Lazarus, p.3
Lazarus, page 3
part #3 of Interstellar Cargo Series
Triston tried not to think about how many things that could still go wrong. There was no plan B, and any attempt for him to concoct one would only result in extra bodies. It must not come to that. One step at a time, he reminded himself. Everything will work out.
Then the waiting began.
00:19.44
Timing was imperative, and he had been given a rare gift of precision down to the seconds today. His intel was exact, as was his clearance––a token from his powerful employer. And should his employer’s involvement be discovered, the System’s war with Terracom would suddenly not seem so dire.
He heard his mark before he saw him, and his eye twitched. Infiltrating a federal prison was insane enough, but targeting Cole Musgrave for extraction was lunacy. He ached to heed the little voice inside his head begging him to abort, but it was too late for that now. He could not come back empty handed.
“So, did you pull the short straw again and get the honor of listening to my random musings on this lovely evening shift?” Cole asked his transfer guard.
Triston knew the answer to the question, and he considered incapacitating Cole the moment they were free and clear of the prison moon. He ran his index finger across his throat and muttered a few pointless words under his breath. Satisfied with what he heard, he pulled his face shield a bit lower and hailed the approaching men.
“Receiving prisoner B-33920 , for inspection and containment.”
The approaching guard squared his shoulders and nodded. “Processing prisoner number B-33920 . Prepare the cell.”
The moment of truth, Triston thought, facing the locked cell. Only now could he utilize the passkey preinstalled on his Ocunet lenses. Earlier usage would have alerted security to improper procedure. Now if it works....
Stepping up to the scanner, he began to upload the temporary retinal brand program which mimicked the eye of the guard he was impersonating. He knew it would burn something fierce for a good ten seconds, but his vision would take longer to correct. It was a risk he was willing to take for the sake of the mission.
00:16.58
Triston put the timer out of his mind as he was recognized by the security system. He clenched his fist as searing pain wracked his eye, and it took every ounce of concentration not to blink and scream. He barely heard his access granted over the ringing in his ears.
“Aw, don’t cry for me,” Cole said as he passed Triston and glimpsed his face. “I promise I’ll be here tomorrow. Scout’s honor.”
Triston scowled but said nothing, and the other guard had not acknowledged the comment.
Cole, flanked by Triston and the guard, shuffled into the confined space and raised his bound hands toward a hole in the wall to be secured. Triston did not allow that to happen. Instead of assisting his “co-worker”, he reached over and applied a small clear strip to the front of Cole’s throat. Cole frowned and tried to comment, but no words came from his mouth. With wide eyes he cast Triston a confused stare. Triston shoved him face-first into a wall.
In the following seconds of stunned silence, Triston drove his elbow into the guard’s temple, clamped his hand around the man’s larynx, and squeezed with all his might. For good measure, he repeatedly smashed the dying man’s forehead into the wall, and dropped him in a heap—out of view. Triston slid the extra sidearm into the waistband on his back. The other plastol was pointed at Cole’s face, keeping him at bay.
00:15.21
Cole’s mouth was agape, his lips working but unable to spew his thoughts. The strip preventing him for talking was just beyond his reach.
The part of Triston that wanted to pull the trigger was stayed by duty and the fatal consequences of treason. He did, however, enjoy the uncertainty in Cole’s eyes. “Not an assassination,” he clarified.
Triston motioned Cole toward him, gun still trained between his eyes. He gestured to the floor beside the convulsing guard. “Kneel.”
Cole’s hesitant approach raised Triston’s brow. He did not complete the command.
“Now.” Triston pressed the barrel of the gun to Cole’s forehead and used it to coax him to the ground. “Turn around.”
Cole did as asked this time, pulling away from the barrel so that it sank into the close-cropped hair on the back of his head. Triston promptly grabbed the dead guard’s wrist and pressed his limp thumb into Cole’s back, where his bindings were connected to a round housing unit. The bindings released with the acknowledgment of the thumbprint.
00:13.44
Triston positioned himself at the entrance of the cell, weapon poised. “Change into the guard’s clothes. Fast.”
Cole did as ordered, slipping the loose bindings. Triston stared, attentive to the passage of each second more than the prisoner in front of him. They would be cutting it close.
00:10.28
Cole stood once the guard’s slightly larger boots were tied and tucked the helmet under his arm. Triston, weapon still locked on him, removed a small container from the front pocket of his borrowed uniform and tossed it Cole’s way.
“Apply this to your face first. Cover it completely,” Triston ordered. “That includes your ears, throat, and neck. Quick.”
Cole executed the order like a soldier, and Triston was glad the notoriously unruly pilot sensed the critical nature of the mission. “Now I need you to get on the ground and hold the guard’s head so he is facing you. Make sure you’re close enough so the mimetic putty can replicate all the features. Whatever you do, don’t touch your face during the change.”
Shrugging, Cole did as asked.
00:09.17
Triston felt the noose tightening, but just as his clock ticked below nine minutes, the final stage of Cole’s metamorphosis began, and the true purpose of the voice strip’s function was enacted. Cole’s eyes bulged in obvious pain and terror as his face morphed into that of the dead guard. There was a sickening sucking sound and a “sizzling” as the putty worked its magic. Triston cringed, grateful he did not have to go through the same excruciating process. It was then he extended his unharmed hand and sprayed a clear liquid into Cole’s eyes. A silent bellow followed.
Unable to wait for the mimicry to finish, Triston grabbed beneath Cole’s arm and hoisted him to his feet. He slipped the helmet over the Cole’s head and dropped the visor to keep him from touching his face. That is all I’d need; a prison guard with a newly disfigured face.
The cell door sealed behind the duo, hiding the corpse within. Triston reassumed the face of the guard he’d been impersonating. Fortunately for him, he did not have to endure the pain of the nanobioparticle paste, but the sensation that there were thousands of insects were crawling over his flesh was unsettling enough.
Halfway down the hallway, Cole regained his footing, and Triston relinquished him. This just might work, he thought, hopeful. They merely had to make their way to the dock, slip past security, and board the waiting transfer vessel.
The loosening of his waistband brought him to a halt. He rounded on Cole, his own weapon now directed at his chest. The pilot had swiped the extra sidearm from Triston, but he was not holding it threateningly. With a slow and deliberate motion, he gently tucked the piece into his holster and snapped it closed.
Triston did not lower his barrel; he didn’t trust Cole. And he would have interrogated him on the spot had the pilot not been tapping his index finger on his throat atop voice strip.
00:08.31
There’s no time for this. Against his better judgment, Triston activated the mute strip via his Ocunet. “Speak.”
“You’re going to need––” Cole began, though he cut himself off. He cleared his throat and grinned. “You look diff––” He shook his head. “Couldn’t you have chosen a more manly voice to cover my pipes?”
Triston had reason for the selection. “We don’t have time for chit-chat. Out with what you want.”
Cole blinked and lifted his visor to wipe at his eyes. “You’re going to need my help out of this joint, Loki. That includes me speaking, wearing this sidearm...” He slapped his hip, “...to make me look official, in order pull off this daring escape.”
“You’ve already hindered this mission by forcing conversation. Keep your mouth shut, your weapon holstered, and we may make it out of here alive.”
Triston turned before Cole could say anything more. They marched down the hall, shoulder-to-shoulder, and out of the solitary confinement block. Once they entered a more populated area of the prison, Triston picked up the pace to avoid any unwanted interaction with other patrolling guards.
00:04.32
Too close. They came upon the last stretch leading to the loading docks, and the first agents of the United System Federal Prison made direct eye contact with them. They were the final tier of security before departure. Triston was not slated to have a passenger, a fact he had never thoroughly worked through.
“Heading back already?” asked a massive man with an equally intimidating rifle.
“Skipping lunch, as usual,” Triston said in as defeated a tone as he could muster. “Someone’s gotta keep stuffing these cells full of Terracom baddies.”
The behemoth chuckled as he waved Triston into the body scanner. He cast Cole a cursory glance but appeared none the wiser. “You boys’ve been putting our transporters through the ringer lately.”
Triston placed his sidearm into the tray to be scanned separately. He opened his mouth to speak, but another spoke in his stead.
“Everyone wants to catch a glimpse of the most infamous occupant,” Cole joked in his new voice. “See the living legend.”
Triston’s ears burned, though he kept silent, hoping to kill the conversation.
“Yeah, he’s a legend alright,” the burly guard said with more than a little disdain. He gave a thumbs-up to Triston before waving Cole forward with less enthusiasm. “A legend in his own mind, perhaps. Anyone who sees that piece of shit wants to remove ‘living’ from his title.”
“He’d still be a legend,” Cole pointed out.
Triston could almost hear the smirk spreading across Cole’s face. He just couldn’t leave well enough alone.
The guard only grunted in response. Triston turned to collect his sidearm just as the behemoth raised a tree trunk arm to halt Cole from passing through the scanner. Oh no....
“You forgetting something?”
Triston was slow to holster his weapon on purpose, fearing imminent discovery.
“Oh!” Cole said, relinquishing his own sidearm into the empty basket. He shrugged. “Sorry about that. I’m just so starstruck to have been in the same vicinity as Darkstar. It’s almost like his gangster ways are rubbing off on me.”
The guard lowered his arm. “Yeah, well, maybe it’s good you’re transporting off this rock, ‘cause you’re certainly acting a lot stranger than usual.” Incredibly, he grinned. “Guess that’s to be expected when you’re assigned to monitoring the System’s most wanted.”
Triston finished holstering his sidearm. That lucky son-of-a-bitch.
00:02.17
“Hey, that’s what we get accrued time for, right?” Cole said as he completed his scan. “Entitled mental vacations from genocidal psychopaths.” He winked and pointed a finger gun at the guard.
The duo hastily left the security checkout station, and Triston shoved Cole in the appropriate direction once they rounded the corner. They jogged anxiously up the ramp leading aboard the transport vessel. When they reached the cockpit, they caught the lounging pilot by surprise.
“Who’s he?” the man asked, thumbing in Cole’s direction.
Triston moved in, wrapped his hands and forearms around the pilot’s neck, and gave a mighty twist. There was a snap, and he eased the lifeless form to the ground before dragging it out of the cockpit. As the new pilot, he wasted no time preparing for their departure.
00:01.28
“Oh, shit!” Cole exclaimed.
Triston ignored him as he radioed Mission Control for takeoff. He was already piloting the transport vessel toward their exit before it was authorized to open. Aside from an innocuous reprimand for disregarding safety protocol, their passage was given. Triston was through the gates well before they were entirely open.
00:00.49
“Subtle,” Cole said over Triston’s shoulder. “Two dead federal prison guards, cameras that witnessed our every move, and a spotlight on your lovely piloting. No one will ever be able to pin this on us.”
Three, Triston thought, his eye twitching. “Sit.”
“Good idea,” Cole said, claiming the passenger seat. “Because I can’t wait to witness your encore.”
Triston activated the rear camera display of the transport vessel to appear in a smaller box on the viewport screen. It was of the increasingly distant prison moon.
00:00.03
“Extraction successful.”
BOOM!
3
GRAY
Cole watched in disbelief as part of the prison was engulfed in a massive explosion.
Just another bloody chapter added to my story, Cole thought with growing remorse. He looked at the one responsible, unsure how to feel about his rescuer. He had not expected to see fear upon the other’s face.
“Mayday, mayday!” the man shouted into the open air of the cockpit. “This is Foster Bryant aboard UniSys prisoner transport vessel L0-M8, requesting emergency assistance. The pilot has a severe concussion, and our ship has sustained critical damage. We are in danger of breaking apart. Our location is just outside Jupiter’s prison moon Iocaste, and we cannot return to base or complete our jump. There’s been some sort of attack on the prison, and we barely managed to escape the force of the blast. However...” He sighed. “We won’t survive long.”
Cole blinked, oddly amused. He’s a pretty good actor. Almost sounds like he believes what he’s saying. He was about to comment on the performance when the man turned to glare at Cole.
“Not a word.”
Bossy. “Yeah, that isn’t happen...”
In a blink the man stood, drew his gun, and directed it at Cole’s face.
“...ing. Again with the death threat?” Cole asked, calling his bluff. “You wouldn’t have gone through all that super spy nonsense rescuing me if you were just going to empty out my skull on a stolen transport vessel.” He returned the glare, though he felt stupid doing so.
For a long, increasingly frightening moment, Cole wondered if he had pushed too hard. The man posing as prison guard Foster Bryant had not lowered the weapon, and he appeared to be weighing his options. Cole decided to deescalate the situation.
“Alright, I’ll ease off the motormouth pedal,” he said, taking a couple steps away from the cockpit. “I talk more than usual when I’m anxious.” He shrugged. “And being sprung from a federal prison by a capable man like yourself put me in a tizzy.”
Cole raised his hands in a sign of surrender. “Let’s try this again. First off, thanks––I suppose––for busting me out of that hole and keeping my new alto pipes active. I know you can mute me through Ocunet, and I’m sure you’re still considering it. Second, I’m with you on this, and I legitimately want to help. I just need some answers before I go following you down this dark rabbit hole. Third, you’ve got an incoming call.”
The man’s tense expression softened to a scowl. He holstered his weapon but offered no response as he retook his chair. A new window had appeared on the viewport screen from a responder trying to hail them. The man ignored it.
“You gonna get that, El Chapo?”
“Gray,” the man said.
Cole looked over his shoulder, lost by the response. “Um, are you answering a future question or something?”
“Call me Gray,” the man clarified, his attention fixed upon the ship’s controls. “And no, I’m not answering their hail.”
Cole blinked, struggling to understand. He rolled the dice with another question. “Any reason––”
“Why?” Gray asked for Cole. “Does this ship look on the verge of disintegration to you?”
Ah. Good point. Nice one, Cole. Very perceptive. My mind’s been wasting away in that pit for too long. “Alright, so I surmise that we’re playing possum.” He slowly, carefully, approached the co-pilot’s chair and eased into it. “Care to explain how we’re going to hightail it to safety in a marked government vehicle? Pretending we’re burned up in a fiery crash isn’t going to work forever.”
“Correct.”
Again, Cole blinked. He felt a growing need for sarcasm, but he held back. “Well, Gray, I suppose I’ll just have to trust you’ve got everything figured out. I’m obviously on a need-to-know basis, so I’ll just kick back and try to forget that a bunch more people died on my account.”
Cole removed his sweaty helmet and tossed it aside. He wiped a gloved palm across his drenched hair and dabbed at his slick forehead. It was then he remembered his new face. I wonder if I really look like that guard....
“The face stays,” Gray said as Cole inspected his new features. “For now.”
Which means there’s more mission to come, Cole thought with some trepidation. “So, how long till we get to where we’re going?”
“We’re here.”
Cole studied the viewport screen, but there was nothing to indicate they had arrived anywhere other than open space. The corner of his mouth twitched, and he barely managed to subdue his tongue. Let the man do his job, Cole. Mr. Gray did manage to break you out of an inescapable prison.
His patience was rewarded with the arrival of another transport vessel. This one was a completely different make and model, and it was designed specifically for comfort. A familiar company logo wrapped the exterior, and Cole started to fit the ugly pieces together.
“SolEx?” he asked. “Frederick Caliber risked his life and company to settle a personal beef with me?”
Gray had been shaking his head the entirety of Cole’s question. “Not SolEx.”
Cole waited for Gray to elaborate while the approaching ship sidled up to them, but he was again left wanting. “Are you, at any point, going to fill me in on what this is all about? Or am I just going to have sit here and... You know what, never mind. I don’t want another vague two-word response.” He crossed his arms in a huff.
