The Heretic (Beyond the Wall Book 1) (17 page)

‘You okay, kid?’ The voice was distant like an echo. ‘Kid?’

Jordi could feel warm wetness against his ribs. His body ached. His legs began to feel weak, like they might not hold him up. He felt hands holding him, shifting him backwards. His legs gave way and he collapsed into something—he couldn’t say what or where. As he felt something wrap around him and hold him tightly in place, he looked up, but the figure in front of him was too blurred, and moved too quickly for him to follow. It was saying something, but it was like a whisper—too indistinct for him to make out the words. His eyes grew heavy.

So tired, Ish.

Then darkness.

Shepherd swore.

Not now, kid. This is really bad timing.

He knelt in front of the boy’s slumped figure and watched the blood soak through his trousers and shirt. Shepherd had strapped Jordi into one of the navigators’ seats after he collapsed, and only then had he been able to properly see the boy’s face for the first time since escaping from the port. It was battered and grazed, streaked with dirt and blood. The boy had looked young and innocent back at the camp—vulnerable even—but his gaunt face now told a very different story. Shepherd examined the wounds on the boy’s leg and his ribs. How much blood had he lost?

What do you owe these people, kid? Can’t you see what they’ve done to you?

Shepherd moved back to his seat and strapped himself in again. It would be so easy to leave, and muscle memory almost made the decision for him. A gentle drift to port and then punch it. Over the mountains, then a shallow ascent through the mist and cloud and into the upper atmosphere. They’d be away, and the boy—well, he could make some sort of life for himself away from all of them. Shepherd had done the same thing when he was only a little older than the kid, and he’d turned out right enough. They’d both had it hard to begin with—that much Shepherd understood. He’d seen something he recognised reflected in the boy’s eyes.

Shepherd’s hands didn’t move.

I didn’t ask to be involved.
It should have been a simple contract: drop off the cargo and be on his way. The preacher had played a serious game by dragging him into this. He’d lied—not just to Shepherd, but to all of them. Yet the boy had risked everything for the villagers, and almost lost. He might still.

Lightning crashed again, illuminating the clouds ahead.

It was stupid of him, and stupid of you to be swayed by something like that. What do you owe him?

Soteria rocked gently as the wind buffeted its hull. He looked around at the cockpit that had become his home, and was overwhelmed. She’d have been stripped down for parts and tossed to the wind if it weren’t for that boy.
If it wasn’t for that damn preacher, you’d never have been here. Yes, but that isn’t the boy’s fault.

Something inside him shifted. He couldn’t explain the sudden impulse to help the boy, the loyalty to someone he hardly knew, but he felt strangely protective of him.
That thing back at the camp made you soft. The boy risked everything to save them—you going to dishonour that by leaving them behind? You know what a Consul will do to them.

Not my problem.

No, but it
is
the boy’s problem. His brother died for them. You know what that’s like, don’t you?

Shepherd swore silently and disengaged the autopilot, then pushed Soteria into a low dive towards the forest. He scanned the canopy of trees, searching for what he needed.
Alright preacher, if this is the way it’s got to be, where the hell are you?

He could see nothing beyond a blanket of trees draped in shadow. Had they found him? Had he been hit? He felt a shaky relief when he saw the light. A single pulsing glow in the darkness. He dropped down lower, slowed, and glided gently towards it. When he was overhead, he banked sharply and set a timer on the console. It counted down from thirty as the freighter sped forward and the forest evaporated beneath her. When it hit zero, he braked sharply and spun Soteria on a pinpoint, setting the controls to keep her hovering. The display read just short of three miles—close enough.

He reached over and turned on another display. A small screen flickered and displayed a video feed of the forest below. The trees swayed violently under the force of the downward thrust that kept the freighter level. Next to the screen was a small lever, which controlled a winch. He pulled the lever downwards and saw the winch cable on the screen as it began to descend. When it reached the forest floor, he stopped.

And waited.

Those gunships will be coming, preacher. We don’t have a whole lot of time.

He felt Soteria rock gently and saw a dark shape huddled on the end of the winch. He pushed the lever upwards and held it until the winch clicked home. He set the hover controls to autopilot ,left his seat, and opened the airlock door to the cockpit. Pulling his pistol, he knelt behind the door and leaned out, aiming down the corridor. He heard footsteps on the metal grating and saw a figure advancing up the corridor.

‘Hold there, thanks,’ he shouted. ‘Or I’ll drop you right where you are.’

The figure waited for a moment. ‘It’s me,’ the preacher answered quietly.

Shepherd nodded. ‘You hit?’

‘A little, but not bad. We okay?’

‘You tell me. You going to stick me with anything?’

‘No need.’

Shepherd paused. Then he said, ‘Come on up. The boy’s hurt. You need to see to him.’

The preacher strode up, stepped inside and shut the door to the cockpit.

‘We don’t have a lot of time,’ Shepherd said. ‘There must be a tracking device on the ship.’

‘We can jam it,’ the preacher replied. ‘Once we pick the rest up.’

‘Insurance?’

‘I hoped I wouldn’t need it.’

‘I’m on board, preacher,’ Shepherd said. ‘I owe the kid that much.
She
owes him.’ He jerked his chin towards the front of the cockpit, as if that was where he felt ‘she’ really was—where her personality came through to him most. ‘Where to now?’

The preacher glanced at Jordi and his face saddened. He pulled a small tracker from his coat and handed it to Shepherd. ‘Home in on that. Can you do that?’

‘Sure. You’ll see to the boy?’

‘There’s an apothecary at the camp. She has what I need, but I’ll do what I can until she gets to him.’

‘Medikit’s in the locker over there.’ Shepherd pointed to a locker with a green cross painted on the door. ‘It’ll keep him alive for now. He looks bad.’

The preacher nodded and knelt in front of Jordi. He pulled the hunting knife from his belt and cut a slit in the boy’s trousers, examined the wound. Shepherd turned away, placed the tracker on the console and set Soteria on a course towards the beacon.

Gunships won’t be long now. And if they’re sublight capable, we’ve got major problems.

He poured on as much power as Soteria could give him, but he could already tell the battering she’d taken from the Peacekeepers’ weapons had hit something important. She was sluggish—she responded late, had lost some of her sharpness. He glanced down at the tracker and tried to make the necessary fine adjustments to follow its course. The beacon looked something like a couple of minutes away at full speed. The forest fell away beneath them.

The preacher appeared at his shoulder. ‘You bring the medicine I asked for?’

‘It’s in the hold,’ Shepherd said. ‘In a couple of hidden compartments behind the oil drums. I didn’t have time to check if they found it.’

‘And the Peacekeepers?’

‘Died when we vented,’ Shepherd said, watching the preacher’s reaction. ‘You got a problem with that?’

The preacher eyed him for a moment and said nothing. Then he shook his head and stared away out of the front of the cockpit. ‘Not at all.’

‘How did you know the respirators weren’t re-breathers?’

‘No need for them on a rock like this. Weather’s bad, but the atmosphere is usually fine. Re-breathers are expensive, heavy, uncomfortable to wear. Peacekeepers won’t use them unless the atmosphere demands it.’

‘You seem to know an awful lot about this. Care to tell me why?’

‘When this is over,’ the preacher said quietly. ‘I don’t trust you yet.’

‘Maybe you shouldn’t.’

The tracker began to beep softly. ‘We’re coming up on them now,’ the preacher said.

Shepherd slowed Soteria and brought her down lower, almost clipping the treetops. The gaps between beeps lessened until they disappeared completely and the noise became a continuous whine. Shepherd pulled the freighter up and pivoted into a hover. The preacher peered over his shoulder and examined the tracker, then looked through the window.

‘There,’ he said, pointing to a small clearing. ‘Can you set down there, or somewhere like it?’

‘Sure,’ Shepherd said. He manipulated the controls until Soteria was over the clearing, then lowered the landing stanchions. Slowly he eased her downwards until the stanchions hit the ground. Trees were buffeted under the pressure of the downward thrust. ‘Get the loading ramp.’ He indicated a button on the console and the preacher pressed it.

They both glanced out and watched the shadows between the trees begin to shift. A clutch of people burst out and ran towards them, leading a single horse behind. Among them was the jowled customs official, stumbling as he was pushed by a man with a rifle. Shepherd felt Soteria rock gently as they boarded.

‘Get down there and shut the loading ramp. Then take them to the passenger quarters and get them strapped in. The horse will just have to do the best it can.’ The preacher nodded and left.

Shepherd waited until he saw the warning light for the loading ramp door wink off, and then he set Soteria to slowly ascend. As she pushed through the trees and emerged into the dwindling light, he reached over and pulled up the nav display. He selected the co-ordinates the preacher had given him and set a course. Ready for the tunnel breach when they left the atmosphere. Soteria began to creep along the treetops.

A whine came from the proximity radar.

The gunships were coming.

C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN

TWO VAPOUR trails curled above the forest far away on the horizon. The source of each was a shock of black, haloed in blue fire. Trees bucked and shivered as the two gunships surged over the forest canopy. They canted smoothly together and leaned into an intercept course. Shepherd banked away and levered the throttle to full, skimming the trees.

He’d been turning the permutations over and over in his mind since they left Herse Port, and the hand in front of him still hadn’t improved. When the gunships arrived, what card did he have to play? They couldn’t stand and fight—Soteria was unarmed. He couldn’t outfly them—too long on the defensive and the killing shot would inevitably come.

And Soteria was limping. She sure as hell wasn’t slow, and the sublight drives were all in the green, but she wasn’t sharp enough, and manoeuvrability at speed felt sluggish; he could feel the stunted feedback through the flight controls. He could tell she’d have no issue with flying full-tilt in a straight line, but that presented too attractive a target; and if he tried to run for the atmosphere, she’d be easy prey—she was heavy, and gravity would scrub off her straight-line speed too quickly. Every time he let the events play out, whatever the scenario, he reached the same conclusion, and he had to acknowledge a feeling of hollow dread.

We need something else—something to even the odds. We need to bluff.

More than that, he needed cover—and he only knew one place he could find it. Some way ahead, the mountains soared into storm clouds the colour of ash. Lightning lit up the pall like a circus tent. He wouldn’t be able see a whole hell of a lot inside, but neither would the gunships.

Fly into rock—get shot at. Is there a difference? Not much.

The airlock door slid open and the preacher stepped through.

‘You have a plan?’ he said.

‘Not much of one.’

‘Care to share?’

‘Not sure you want to know.’

‘You may be right,’ the preacher admitted. ‘Everyone’s strapped in. Do your thing.’

‘You mentioned coin at the end of this.’

‘Enough to bring a smile to your mercenary face.’

Shepherd said nothing and glanced down at the radar. They were close now. It was time.

Soteria burst from the trees and arced upwards towards the cloud. As she left the forest behind and soared upwards into the dense grey brume, the gunships canted and followed. He watched for a moment, assessing their speed.

They were fast.

He banked away, and the storm clouds embraced the ship. The wind punched and kicked like a prizefighter as he wrestled with the controls. Soteria rocked and yawed.

‘This is your plan?’

‘I said you wouldn’t want to know.’

‘You can’t see the mountains.’

‘I know.’

‘They ascend for over a mile.’

‘That’s bad news, but we’ll be so low their height won’t matter. We might hit one though.’

The preacher didn’t reply. Shepherd kept Soteria heading into the storm. The cockpit was lit up by a crash of lightning that rocked the ship.