Beyond the Sky: Chapter 29
Perelandra Protocol
One copter opened up with its gun, tracers deflecting upwards and down from the alien craft. From its nose flashed another cyan bolt and accompanying thunderclap, straight over the copter’s rotors.
Dobok, the mercenary, looked astounded yet oddly at ease, staring briefly skyward before joining the flight. Velli crashed through the trees, and lost sight. Around her she heard running and voices, and in the distance copters and autogun fire. She ran until she exhausted her breath, leaping a stream and climbing a hill. Slowing to rest, she approached a road.
She was one of the last returning to camp, amid people carrying crates from tunnels and stacking them aboard newly-arrived trucks. A frantic mood prevailed; one did not kill the biggest slaver in the province and get away with it.
The communicator chirped. Velli ducked behind a shed and took it out.
“Report,” Captain Benson demanded. “We detected no evidence of nuclear weapons at the compound.”
Velli replied, “There were none. Just an empty bomb casing.”
“Probably salvaged for parts. What about that slave-lord, Elacmagolintec?”
She took a breath. “I killed him.”
“You did WHAT?”
“You’re not complaining about us fighting the guards!”
“Oh, I’ve got plenty there! But do you know what you’ve done? In all likelihood, he’s the only person who could’ve told us where those bombs went! You realize what might happen?”
“Yes.” She trembled. Her brother could be in Mespreth, only a twenty-minute missile flight from the Amalgamation.
“It gets worse. We’re watching a Mespreth base, and it appears they’re preparing for an airstrike.”
“Against us?”
“Most likely. I’m sending a scout ship down; you’ll need to evacuate. Get ready.”
There was no simgrav in the corridors connecting to the scoutship bay, Scout Specialist Abdul floated through the hatch and offered Steve a hand. The door’s eight petals dilated closed behind him. Up high, in the side, lay the docking port, connecting to the ship berthed vertically near the Challenger’s nose. The cockpit inside was similarly weightless, he strapped in and flipped on the simgrav. Above, a snug pair of hangar doors swung open. Sunlight spilled in.
Abdul affixed an earpiece, watching the preflight diagnostic finish. “Scoutship Gainful Employment ready for departure.”
“Negative.” Ingrid Orsen tapped a button on Heather’s communications panels. “Stand down, do not launch!”
“Belay that!” Captain Benson leapt from his chair. “Launch when ready.”
“No.” She closed the channel, turning to face him. “Captain, this action represents a grievous violation of the Perelandra Protocol; I cannot allow you to undertake it. Close the bay doors.”
“Touch that control, I’ll have your commission!” Benson pointed to the flight officer. “We put them into this mess, and we’ll see them through!”
“They made their choice. They’re rebels, at war, it’s not our place to interfere.”
“Like hell it isn’t! This is my ship; I give the orders!” He punched a button on his armrest. “Continue with launch.”
Ingrid shoved aside Heather’s furred hand, opening her channel again. “As the ranking official of the Foreign Directorate, I command you to stand down and secure from flight.”
“Two minutes remaining in departure window,” the flight officer announced.
Several seconds passed. Then, finally, Abdul replied:
“Proceeding by your orders, Captain.”
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