Reparation -- Chapter 5: No Way Back

          As the sun's heat fled the day, townsfolk began to filter out, first in small groups then in droves. The town center was packed with dancers, jugglers, and riotous music. It reminded Crais of the winter festivals on Kordaen, but less sophisticated. Instead of Directorate and division standards flying from the windows, there were colorful banners and bunting. No drunken commandos and officers; only brilliantly costumed civilians laughing, embracing and celebrating.

          "Bialar,"
          Senna's voice pulled him from his revere. He turned from the louvered window to look at her.
          "The registrar log just updated," she said, pointing to a particular line in the list of symbols. "It shows the Mhultaan's marauder and crew left half an arn ago."
          Crais walked over to the terminal looking intently at the words, skeptical of her ability to accurately read them.
          "Very good," he said after several microts. "We'll have to drive to the munitions complex because of the flight restrictions from the festival."
          "Understood," Senna said as she retrieved the gun belt, strapping it clumsily around her waist.
          "You're going to have to acquire the ground transport," He explained, not believing he had to say such a thing.
          The look on her face became one of fear, but she shook her head in understanding. He handed her a small pouch of currency.
          "Ask the desk keeper where the nearest vehicle rental establishment is," he explained walking her to the door. "Go there and hire something large enough for cargo."
          He opened the door for her, meeting her terrified stare. "You'll be fine, Senna."
          She forced a smile before slipping out into the growing darkness.




          Crais eased the cargo vehicle through the throng in the town center gingerly. He lost track of how many times he slammed the transport to a halt as lines of drunken townsfolk danced, ran or fell in front of them.
          "This is like Mardi Gas in New Orleans," Senna observed with an empty chuckle. "Can't drive your car through the French Quarter for all the drunken tourists partying in the streets."
          He had no idea what she was talking about but comprehended the meaning behind the words. As they finally reached the outskirts of the city, he pushed the controls to maximum. They roared down the empty highway. As the last hint of sun disappeared, lights in the front grill flashed to life, illuminating the roadway ahead of them.
          In a quarter of an arn, they were in front of the complex. Crais slowed as the headlamps lit the ruined gate and dead guards.
          "I don't like the look of this," he said between clenched teeth. "Come on."
          He stepped out of the driving compartment, walking slowly toward the bodies with his pulse pistol drawn. He motioned for her to follow as he walked cautiously through the inner yard to the front entrance.
          "What a mess," Senna said seeing the damaged front door.
          "Peacekeeper pulse rifles," Crais grunted, holding up a hand, meaning for her to stay put.
          He stepped over the wrecked door, eyes adjusting quickly to the darkness. The smell of burnt flesh hit him before he saw the pile of dead bodies on the floor of the lobby. He knew instinctively that this was Braca's handiwork. He turned quickly, leaping through the hole in the door and back out into the night.
          "Braca's people have been here," he said with a grimace. "Killed everyone inside the complex."
          "Oh, god," Senna whispered. "What are we going to do? What about the parts for Talyn?"
          Before he could answer, sirens cut the silence around them. They turned to see row after row of headlamps on the road coming toward them.
          "No choice," Crais shouted shoving her toward the cargo vehicle. "We've got to get off this planet before anyone can place us at the complex. As Peacekeepers, we'll be blamed for this debacle."
          As she climbed into the passenger seat, Crais smashed his boot into the vehicle's grill four times, shattering the light panels. He leaped behind the controls, steering away from the complex and off the roadway. He drove blindly through the undergrowth and trees, praying the militia hadn't seen them.




          They ditched the battered and wheezing cargo vehicle outside the capital, making their way back to the lodging on foot. It was late and the majority of people attending the festival were drunk beyond all reason. Still, Crais led them kilmetras out of their way to be safe. As they turned onto the street adjacent to their hostel, Crais stopped as if shot. He pulled Senna off into the shadows as he watched the rotating red image at the nearest intersection.
          "What is it?" Senna whispered, huddled against him in terror.
          "Wanted beacon." He replied through clenched teeth.
          Taking her by the hand, he moved into the alley nearest them and found the rear entrance to the hostel. They rode upward in the maintenance level riser to the sixth floor in complete silence. He pulled her along as he made his way to their room. Once safely inside, he released her, locked the door and went to the information terminal.
          "Braca orchestrated this perfectly. The local militia is on high alert. Apparently, a Peacekeeper light cruiser crashed into their temple today. The authorities are blaming me for this, the attack on the complex, as well as a massacre that took place this afternoon at a local Township." Crais growled bitterly. "I have no doubt whatsoever that Braca is as responsible for reporting me to the local authorities as he is for all the killings."
          He turned back to finish reading the remainder of the militia report. After only microts, his entire body stiffened. With a murderous glare, he wordlessly closed the gap between them in three strides. She didn't even have time to flinch when his hand connected with her cheek in a slap that resounded in the quiet room. She staggered backward but he caught her arm pulling her toward him.
          "You've killed us all!" he roared, slapping her again and again.
          He grabbed her by the hair, forcing her to her knees on the floor. She screamed, struggled but never once struck out at him in return.
          "Braca found us because the signature code was wrong," he growled into her ear, his cheek against hers. "The signature code you programmed into Talyn's transport pod."
          She was sobbing bitterly now, her entire body shaking with the force of her cries.
          "I'm sorry," she bawled, tears pouring from her eyes across the bruises starting to form on her face. "I'm sorry."
          "I don't need your apologies." He snapped shaking her by her hair. "Your apologies won't help us get off this planet alive. Your apologies won't save Talyn when the Peacekeepers find him."
          He released his hold on her hair, then dealt her a backhand that sent her sprawling onto her stomach on the floor. Her loud sobs grew muffled against the carpet and she didn't move.
          "You've killed us all," he repeated in an icy whisper as he rose to stand over her.
          He strode angrily toward the door, punching the lock release with his fist.
          "Bialar!" she wailed, forcing herself up from the floor. "The militia! Don't go!"
          He ignored her pleas, slipping out into the cool of the night without a backward glance.



          As the light and heat of the new day filled the streets, Senna sat alone in their room, too distraught to eat, sleep or even move. She'd been sitting in a chair facing the door throughout the night, unable to sleep. Her heart was broken and her gut was tied tighter than the Gordian knot in fear for Crais. She had little hope of surviving another day if he was captured or killed. She was also unsure emotionally how his death would effect her.
          She kept turning the last six months over in her mind, wondering what psychotic gods she'd pissed of to get herself into this mess. He was never easy to live with. He'd always been hard on her, for the most part not unjustly. But, he had never actually beaten her before.
          She knew in her heart as he forced her to her knees he was going to kill her. Either strangle the life out of her with his powerful hands or use his pulse pistol to fry her brains. She cried then as much out of fear for her life as from the certain knowledge he now hated her.
          As angry as she was for the beating, she was also disturbed by the idea that it truly was her fault. In a moment of tenderness between them, she'd offered her help. Obviously her knowledge of Peacekeeper technology was lacking and now it would cost them all their lives. Even poor Talyn, so childlike in his innocent, waiting for Crais' return.
          The pulse pistol he'd given her sat on the table beside her elbow. She'd looked at it a hundred times over the course of the night. The idea of using it to blow her own brains out occurred to her nearly as many times. She looked at it now, considering how very little she had to leave behind.
          She heard a key slide into the locking mechanism outside. She knew she should reach for the weapon in case it was trouble. She shook her head and cast the thought aside. Let them come, she thought morosely.
          The brightness from outside made the dark figure in the doorway no more than a silhouette. She knew without seeing the face that it was Crais. He shut the door quickly behind himself. He moved wordlessly to the cooler unit, cranking it to maximum. She watched his uncomfortable movements, not willing to speak even after her long vigil.
          His face was flushed and beaded with sweat. His normally flawlessly coiffed hair was a mass of loosened tendrils surrounding his face. He reeked of some sweet fragrance and his uniform was covered with long blonde hairs. Human, Sebacean or otherwise, she didn't need to be a mind reader to guess where he'd spent his night.
          "I wish to apologize," he said at last with great difficultly, clearly keeping his distance. "My protectiveness of Talyn. . . I didn't stop to think,"
          "No, you didn't," Senna interrupted him bitterly. She touched one bruised cheek and he seemed to wince as he watched her.
          "We will have to wait until the afternoon cool to get off this planet." He said softly. "Even if I could tolerate moving around in the heat, it would draw suspicion for any Sebaceans to be out in it."
          He seemed to realize she'd been sitting up waiting for him all night.
"Best to get a few arns of sleep before we try to make good our escape." He said coming closer to her.
          She rose from the chair before he could touch her. Her legs were asleep, but she wouldn't let him see her stumble or falter. She moved slowly to one of the beds, pulling back the covers and sliding off her boots.
          Still in the uniform, she eased herself beneath the blanket and slowed her breathing so he would assume she was asleep. She kept herself absolutely still as she listened to him cleaning himself up. Finally, he undressed and climbed into the bed opposite hers. The room was soon silent except for the sound of their breathing.




          Crais sat at the dining table, his eyes on Senna's sleeping form. Remorse for his actions burned in his gut. He'd struck out blindly at her, might have even killed her if he hadn't stopped himself. He stormed out to burn off his aggression with a forgettable tralk, never bothered that he'd be an easy target in a brothel. His eyes narrowed as she began to murmur in her sleep, her legs moving as though she was trying to run.
          Once he'd left the brothel and made his way back to their lodging in the silent morning streets, he was able to admit his own guilt.
          The militia report listed his true name along with his accomplice: Lt. Larell. Crais had no doubt Braca recognized that name and acted accordingly. It was true the random scan found the signature code to be a fraud, but the use of his old lover's name was the key that turned the lock on the trap they now found themselves in.
          Crais started as Senna sat bolt upright screaming. He got up and went to her in four long strides. She struggled, tangled in the covers, eyes looking madly around the room with complete lack of recognition.
          "Senna," he took her by the shoulders and tried to hold her, but she fought him like a wild animal. "Senna, it's Bialar."
          She shook violently as her eyes fought to focus on his face. Tears welled in them and she swallowed hard. At last she realized where she was and her face became less terrified.
          "I dreamed they'd come for us," she whispered, hugging herself like a small child. "They shot you and I couldn't stop them."
          He remembered her first night aboard Talyn and his heart ached for her and his remorse deepened.
          "Bialar, I'm sorry. I am so sorry," she sobbed into her hands. "I didn't mean to do anything to put you or Talyn in danger. If I could take it back I would."
          He nodded his head in understanding as he looked down into her bruised, tear stained face. He walked toward the dining table, strapping on his gun belt. He straightened his suspenders over his shoulders and pulled on his uniform tunic. Wordlessly, Senna put her legs over the side of the bed and slid into her boots. He held out her gun belt and watched as she secured it around her waist.
          "It's time," he said simply, but the expression on his face was intense.



          Three arns after midday, Braca and Chalmer disguised themselves as festival goers before venturing out into the city. Squad One was hiding within the abandoned building, waiting for his signal that Crais had been located. Squad Two and the Techs were with the marauder, concealed in the forests outside the capital. The trap was ready to be sprung.
          Using a decrepit information terminal in their hiding place, Chalmer's Techs were able to locate the hostel where a Captain Anton and Lt. Larell were registered. They weren't able to get a room number, however. Braca knew it was information that would be gained only through direct methods.
          He kept his pace slow because of Chalmer's pronounced limp. He knew she was in a great deal of pain, but she was a drag on the Team he did not need now. She never once complained, of course. She was too much the Peacekeeper to give in to that sort of weakness. He kept a hand on her arm as he helped her up the steps and into the lodging facility.
          He eyed the humongous woman behind the counter with obvious disgust. She sat stuffing confections into her mouth as she watched the festival out a nearby window. Braca removed his costume cloak, handing it to Chalmer before drawing his weapon and approaching the counter.
          "Hold it, sir!" the woman squealed in horror. "No pulse weapons here in this lobby."
          "Captain Anton and Lt. Larell," Braca snapped with a vicious smirk. "Their room assignment."
          "You know I can't simply give that information out," she argued trying to back away from the counter to the safety of the office beyond.
          "What room are they in?" Braca demanded, slamming the butt of his pistol hard onto the front desk.
          The woman made the mistake of trying to reach for the communications device on the desk. She fell with an abbreviated grunt, a smoldering wound in her chest from Braca's pistol.
          Without missing a beat, Braca was spinning the information terminal toward the two of them. He and Chalmer looked down the list of hostel guests. Chalmer found it first, sparing Braca a triumphant smile.




          Crais and Senna looked on silently from the level riser alcove. With no time to think, Crais pushed her backward into one of the level risers, joined her and swiftly punched the controls.
          "You saw the registrar's report yourself," Senna said as they rose slowly. "The Mhultaan's marauder was on the list of departures yesterday."
          Crais shook his head angrily, said, "Another trick. Braca is an exceptional officer."
          "How are we going to get back to the transport pod?" she asked as they stopped at the third floor.
          "I don't know," he admitted heatedly as he jogged along the catwalk to the rear of the building.           "Just follow me and do everything I tell you without hesitation."
          "Yes, Bialar," she agreed.
          He took her by the arm and aimed her at the maintenance level risers they'd used the night before. He followed her inside one and then punched the controls for ground level. As the doors slid open, Crais was out like a shot with Senna at his heels. He kicked open the locked rear door and bolted outside.
          Looking rapidly in every direction, Crais shoved Senna into an alleyway to their right and they took off running at top speed.




          Braca blasted the room controls with his pulse pistol, jerking the door open with brute force. Chalmer was right behind him as he entered the cool, darkened interior. He emerged from the hygiene chamber, his face red with fury.
          "They've escaped," he shouted, kicking at one of the dining chairs. "Obviously Crais knows we're after them."
          "He's no idiot," Chalmer said bitterly. "We both know that intimately."
          "He can't be allowed to get off this planet," Braca replied as he stalked out of the room.
          She grunted in pain as she shifted her weight and followed him.
          "Go out the rear of this building," Braca ordered from the main level risers. "Make certain they didn't slip out that way."
          Before the doors slid shut on him, she made her way to the maintenance risers as fast as the pain would allow.




          Only half a kilometra from the landing field, Crais and Senna dashed around a corner, coming face to face with a female Peacekeeper officer. They skidded to a stop as the lieutenant leveled her weapon at the startled face of her former captain.
          "Lt. Chalmer," Crais acknowledged as he reciprocated by aiming his pulse pistol at her.
          "Traitor Crais," she sneered wickedly.
          Smiling dangerously in return he said, "I would like to say that it is a pleasure to see you again, however that would not be true."
          Their pistols fired simultaneously as each leaped for cover in nearby doorways. Crais shoved Senna across the alley where she sprawled onto her stomach behind the stoop of the adjacent building. She crouched, terrified, as Crais and Chalmer made rapid-fire attacks on each other.
          Crais watched for a microt between volleys, getting a feel for Chalmer's timing. He fired a quick burst, leaned back into cover then aimed his pistol around the door frame and fired again. Chalmer let out a shriek of pain as the bolt connected with her right elbow.
          "Braca!" she shouted into her comm as she struggled to get behind a row of refuse bins only three metras from Senna's hiding place.
          Crais peered around the edge of the door in time to see his former second officer run into the alley with a single commando. Before they could assess the situation, he began showering fire down on them. A lucky bolt caught the commando in the narrow gap between helmet and armor, sending him flying backward, dead where he fell.
          As he got a clear shot at Braca, his pistol misfired. He shook it, slammed the butt against the lintel and tried firing again. A pathetic spray of sparks fell from the muzzle.
          As he watched in horror, Chalmer rose from concealment behind the refuse bins and moved toward Senna. Her right arm was badly mangled, her pulse pistol dangling from limp, bloodied fingers.
          "His cartridge is empty, Braca." She yelled over her shoulder with a triumphant laugh.
          "Shoot her," Crais shouted. "Damn you, Senna. Shoot her."
          "Senna?" Braca exclaimed in recognition then spoke into his comm. "Squad One, lock onto my signal for retrieval. We have the human female and the deserter pinned down."
          Senna rose from her hiding place, the pulse pistol trembling in her hand. The wounded Chalmer looked at her with venom, switching her pistol to her left hand and taking aim at the human woman. Crais slid the spare chakan oil cartridge from his belt and into his pistol. He took aim, shooting Chalmer square in the face at close range. She fell to the ground, her head splattering the wall behind her.
          "Veya!" Braca screamed, rushing forward firing his pistol wildly.
          Senna fired then, grazing Braca's right shoulder. It did little to slow his furious rush toward them. Suddenly, Crais sprang from the doorway out into the alley with all the strength and speed he possessed. He stopped the force of Braca's momentum with an elbow to his sternum followed by a panthak jab. The young lieutenant slumped downward bonelessly, falling across Chalmer's dead body.
          Enraged, Crais spun toward Senna. She stood with a glazed expression, trembling violently, the pistol still held ineffectually before her.
          "Come on," he shouted. "We've got to get out of here before that squad arrives."
          She didn't respond, simply standing frozen in place. Afraid for them both, furious at her apparent cowardice and knowing no other way to deal with her, he closed the gap between them. He was about to strike her again, thought better of it, shaking her instead.
          "Wake up!" He barked. "We have to go."
          She gaped at him like a child, the emotions he saw on her face making him want to take her into his arms when he should strangle the life out of her instead.
          "You heard what he said," she breathed, eyes wild. "They know about me. They know who I am."
          Crais said nothing. There was nothing to say and there was no time for wondering how Braca knew about her. Taking Senna by the arm, he pulled her along as he ran back the way they came.
          Switching tactics, Crais lead them through the main streets crowded with festival celebrants. They plunged through the throng, slamming into many of the drunken revelers, knocking them to the ground. Ignoring any protests, they ran onward without looking back.
          Crais bolted out onto the landing field and across to their transport pod without looking to see if Senna was still behind him. He was up the ladder and into the pilot's chair before noticing that she was with him, strapping herself into the seat opposite him.
          Crais started the engines and pulled back on the controls to guide the craft off the ground.
          "Peacekeeper transport," a voice called over the main comms. "You do not have clearance to leave Yrunndas III. You are fugitives and are ordered to halt your escape attempt at once."
          Crais gritted his teeth as he forced the pod into a steep climb. The planetary defense cannons blasted to life beneath them. One particularly close shot rocked them as if the transport was a toy. Crais growled in fury, turning and banking the pod in evasive maneuvers as though it was a prowler like he'd flown in his youth.
          In two  microts they were lifting up out of the atmosphere and the range of the planetary defense systems. With one hand still on the guidance controls, he plotted a circuitous route back to Talyn in case they were being followed.




          When Squad One located Braca's position, he was on one knee next to the mangled body of Lt. Chalmer.
          "Orders, sir?" Officer Garro asked, looking down at him.
          The expression on his face was terrible as he ran his hand over the blood and gore covering Chalmer's hair. He swallowed hard, closing his eyes for a long time, squatting silent and motionless.
          "Sir," Officer Garro said haltingly. "Squad Two reports the traitor's transport pod has successfully escaped from the planet."
          He seemed oblivious to her words, still on his haunches by Chalmer's body.
          "Sir, they tried to comm you for orders," the commando pilot went on. "But you didn't respond."
          Slowly, as if every motion destroyed him, Braca pulled Chalmer's body over his shoulder, carrying her as he had from Fhaval Township the previous day. Blood seeped out of the wound in his shoulder from the effort, but he seemed ignorant of this as well.
          "Sir, you're wounded." Garro said, desperation edging her tone.
          Braca walked away from the entire squad without looking back. As Garro and the other commandos followed him, he finally spoke.
          "We're getting off this dren hole," he said icily. "Send a security three zelka message back to the Mhultaan that we're on our way with the necessary materiel."