Stopover by Mel Keegan

Author:Mel Keegan [Keegan, Mel]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Science Fiction
Published: 2011-02-05T07:00:00+00:00

8

He was three steps down, with no good line-of-sight on Sondheim’s shooter, when the whine of big engines rattled the windows. One stair behind and above him, Stone swore quietly and they froze, pressed back against the wall and keenly aware that their vantage point offered poor cover.

For a moment Jarrat hoped the engines would pass over — perhaps a local kid was taking an overblown buildup to the garage for tuning. But the downdraft of big Aragos continued, intensified, and the pitch of the engine shifted as it dropped into the parking lot where they had left the Arial. Its shadow cut the sun for several seconds, plunging the front bar into companionable dimness.

“It has to be Sondheim’s backup, and they’re not going to let us near the Arial. You notice we’re outgunned,” Stone observed.

His tone was level, but Jarrat felt the surge of his adrenaline, the heavy beat of his pulse. They could easily die here, in a nothing town buried in a toxic wasteland, and if Rethan ATC had bungled — never picked up the incoming Rand Arial — no one would ever know where two NARC captains ended their careers.

The repulsion generators shut down, and hatches were growling open in the lot right outside the door. The Kovak pistol felt ridiculously feeble in Jarrat’s palm. He would have traded a decade of his life for riot armor and the Colt, but the desire mocked him.

Careful, too slow to catch the attention of Groffe or Sondheim, he backed up the stairs. “Out,” he said quietly. “There has to be a back way down. Let’s see if we can get out with Carnaby, and call it good. Pete Stacy can take up the slack, if he ever gets his ass here.”

“Give him time,” Stone said tersely as he hit the door release again. “He could be halfway over from Chell. There’s also the jurisdiction question. Tactical is choked in its own red tape, it’s a tradition.”

“We can cut right through it,” Jarrat mused, “if we can make contact.” The door had slid open, and he seized Carnaby by the collar to roll him over. The man was out cold, snoring lightly, and knew nothing as he was unceremoniously slung over Stone’s left shoulder. Jarrat went ahead, away from the stairs and the bar. He had glimpsed a ‘private, staff only’ sign in the end corner, and as they drew closer his hunch proved out.

The storeroom, from which issued the caustic chemical smells of cleaning fluids, was right beside the fire stairs. He palmed open the door, held it open for Stone to go through, and blinked in the sudden gloom of a plain concrete stairwell. Old graffiti was painted over, cigarette butts and beer cans littered the stairs, and someone had been squatting here recently. A blanket, a flashlight, stale food and a battered magazine were underfoot as they made their way down.

The door at the bottom was heavy, almost wedged. He set his shoulder to it as Stone grunted under Carnaby’s weight.

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