Requiem (9 page)

'That looks
like it came from Abigail's place,' she said.

'Get back to
the ship!' Sear commanded the other two. The two riflemen turned
down the road and began running.

'We don't have
the time or the men,' said Sear. 'I'm sorry.' He shook his head 'I
can't force you to come with us...'

'But it's the
best choice right now.'

Sear's lips
parted slightly as if to speak but he looked away and down the
road. Seline stood looking at the motionless figure on the ground.
She thought about the image of the men shaking hands, one of them
burning and took a step back before following the other two with
Sear. She tried to convince herself that Abigail must have known
something. The guns. The heavily boarded house. Seline told herself
Abigail knew what she was doing, she was intelligent, prepared, in
control. Whether she could convince herself or not, she knew the
sting of guilt would find her all the same.

They caught up
to the other two at the end of the road. 'Where is this ship?' she
asked Sear between breaths.

'Docked at an
old repair depot. It isn't far.'

People had
filled the street, cautiously examining the cause of the explosion.
They peeked and scouted the street with darting, urgent eyes like,
frightened rabbits, curious yet ready to flee at the first sign of
direct danger. Seline, Sear, and the two riflemen kept their pace
up, as they weaved through the onlookers. The smell of charred
rodent flesh and ash advertised their approach to the market
square.

The street grew
thick with bustling bodies and the sound of hustling voices
crawling atop one another to be heard within the swarm of the
marketplace. The square was a field of dirt and cracked concrete.
Dilapidated housing separated by thin, blind alleys encircled the
area like the decapitated stadium of a football pitch. It presided
over the pathetic awnings and stall displays, washing the colour
and life from the buildings, faces, rugs, trinkets, food, and the
small collections of clutter splayed out over worn old rugs.

The pillar of
smoke was still rising only a few blocks away while market-goers
went about their business with a nervous eye set upon the
not-to-distant signs of street warfare. Seline looked back, trying
her best to get a view over and past the obscuring heads. No one
appeared to be following them but the uncertainty only fuelled her
urgency. Sear stayed close as they shouldered their way through the
heart of the market.

A whirring
sound rose behind them and, before Seline could turn to look, swept
overhead in a hurried frenzy of wind and noise. A sleek black form
arched through the sky, turned sharply and hovered in place low
over the city square. A pair of oversized rail guns bore down on
them from beneath bowed and menacing wings. Two horizontal
propellers were stationed at the tips of the wings, forcing heavy
streams of air into the dust ball plaza below.

Stalls toppled
and scraps of rubbish blew over the ground in waves, recruited as
bits of shrapnel beneath the storm of the helicopter. People
scrambled beneath the helicopter, ducking away into alleys and
poorly fortified houses, moving swiftly and deliberately as if
following some elaborate stage rehearsal; one routinised and
engrained into them with an efficiency only fear alone can
evoke.

A voice
thundered across the courtyard. The helicopter spoke down to
Seline; its heavily distorted words, blunt and punitive – brutal
almost.

'Surrender,
Seline or your friends will die.'

The crowd had
fully dispersed amongst the cracks and shadows of the surrounding
buildings. Seline looked at her companions, unsure of what to do.
The two riflemen had turned their back on the voice with their guns
raised, pointing back down the street. Sear stood next to Seline,
his gaze remained fixed on the pointed beak of the helicopter as it
issued its demands. Their mute calm only left Seline sick and more
unsure of herself. The small group stood completely exposed in the
centre of the square. Only the thin plywood and shredded awnings of
the bustled food stands were available for cover.

'Comply
immediately or they will die, Seline. We will not warn you
again.'

The others
stood their ground, still without a word. Seline's confusion turned
to frustration. She motioned to step forward. Sear grabbed her
wrist and checked her movement. The guns began to light up in a
deep neon glow, becoming brighter and brighter as they charged into
life. Their drilling, high pitch squeal reached right into Seline's
body, running up her spine, centring at the back of her skull.
Sear's hand remained tightly clasped around her wrist with his gaze
set forward.

Her senses were
squeezing the world together, compressing a thousand different
sensations into one frenzied moment; the swirling dust, the warmth
of Sear's hand, the flying debris, the uncertainty of Abigail's
fate, the whirring of the blades, the charging of the neon lights,
the blackbox in her bag. She was suddenly responsible for it
all.

She could feel
the heat from the guns, feel her head splitting down its centre
when a flash of light enveloped the helicopter. Strands of
lightning snarled and cracked like whips upon the helicopter's
back. The engines stopped, the propellers seized as wires of
electricity bled from its skin. It fell from the sky like a massive
anchor to the desert floor.

Seline remained
in place, ineffectually guarding her eyes with one hand to keep the
dust out. Sear's hand was still around her wrist. She could hear
him yelling something but none of the words registered. He yanked
her to the side and they started running just as another ship rose
from out of the graveyard structures of the city.

Buried beneath
the roaring sound of engines and the crackling of the flames, the
sound of gunfire came from somewhere behind her. She couldn't
pinpoint the source but the sparks of bullets colliding with the
surrounding buildings suggested she was the target.

They were
sprinting towards one of the alleys that lay just beyond the
helicopter's burning corpse. Seline looked up at the approaching
ship. She was being led straight towards it. With her thoughts
drowning beneath a flood of adrenaline, she tried to pull away from
Sear, digging her heels into the dirt and tugging her arm back. An
arm wrapped around her shoulders. A voice yelled directly into her
ear.

'The ship is
ours!'

But the panic
remained. In her struggle, she slipped free of Sear's grip and fell
flat on the ground. The ship was now directly above them. One of
the riflemen ran past her and leaped onto the end of the large
loading ramp that had opened from the bottom of the ship. He
pivoted, knelt, and began firing back down the street while the
second jumped on and headed straight up the ramp towards the open
cargo hold, stopping at the entrance to provide covering fire.

Every sense was
blanketed with noise. Seline knew one thing: that these people
weren't firing at her. She surrendered herself to instinct and
pushed herself from the dirt. The loading ramp had looked a lot
lower when she was on the ground but her body ignored the momentary
self doubt. All grace vanished as she leapt onto the ramp but it
was far too high. Her chest collided with the edge. Her legs swung
freely beneath her, the force almost pulling her back down. She
thought of Ira Station. Her fingers managed to find a small ridge
to hold on to before Sear's hand reached down to her. She hadn't
seen him get on board. She threw out her right hand and closed it
too tightly around his wrist. Sear yanked her up, ignoring the
pain.

They ran to the
open door, staying low to steady themselves as the ship lifted from
the ground. Seline was struggling to breathe but knew from
experience that her ribs weren't broken. With a loud, straining
hiss, the loading ramp folded itself into three horizontal
sections. Now flat against each other, the sections sealed the exit
of the cargo-hold, muting the roar of the engines.

No words were
spoken between the crew as they quickly moved through a thin door
way out of the hold. Seline followed. The shuffling of footsteps
echoed in the cramped and poorly lit corridor. They turned a sharp
corner. Red light bled through the gaps in the silhouettes of the
crew that walked ahead of her. As they reached the doorway the
figures spilled into the room in different directions, blending
seamlessly into patterns and protocols. Everything was alive with
movement as figures rushed through a compact, bustling room. Seline
stood breathless before a large, single panel that formed a full,
metre high circle in the centre of what was the ships central
chamber. A glowing holographic display was encased by the circular
panel structure, the source of the room's pale red glow. Her hands
were at her sides, clenched into tight fists.

'Get her to a
seat!' yelled one of the crew.

A hand grabbed
Seline's arm and tugged her sideways. The lack of light and
explanations left her fumbling through thoughts and the unfamiliar
ship. She allowed the stranger to guide her around the large
glowing display panel towards the cockpit. Her bag was pulled off
her and she was shoved down into a seat directly behind the
pilot's. She was strapped tightly into the seat. She looked around
for something familiar but was forced back in a sudden, jarring
motion as the ship accelerated. She had no idea who was in control
only that it wasn't her.

The ship banked
to the left. Seline could briefly see out one of the small windows
and down into the streets. She could see the source of the smoke –
Abigail's house. The shape of the blast shield door lying in the
street extinguished any remaining doubt. She couldn't see through
the smoke and flames but she could imagine the books, the records,
the memories, all burning. Seline dared not imagine what had
happened to Abigail. That sickening feeling of hope was now
stronger than ever. She closed her eyes and held on tightly to the
thick straps running over her chest; the memory of the taste of
green tea in her mouth.

Her body sank
further into the seat. The dull hum of the engines was all she
could hear. The weight of an entire atmosphere poured over every
inch of her like a torrent of sand as the ship pushed further into
the sky.

She was still
being forced back into her seat but out the front window could now
see the stars shining. They began to pass through the field of
debris and satellite waste that surrounded the Earth like a shell.
Sheets of metal slid down over the windows, blocking any view of
the outside.

Finally, the
ship stopped accelerating and the weight lifted from Seline's
chest. Apart from the occasional flicking of a switch, the ship had
become eerily quiet. The sense of free fall ceased after several
minutes when a sudden jolt shook everything back into life and she
sank into the cushions again. Seline looked around but the creaking
and sheering sound of metal against metal didn't seem to bother
anyone else. There was no sense of up or down, just the jarring
motions that were vibrating throughout the ship as if it were being
swallowed by something. For a split second, all sound and movement
stopped before bursting back into life as the crew unfastened their
harnesses and move about. Once more, gravity had realigned itself
and instead of pushing her backwards was now holding her against
the floor.

The ship was
docked – somewhere. After struggling with her harness and finally
getting out of her seat she saw that everyone was still in the
room. The crew stood bathed in soft red light around the large
circular panel that was slightly indented into the floor at the
centre of the room. Seline stood back from the group, wondering
what to do with herself. She was the only human in the room.

She counted
eight others including Sear. In the dim light it was easy to spot
Sear as the only one not fully dressed in black. The same glassy
skin stretched over each of the crew members. It was evidently a
Yurrick ship although Seline could recognise hints and loose traces
of other worlds and species within the faces and bodies of the
alien crew. Small, peaked ridges adorned the skull of one of the
crew reminding her a little of an Ordonians while another's eyes
were so large and round they looked as if they belonged to a Piker.
Some hands were less a digit and in other cases plus another. There
was no precision or obvious pattern to the variation. The most
marked differences came from Sear's face and the distinctly human
features that appeared, on him, both familiar and foreign as if
caught in a sort of limbo between two species. His nose was not
broad and flat like the others. His eyes were wider and rounded and
his brow more pronounced like a solid ridge atop those blackened
indeterminable eyes. It was that blackness that most effectively
betrayed the collective variation of the group standing before
her.

Words were
exchanged rapidly from one person to the next, the conversation
passing itself around the room in terse communion. The translator
in Seline's ear was failing to keep pace with the obscure dialect.
Nothing would differentiate itself from the mutated vowels. As
words continued to swing across the room in their tightly
coordinated dance she had the feeling that whatever was being
decided upon must have involved her in some way. One of the
individuals shot a glance across at her. She realised no one was
talking. They were all staring at her. The small, dark room
suddenly pressed down upon her.

'Would someone
brief the girl already? At least help her get that look off her
face.' Finally, words she understood.

Once again, a
hand gripped Seline's arm. She had miscounted the number of crew
members. This time she was prepared to resist. She yanked her hand
free and turned to see another Yurrick. He cut a thin, exceedingly
tall figure in the shadows of the room. She had to look up to find
his face. Thin and Gaunt with round, featureless eyes that sat deep
in his face. He looked like the kind of person who was always
unnecessarily confident.