The Clone Redemption

CHAPTER FORTY

The anomaly shattered the cold, bright sky at the edge of the city. One thousand feet in the air, the inside of the tachyon layer formed a perfectly smooth ceiling above the planet, a silver-white surface as bright as a sun shining through the gauze of clouds. Like the other ships of her make, the Sakura had a black hull that offered reasonable camouflage in space but stood in stark relief against the bright sky.

Not designed to fly among such atmospheric abstractions as wind currents and convections, the battleship fumbled in the air. Inside the bridge, navigators struggled to stabilize the big ship in the air, using boosters engineered for course correction in space. The ship jumped and dropped like a fledgling bird struggling to fly.

With his ship bouncing five stories at a time, Takahashi found it almost impossible to think, and his survival instincts took control of his brain. Even though he had come on this mission planning to die, fear and panic now filled his mind. Had he not been in his chair when the ship broadcasted into the atmosphere, he would have hit the ceiling above his head. To his left and right, men and clones who had been standing, now lay on the floor, some writhing in pain, some unconscious.

Holding on to workstations and walls to lock himself in place, Commander Suzuki fought his way to the navigation station. An experienced navigator, he squirmed behind the console and took control of the ship. Seconds passed. Tremors still rocked the Sakura, but Suzuki stabilized the ship.

Takahashi rose partway out of his chair. His mind cleared. “Landing bay …Landing bay …” he yelled into the communications console.

No one responded.

Takahashi tried to climb out of his chair, but his legs were weak. The acid-and-sawdust smell of vomit filled the bridge. Takahashi ran a hand across his forehead. When he looked at the hand, fresh bright blood covered his fingers and palm.

The door to the bridge opened, and in staggered Master Chief Oliver. He looked at Takahashi and asked, “Why hasn’t it happened?”

Takahashi put up a hand, waited a moment, then spit out blood and two teeth.

Corey Oliver had short legs, but he could run three fourminute miles without a break. Now he sprinted down the hall, trying to keep his balance as the deck rose and dropped beneath his feet.

Oliver had already shifted his mind into combat mode. Thoughts took second place to reflexes and autonomic judgment. A sailor lay on the ground in the fetal position, his arms across his stomach. Oliver leaped over the man, landed, and kept running without looking back. Another sailor stood leaning against a wall for support, a stream of blood pouring from the gashes along his left eye and cheek. He reached a hand out to Oliver, who spun to dodge him and just kept running.

The ship fell and bounced. It was a big bounce. Oliver held a hand above his head as the floor dropped from beneath him. His wrist and elbow slammed into the ceiling. The SEAL knew how to land on hard surfaces; bending his knees, balancing perfectly, he rose to his feet and ran to the stairs, already aware that he had dislocated his shoulder. Cradling his right arm with his left, the clone stumbled to the stairs, then jumped whole flights in his rush to reach the landing bays. He landed hard, bounded face-first into the bulkhead, turned, and jumped the next flight. A wounded sailor tried to stop him. Oliver pushed the sailor aside and found his way to the bottom deck. The lights had gone out. The deck was so dark that he would have needed lights had it not been for the genetic enhancements in his eyes.

The air smelled of fire, sweat, excrement, and blood. Men had died. Oliver saw bodies. With the panels removed from the ceiling and the walls, men had flown into girders and piping in the turbulence.

Oliver opened the first landing bay and hit the “panic” button on the communications panel. When he saw the destruction, his breath caught in his throat.

Showers of sparks shot out of holes in the walls. Bodies and equipment lay scattered like garbage along the floor. Two launching devices had fallen over, the “caskets” they held now scattered among the bodies on the floor.

Aware that he might be entering a room filled with radiation, Oliver ran to one of the S.I.P.s. The stealth vehicle did not have gauges or timers on its smooth outer shell, and the dark matte finish revealed no secrets.

“Bridge,” said Oliver. He waited a moment, then asked, “Captain, can you hear me? I’m in the landing bay.”

“What is the situation?” asked Takahashi.

“It looks like a tornado just blew through here,” Oliver said, then added, “maybe an earthquake.”

“What about the pods?” asked Takahashi.

“I can’t tell. It looks bad, the computer stations were smashed.”

“What about the other bays?” asked Takahashi. He started to say something else, then signed off.

Oliver did not check the bodies. He did not have time to care for wounded men who were already marked for death.

There was nothing he could do in this landing bay. Whatever had happened to the pods, Oliver could not diagnose or fix the problem without a working computer station, and the stations in this bay had been smashed.

Having been designed for deep-space travel, the Sakura was not aerodynamic. Unlike airships, she could not glide. If her thrusters faltered, she would drop.

Captain Takahashi felt helpless as he watched Suzuki, his second-in-command, typing maneuvers on the navigation keyboard. Battleships like the Sakura were controlled with computers instead of sticks and throttles. Buttons lit up on the panel, and Suzuki pressed or ignored them. Alarms blared, lights flashed, warning signals went off, and the ship stuttered.

“We can’t hover like this for long. She’s not made for this!” said Suzuki.

Staring into screens and not looking back, Suzuki yelled, “We’re down to one-third of our fuel.” Unlike the ship’s main engines, the Sakura’s thrusters used fuel made from liquid oxygen.

Takahashi listened but did not answer. He knew that fuel meant for course corrections would not keep a ship in the air for long. The continuous booster stream needed to keep the big battleship afloat would drain their already three-year-old fuel supply.

“The engines are too hot. They’re going to melt!” yelled Suzuki. “We can’t do this.”

Takahashi looked through a tactical display to the glarefilled sky outside. “Take us to the shoreline,” he said.

Suzuki did not argue. He said, “Aye, sir,” and began working the computers.

Maybe we should land the ship, Takahashi thought; but he could not give that order. The Sakura was made for deep-space travel, away from gravity. She did not have the wheels or skids needed for landings. When she needed repairs, the Sakura floated into a deep-space dry dock. The only gravity she was designed to withstand was the gravitational force of an orbit.

The second landing bay had been stripped for the colony. Oliver found an empty chamber, vast and black. No lights shone in the void, not even over the emergency exit. With his genetically enhanced eyes, he could see that the floor was bare. No equipment. No bodies.

Other SEALs came to help. Some were injured. One man had broken his right arm, a nub of bone stuck out of his forearm. He carried a flashlight in his left hand. Seeing this, Oliver wanted to send him away; but with his dislocated shoulder, Oliver needed as much help as he could get.

“You, with the flashlight, over here,” Oliver barked at the injured SEAL. The man came to join him. “Follow me.”

Oliver led the pack to the third landing bay. There they found the same kind of damage that the master chief had seen in the first bay. Oliver also saw something else. Hitting the communications button, he said, “Bridge,” waited a moment, then said, “I’m entering the third bay.”

“The pods?” asked Takahashi.

“I’m just entering.”

“We’re running out of time, Master Chief,” said Takahashi.

“Yes, sir,” said Oliver.

Nearly one hundred SEALs entered the bay behind him, some bleeding badly.

“The only easy day was yesterday,” muttered the man with the broken right arm and the flashlight. It was a proverb often repeated by SEALs.

Oliver heard the words and nodded, then told the SEAL to check the computer stations.

The SEAL stumbled off to look at the toppled stations. A moment later he returned, and said, “The computer stations are broken.”

“Did you hear that, sir?” asked Oliver.

“I heard,” said Takahashi.

Despite the calm in Takahashi’s voice, Oliver read his desperation.

“What happened down there?” asked Takahashi.

“They weren’t expecting a rough ride, so they didn’t secure the launch devices. I don’t know how we could have secured them anyway. They’re made to fit in transports.”

Senior Chief Warren entered the bay and pushed his way through to Oliver. He asked, “What can I do?”

“Take some men and get me a launcher and twelve caskets,” Oliver told him.

“What are you doing with caskets?” asked Takahashi.

“That’s SEAL-speak, sir. Caskets are infiltration pods,” Oliver explained. “I was speaking to one of my men.”

“What is the condition of the pods?” asked Takahashi. “Why haven’t they exploded?”

“It’s just a hunch, sir, but I’d say the broadcast disrupted the charging process,” said Oliver.

“That doesn’t make sense,” snapped Takahashi. “Those pods have been through thousands of broadcasts.”

“Not when they were charged, sir,” said Oliver. As he spoke, Oliver surveyed the wreckage. One moment everything looked hopeless, then he saw a transport and the solution occurred to him in a flash.

“I need seven minutes,” Oliver said as he stared at the bulky old transport.

“Seven minutes? We may not last one minute,” shouted Takahashi.

“I need seven minutes, sir,” Oliver repeated.

“It only takes three minutes to charge up the pods, and I’m not sure we can last three minutes.”

“It will take you seven minutes to charge your broadcast engine. Captain, I think you and your men are going to survive this mission,” Oliver said.

“Survive? What are you talking about? How are we going to do that?” asked Takahashi.

As he walked through the shadows to have a closer look at the transport, the Sakura sputtered, bounced up, then dropped so quickly that Oliver felt his feet leave the floor.

“What do you mean we’re almost out of fuel? Use the reserves. There have got to be reserves.” Torn between two conversations, both urgent, Takahashi sounded distracted. He yelled, “Master Chief, we aren’t going to be around in seven minutes.”