch. One fell back, clutching his leg, but the other fell motionless. Five bodies piled in his hallway, nearly enough to provide cover for the next wave.
Mandla ducked back behind cover as a return spray reverberated down his corridor. A round ricocheted off the wall and hammered Mandla's helmet.
"I think so," Fin grunted, pulling bandages from his bleed kit.
Infiltration alert: A coms officer crackled through the sub-wide coms channel. An enemy fire team has raided the armory and is advancing toward the control room. Be advised that they're wearing our livery.
A rectangular ballistics shield appeared in Mandla's hallway, blocking almost the entire corridor, and advanced toward him. Mandla fired several shots, which sparked harmlessly off of it — steel, then.
"Junior!" Mandla called. He fired again, not at the shield but at the walls to either side. Bullets skipped around the shield, and men cried out at hot ricochetting lead, but the shield continued, likely concealing a stack of soldiers behind it.
Mandla felt the hulking mass beside him before he saw Junior lower his Vektor SS-77 with a grin. The gun roared as it sprayed the shield, the barrier wavering under a heavier caliber. Mandla whisked a grenade, the belt draped around his shoulder, pulled the pin and tossed it around the gap.
"Frag out!"
He and his men braced, clapping their hands over their ear protection, and opened their mouths to equalize the pressure. The soldiers stacked behind the shield and cried out in alarm. The Sub shuddered, and Mandla's ears popped as the steel rectangular shield launched into the junction with a clatter.
Manda snapped his mouth shut immediately afterward, but Junior coughed as a pink mist settled around them.
Fin collapsed like a marionette on cut strings as a bullet took him in the neck.
"They're outflanking us here!" Mandla cried, barely able to hear his voice over the ringing. "Junior, take them to the wardroom ahead!" Mandla pointed further toward the control room. "I'm right behind you.
The bruiser nodded and set off with Mandla's final two men.
Mandla whisked another grenade off his belt and pulled a small spool of trip wire from his vest. He dropped the wire securing one end to the floor grating and the other to the grenade. He wedged the grenade's spoon against the side of the steel riot shield, ensuring it wouldn't detonate unless the pressure was released. Then he pulled the pin. Sweat slid down his forehead as he assessed the makeshift trap. The shield lent enough weight to keep the spoon pinned to the grenade.
Mandla flinched as more probing gunfire sparked in the corridor around him. He spun and hurried after his men. He made it into an open room, half elevated, and his guys searched two bodies on the floor.
"Get ready!" Mandla said, pointing to a large refrigerator strapped to the wall. His men went to free the box, and he rushed to the opposite wall, where he tried to shift some lockers.
Bolted. Mandla momentarily searched for a wrench but gave up, realizing freeing the lockers from the wall would take too long.
Mandla's grenade roared down the corridor, and agonized, panicked cries echoed.
Junior had better luck with his task and undid the clasps holding the refrigerator in place. He tipped the ice box, which clanged against the grate, and slid it in front of a round table bolted to the ground. Mandla and his men piled behind their makeshift barricade.
Shadows moved down the corridor, and Junior fired in bursts, causing the enemy to adopt a more defensive posture as they dove for cover. Mandla tapped Sipho and Azwi on the shoulders. The final two looked back at him, and he pointed at the other door. They shifted their position and covered the final hatchway with their Vector R4s.
With the new chokepoint secured, they could potentially hold out here for hours. If the rest of Mandla's men, mixed in with the corsairs, were doing their jobs, they would be silently cutting down isolated soldiers while Mandla held their attention.
Mandla tightened the jet knife glove on his right hand; its two metallic cylinders on the back of his hand gleamed.
Infiltration update: The coms officer announced over the intercom. The enemy is in the officer's wardroom. They are heavily armed and very dangerous.
Several rifles opened up in an automatic spray of fire and led, causing Mandla and Junior to duck down behind the fridge. Thankfully, the steel plating held.
Mandla waited for a break in the barrage, but the fire persisted.
"They're covering each other in waves!" Mandla shouted over the thunder. "We need to return fire! If they pin us down, we're dead."
Junior nodded and made to pop over their improvised cover, but Mandla pulled him back down. "Not over," he corrected. That's where we were first. Go around the side."
Junior nodded, and Mandla held up three fingers, silently ticking them down to one. Both men popped around on either side of the fallen freezer and sent a nasty reply of lead and blood.
Mandla was right; the enemy had made significant progress down the corridor, and the two Jobergians caught several in the hatchway's fatal funnel.
Several dropped, but one got in and circled the room's outskirts.
Sipho cried out as the flanker hit him, and then he shifted and dropped the man.
The two covering the other door shifted, getting all four guns on the one corridor, and they drove the corsairs back. The cover fire weakened and then broke off. Mandla counted at least five bodies through the smoke. The sharp, burnt gunpowder smell lingered in the air with few places to go.
"Azwi, help Sipho."
Azwi put his rifle down and drew bandages and a tourniquet from his bleed kit. Sipho stayed, covering his original hatchway while Azwi tended to his wound.
"Ja they coming again, or they lekker klaar?" Junior asked.
"They're not done yet," Mandla said. "They're trying to figure out a new approach."
A steel ball soared through the air, bounced off the back wall, and rolled to a stop between them.
"Frag!" Mandla hissed as he whisked the grenade and popped it over the fridge. He didn't have time to cover his ears but threw himself down and opened his mouth.
The blast popped Mandla's ears and violently shook the room.
Azwi coughed blood, and both nostrils bleed freely. Idiot, he should have opened his mouth to prevent barotrauma and blast lung.
The corridor erupted in a new onslaught as bullets slammed into the fridge and sparked off steel tables around them. Mandla's men reeled in confusion. No good.
Ears ringing, Mandla unslung his Retriever Fang and grenade belt, which still held six frags. He rapped he belt around the harpoon gun.
Azwi stood up, dazed, and bullets ripped through him.
Mandla peaked around the side of the freezer and fired the harpoon. The projectile was lost to the shadows in the corridor, but someone cried out painfully. Mandla whisked three pins off of the frags on the belt, their spoons popping free, and he locked the reel lever. The Retriever Fang shot out of his hands and skittered across the floor as it reeled itself down the hallway.
"Frag out!" Mandla covered his ears and panicked. Marines screamed in alarm. A series of detonations rocked the Sub, and a new alarm sounded.
Warning: hull breach detected, an automated voice announced through the speaker. The hatches' power door activated and swung shut, sealing the Jobergians from the Coral Corsairs.
Mandla gasped and sat back. Sipho, already bleeding, pulled off his ear protection to expose a blood trail running from his ears.
Azwi lay motionless, and Junior grinned.
Mandla put his back to the warped steel box and calmed his shaking hands. That was too close.
"We're trapped," Sipho moaned. "We're going to die here!"
"We're not going to die," Mandla insisted. "But I don't think we can press on. We'll hold here, and hopefully, the others are doing their job. They can only come from the control room now, and I get the feeling the Captain isn't going to risk facing us himself." Mandla checked Azwi for a pulse but didn't find one. He stripped the man of his magazines and his grenade belt.
"Keep guns on that hatch," Mandla indicated to the other open doorway. "We can't let them surprise us."