Awakening to Judgment by P. R. Adams

Author:P. R. Adams
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

24

3 March, 2174. Bermuda Colony.

* * *

IN THE EARLY hours of the morning, a hard rain turned Braddock Boulevard blacker than midnight. The road stretched a potholed forty klicks from the front gate of Bermuda Colony Spaceport southwest to Rosaleen. Even the brilliant-white security lights of the front gate were swallowed by the gloom.

From his position in a shallow ditch about twenty meters out from the front gate, Rimes traced the lit stretch of road and imagined it connecting to a distant hint of light closing in from somewhere out on the barren plain that was home to Rosaleen and the spaceport. Sweet, cold rainwater collected on his tongue as he pondered the light. It could be an approaching car, but it could also be one of the handful of operational street lamps lining the road.

The single glimmer of light turned into two, and Rimes slid his faceplate down. The lights eventually resolved into the unsteady beams of two approaching vehicles.

Rimes drew his knife, careful not to splash in the shallow pool of rain he was lying down in. His BAS indicated the vehicles were nearing fifty meters out. It also indicated his body temperature had dropped dangerously in the time he’d had his helmet open. The way he was always burning up inside, he barely noticed the cold.

Two men—mercenaries—stepped out of the security shack up ahead that straddled the faint remnant of paint that divided the lanes. They were young, probably not even in their twenties yet. They laughed and joked about the pathetic sight of the approaching vehicles and the colony in general. Rimes barely managed to follow their heavily accented English.

He crawled closer, using only his forearms and thighs. His body was stiff and sore, but the activity helped warm him up and drive off the memories that had recently awakened.

The vehicles came to a full stop at the gate, and the young mercenaries stepped to either side. Their laughter grew louder as the fluorescent green side panels on the crawlers flickered an advertisement for Chan Brothers’ Maintenance & Repair. The drivers lowered their windows and leaned out. They were dressed in grimy coveralls.

“Identification.” The first mercenary spoke in what sounded like a German accent as he approached the front vehicle. He moved slowly and frequently looked at the second mercenary, as if they were taking pleasure in inconveniencing the drivers.

“Cold night,” the front driver said. He wiped rain from his face and reached into the crawler, holding out a large, brown bottle of the local beer. “Knock the worst off?”

From his position about eight meters out Rimes could see a half-empty bottle of the cheap, local whiskey in the security shack. When the second driver waved another bottle out his window the mercenaries stopped laughing. They glanced at each other, then quickly stepped up to seize their prize before waving the vehicles through. The mercenaries held the beer bottles up like trophies and shouted something Rimes couldn’t understand.

Their laughter stopped when the vehicles’ brake lights suddenly flared, and the vehicles came to an abrupt stop.

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