The Heretic (Beyond the Wall Book 1) (16 page)

Spaced along the hull were small indentations in the metal big enough to take a foot or hand. He slid a hand or foot into each and climbed. As he ascended, he glanced continuously toward the access ramp, but saw nothing; the angle of the landing platform’s edge obscured the Peacekeepers below, and he hoped they couldn’t hear him climbing.

It took a few seconds to reach the top of the hull, and he crept towards the shoulder of the wing.
Punch in the access code first. You’ve then got ten seconds. Turn the handle a quarter-turn to the right and wait. It’ll pop. Then turn it all the way round. After that, pull hard. It’s noisy, but by then I hope the Peacekeepers will be focusing on something else.

I really hope they are
, Jordi thought.

He tapped in the code and turned the handle, all the while searching the platform for movement. Above the wind, it was difficult to hear, but he could just pick out the voices of Peacekeepers talking below. Soon, the rest of their squad inside the hold would want out.

After what seemed an eternity, the hatch popped, and Jordi grasped the handle again, heaved it all the way round. It hissed and raised open an inch. Jordi lifted it all the way and climbed in, pulling it shut after him, then clambered down the ladder.

One of the Peacekeepers strode over to the release button for the loading ramp and reached for it.

‘No,’ Shepherd shouted, coughing. His throat still burned. The Peacekeeper stopped and turned to him. ‘You need to wait.’ He pointed to the oil. ‘That’s highly volatile. When the loading bay seals, it pumps in gas to prevent fire. If you open it now, the change in pressure might rupture one of the barrels.’

The Peacekeeper looked towards the commander standing over Shepherd and hesitated. The taller man, by now it was obvious to Shepherd he was the commander, looked down at him as he leaned against the wall.

‘So?’ he said. ‘You think I care about your ship?’

‘You might if it explodes.’

‘Why would it explode? There’s nothing in here to ignite it.’

‘Your weapons? You were blasting away at those fanatics as you came up the ramp.’

The commander didn’t move.

Take your time. Give it some thought.

Then he turned and said, ‘Open it.’

Jordi reached the bottom of the ladder leading down from the hatch and glanced around. He was in a long corridor, dimly lit by red lamps at long intervals. The shadows of several alcoves lined the walls. Behind him was an airlock door, with a keypad and a single button beside it.

There’ll be only limited power in the ship. So you’ll have to open the cockpit door manually. Key the code in and the panel will open. Take the lever and pull it downwards, hard.

The door hissed and creaked as it slid open about two feet and stopped. Jordi raised the lever and closed the keypad. It clicked, and he heard a gentle hum as it reset. Just like the smuggler had said it would. Then he wedged his shoulder between the door and its frame and pushed. It gave a little more, and he was in.

The cockpit was like alien technology to him; nothing like the trucks he’d seen in town. It was long and wide, and the roof was clear, like glass. He could see the storm clouds gathered above in the darkness. The spacious room was lit by rows of soft lights in the floor and across curved struts in between clear panels above him. Everywhere he looked were screens and dials, rows of terminals. There was a large seat at the front—the pilot’s chair, he assumed—with a broad console arcing around it. Four more seats, in two rows, were arranged behind the first.

The venting system works even with a complete power shutdown. It has its own battery power supply. The lever is on the wall right next to the door. It’s red and there’s black and yellow hatching in a rectangle around it. Yank it down as hard as you can, then slide the door shut.

Jordi pulled the lever.

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

THE LOADING bay was suddenly drenched in a blaze of crimson which spilled from tiny lights on every corner and wall. A klaxon bayed, and a sibilant hiss behind it pierced Shepherd’s ears. The loading lamps began to revolve, their throbbing orange light cutting through the crimson.

The fast-vent was designed to suck out all the oxygen in the loading bay in seconds, and replace it with another inert gas. The resulting buildup of pressure tore at Shepherd’s skin and pressed against his skull. His eyes felt like something was squeezing them from behind, tearing at the blood vessels inside. Pain shot through his temples. He sucked in a breath, grasping at the last remaining oxygen and holding it.

Around him the Peacekeepers looked at each other and then around the loading bay. The commander glanced at the barrels of oil, then towards Shepherd.

Shepherd was already moving. He sprinted across the loading bay to a locker he knew was closed, but not locked. He yanked it open and pulled out a breathing mask, which was connected to a tank inside the locker by a long, metal hose. Next to the tank was a heavy iron wrench. Shepherd pulled on the mask and picked up the wrench. There was no time to strap on the tank.

As he turned back around, the commander’s hands lunged for him and closed around his head, trying to claw off the mask.
Must keep the mask on—do something, now! Fight back!
With a strangled cry, Shepherd pulled away and hammered the wrench again and again across the macabre helmet as sweat gathered on the inside of the breathing mask and stung his eyes. The wrench struck the hard composite, but seemed to have no effect. Shepherd’s hot breath echoed inside the mask and filled his ears as the sweat blinded him. He began to swing blindly. He could feel the commander’s grip closing around the mask and the airtight seal beginning to rupture as he pulled it away from Shepherd’s face. Dizziness began to set in. Again and again he struck the commander with the wrench, jerking his head from side to side to retain the mask and the precious oxygen. He could just pick out the carved gouges in one side of the helmet through the smear of perspiration and was buoyed by it. Another blow and the Peacekeeper was knocked off balance. Shepherd raised his foot and kicked the man backwards and watched him stumble. Shepherd pulled away, staggering backwards.

Behind their commander, the other Peacekeepers clutched at their helmets, desperately trying to tear them off, but the oxygen was sucked from their systems too rapidly. Their bodies convulsed as they fought for air and then collapsed to the floor of the loading bay like forgotten string puppets. Twitching like fish on a beach. But the commander was strong and clever. He found his footing, brought his weapon up, and levelled it at Shepherd, coughing.

Shepherd closed his eyes.

This is it. It’s finally come. It ends here.

He waited for the bullets to come. He imagined them burrowing through his skull and tearing through his brain, ending his life as they destroyed everything they touched. He felt only a twinge of fear, as if he’d been expecting this for some time. As if he deserved it.

He couldn’t say how long he stood, but eventually he opened his eyes. The loading bay was still awash with red and flashing orange, and the klaxons still blared. The Peacekeepers were splayed across the steel grating, their commander among them, his hands fixed at his throat. As the red and orange swept over their bodies, Shepherd grew dizzy and reached out to steady himself. His eyes fell on one of the Peacekeepers, yet suddenly it was no longer a dark figure shrouded in a black, alien suit. The face was no longer obscured by a ghoulish helmet. It was somehow familiar, and harrowing. Memories fogged by pain and resentment.

You sold me out.

Expect it! Always. From me, from everyone.

But you’re my father.

You were always an asset to me, nothing more. A tool to be used as necessary.

Who were they? What were they going to do with me?

Stop asking questions. Take her and go. Leave me.

You’re dying.

It’s been coming for a long time. Now, I said leave me!

Who am I? I need to know.

Silence.

Shepherd opened his eyes.
There’s no time.
He pulled the air tank out of the locker and strapped it to his back. Then he sprinted over to the bodies of the Peacekeepers. The rest of their unit would be beating down the loading bay door any moment. Gunships would be scrambled. The ruse was over—they knew now.
There’s no time.
He collected each of the alien weapons and tossed them in an empty locker and locked it. Then he ran over to the commander, stooped down beside him, and pulled off his helmet.

The Peacekeeper’s face was a shock to him. He couldn’t say what he had been expecting—something inhuman and monstrous, perhaps, to fit with what he had heard about the Peacekeepers, and the things he himself had seen them do. It had been easier to attribute their brutality to inhuman creatures. But in his heart he’d known that the inhuman violence the Peacekeepers were responsible for was something
only
humans were capable of. And this face did indeed look human, as human as any other—if perhaps harder, rougher somehow. The grey eyes stared past him, their brightness dimmed. Beneath the eyes, commencing at the top of the cheekbones, a tattoo snaked around the man’s face and down his muscled neck, under his suit. It was a swirling pattern—exotic and unrecognisable to Shepherd, like the writhing bodies of a hundred snakes intertwined. The man’s mouth was fixed open as if he had almost dislocated his jaw as he fought to breathe. But there had been no oxygen.

Shepherd stared at the helmet because he didn’t understand. Why couldn’t the man breathe? What good did the helmet do him if it didn’t provide air?

Shepherd rose and went over to another Peacekeeper. He pulled that helmet off too, and saw a man similar to the leader, with the same callous face and swirling tattoos. He dropped the helmet and at last went to the venting controls to flush the loading bay with oxygen. When the klaxon stopped and the lighting had shifted to white, he pulled off the mask and headed to the cockpit.

Decision time, Shepherd. Time to get out—this isn’t your fight.

The noise seeped through the airlock door—a horrific shriek, like an animal dying, repeated over and over. The lever Jordi had pulled glowed softly in the dimly lit cockpit. On the console in front of the chair, a light blinked red. He shuddered and backed away from it, pressing his back up against the door. His body ached almost numbly, a distant echo of something he had felt before. Different though, somehow detached and difficult to grasp. His mind floated on the insipid air above him, like a ghost.

After a while, he couldn’t say how long—time seemed motionless—the noise ceased and the lever stopped glowing. He heard something moving outside the door and tried to bring up the rifle. He was dimly aware it was shaking in his hands.

There was a banging on the door.

‘Kid, it’s me.’ The smuggler’s voice. Relief flooded him. ‘Shift the lever next to the door up again. I can’t open it until you do. Quickly!’

Jordi did as he was told, slowly and deliberately, focusing on every movement, then backed away again. The door opened and the smuggler ran in.

‘Strap yourself in, kid,’ he said as he settled in his seat and pulled on the harness. ‘This is gonna be rough.’ His voice sounded like it was in another room.

Jordi couldn’t sit easily at first and had to fumble for the seat. His legs swayed beneath him. He watched the smuggler’s fingers blur as they danced over the console. The lights bloomed and something deep in the bowels of the freighter began to stir and hum. Jordi looked upwards through the glass and saw the storm clouds roiling. Lightning flared within them. He leaned over the console and looked down towards the landing platform. The dark shadows of the Peacekeepers, scattered beneath them, turned and brought their weapons to bear.

The hum grew quickly to a furious roar and then, suddenly, the ship was lifting. It bucked from side to side repeatedly, like it was being hit. Jordi looked at Shepherd, panicking. ‘Can their rifles hurt us?’ His voice sounded different to him, slurred. It was difficult to speak.

‘Sure they can, kid,’ Shepherd said. ‘But she won’t give in that easy.’

Jordi watched the Port slowly fall away as the freighter rose into the air; could feel the ship yawing as the Peacekeepers fired at her. She spun smoothly in place, and suddenly he was thrown against the seat as something shoved him hard in the back. The snow and fog blurred into lines of white and grey. The whole ship trembled.

Lights flashed all over the console.

‘What’s that flashing?’ he tried to say.

‘She’s not happy with me.’

‘What do we do?’

‘You can stop yapping for one, and let me think.’

Jordi fell silent. The freighter banked left and then straightened out.

He felt so tired.

More lights began to flash.

‘Kid, come up here,’ Shepherd said without turning. Jordi heaved himself off his seat and stumbled over. His head reeled. He was finding it hard to focus—his vision shifting and blurred.

‘Keep a watch out for the preacher. You’ll see him soon.’

Jordi nodded. The cockpit began to lurch and seesaw as he stood and he braced himself against the control panel.