“They’ll bring more,” the other one said.
“The Lord will not be happy.”
“No worries, I have an idea. This drone never came. I’ll have the repair bot destroy the beacon and toss it over the side. The fault will be with the idiot humans on Holsted.”
And then the voices stopped and Jolo heard a door slide shut and he was alone. He waited a few more moments, then carefully slid the gun out of its blend-suit covered holster and took a peek over the hill of mushy, brown protein. All clear.
He stood up, rubbed the bump on his head, angry at himself for nearly taking himself out before he had a chance to save Barth. He reholstered the gun and let the rain wash off the protein. He stood on the edge of the giant ice harvester, a massive square building, slowly making its way across the planet. In front, glassy, shimmering ice, reflecting the two moons—and behind, a neat row of dark rock was all the Titan IV left in her wake.
An ion cannon as large as the Argossy was mounted at each corner. He imagined them coming to life when a ship came within their scanner range and the large barrels swinging up to find the target. How many gunboats would it take to bring this thing down? he thought. But for now the turrets were quiet and asleep, almost like gargoyles on Old Earth buildings long ago, each barrel pointed down at a 45 degree angle.
Jolo climbed back into the drone ship and pulled out the charges. Between the base of each turret and the heavy gun on top was a ball joint so the barrel could pivot in all directions. Jolo put each charge right on that vulnerable section. The freezing rain was still angling down from the dark sky and Jolo’s hands had started to go numb, but George had created a charge with a magnetic backing that stuck to the wet, freezing metal like a magna-hook, and didn’t require nimble fingers. Jolo hoped the charges would blow the guns right off the harvester, but failing that, the tracking computer just above the charge should get fried.
Jolo turned each charge on, a small light flashing green so he knew the bomb was active, then he tapped his suit pocket to make sure the tiny switch was still there. Once he found Barth he could hit the little red button and two things would happen: the guns would all blow, and the homing beacon, a small, black box he placed on the deck opposite the drones, would begin transmitting.
Jolo pulled up the Titan IV schematic on his computer and headed for the stairs. He figured no one in his right mind would be out in the weather, so he should be able to move up and down levels from the outside emergency stairs unnoticed. There were eighteen levels on a Titan IV ice harvester and the computer array was on 11, just above the bridge and the machinery below that. Jolo stopped for a moment at each floor to peek through the round window on the big sliding door. On the upper levels there wasn’t much beyond long corridors that looked too clean to be slave quarters. On one of the empty levels he pulled out the Colt then gently pressed the open button on the door. An id scanner popped out so he moved on.
On level twelve Jolo found a row of hibernating Jaylens, just like at the facility on Montag. He counted ten, all lined up, all standing with eyes closed, plugged into a machine. Is this how they sleep? Jolo wondered. Must be getting a recharge, or data upload. He put the barrel of the Colt against the glass near the closest one’s head, blond curls on its shoulder, and wondered if a bullet would penetrate the glass. Marco had crafted a custom silencer so the barrel was a bit longer, but he’d be able to fire the gun without alerting other Jaylens or warriors on other levels. In the end he holstered the gun and moved on, sure there’d be more opportunities soon enough.
When he made it to level eleven the cold had started to take its toll. His whole body was shivering and he wasn’t sure if he could even hold the Colt, much less pull the trigger. He squatted down and reached for the small box, a gift from Koba, that was in a pocket on the back of his suit. At this point he couldn’t feel his fingers anymore, but he was fairly sure he had the box. He thought he could feel it against his back. He stood up and his legs cramped and the full weight of his body fell against the railing. Pain shot through his side as his head and upper body teetered over the edge. He could see the wet ice below and he knew if he fell, even if he survived the fall, he’d die of the cold. He pulled himself back and fell onto the metal platform, cursing under his breath.
The plan was to make it inside without using the suit warmer, but that wasn’t going to happen. If he fumbled the little box over the edge he’d have to break his way in and then he’d be dead. If he couldn’t fire the gun because his fingers didn’t work he’d be dead. If he fell over the edge he was dead. Shite on it, he thought.
He touched both index fingers to his chest and waited. Soon his whole body felt better, like he had suddenly jumped into a warm bath. He paused there for a few minutes and soon his breathing slowed and his legs
