burned instead of tanning. I thought I looked like a bald Liberator clone with olivine eye stain, bleached eyebrows, and bad skin.
“They’ve probably got the building under surveillance,” Illych said, as we climbed into our truck.
“Is that a problem?” I asked.
“Yes and no,” Illych said. “They’ll outnumber us; that’s a problem. If they get a good look at us, they might radio a warning. That might make it hard for us to make our flight.
“On the other hand, I’m guessing that we’re better armed than they are.” As I opened my door, I saw the stash of weapons Illych had placed behind the seat. We had rocket launchers, laser pistols, automatic rifles, and grenades. He’d also thrown a copy of the Bible back there. I made a trade, stowing the box with my helmet behind my seat and taking a grenade and a laser pistol for the ride.
I ducked low in the cab as we rolled out. Illych, still wearing his sergeant’s uniform, hit a button closing the gate behind us and, incidentally, arming all of the bombs he had placed in the motor pool.
The Mogats placed their training grounds and armories on the second level of the military district. Who knew what they had on the third, fourth, and fifth. The sixth level was an enormous freeway that not only laced together the entire military sector, it reached under the other sectors as well.
Illych knew the way to the ramp that led down to the sixth level. He had never driven there before, but he had memorized the route. It took us past a couple of buildings he had tried to blow up. He pointed them out as we went by.
“There must be a broadcast engine working somewhere on this planet,” I said.
“You think they’re planning on broadcasting the planet?” Illych asked. He could not stop himself from laughing at his own droll joke.
“I think they have some kind of newfangled shield on this planet that they broadcast out to their ships,” I said.
Illych’s grin disappeared. “So the same shield that protected those ships is protecting the buildings? How do people get in and out? Wouldn’t a shield stop them?”
“You’re thinking about technologies we understand,” I said. “When we use shields, they’re like walls in front of our ships, right? Their shield technology could be totally different. It’s only a guess, but it’s my best guess.”
I saw the ramp up ahead. It was a half mile wide, big enough to accommodate a formation of tanks. We bounced as we went over the incline and started our way down. The ramp headed down at a shallow angle. We drove for more than a mile before reaching the bottom deck.
A black cavern with pockets of orange-pink lights spread out in every direction. It was a dark world in which tan, green, and blue cars—the colors of the military branches—scurried like rodents. In the bad light, the green and blue cars looked black.
Other vehicles passed us at incredible speeds. We traveled at 150 miles per hour, and I had the feeling that some vehicles more than doubled us. “These guys drive like maniacs,” I said to Illych.
“We don’t have to go very far,” he said
Illych had done a good job memorizing his route. He found the next ramp and drove up to the top level, taking us right to the spaceport. We parked along an empty street. I waited outside the Jeep while Illych changed out of his Marine sergeant’s uniform and into his Navy pilot’s duds. Since I still had the uniform I stole on my way down, I was already a lieutenant.
We drove to the port and presented orders Illych had drawn up back at the supply depot. We had no trouble getting in. Hacking into the Mogats’ computer system, Illych had already booked us on a military transport. The transport would drop us off on the battleship Illych had flown in from the Perseus Arm—very likely the battleship I’d flown in on as well. We built our escape around the idea that this particular ship received the alarm signal from the derelict in the Perseus Arm. If we were right, the ship would take us back into Unified Authority territory very shortly.
If everything went according to plan, I hoped to see this planet again very soon.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Even with my bald head, bleached eyebrows, and temporarily green eyes, I did not want to socialize. We traveled in the kettle of a transport, a lucky break. In a Starliner, people would have been able to get a better look at me.
Illych and I sat apart so that if the Mogats caught one of us, the other might still escape. He sat toward the front of the kettle, not far from the stairs that led to the cockpit. I sat in the shadows toward the back.
A Mogat officer came and sat beside me.
“Good Lord, Lieutenant, what happened to your face?” he asked.
“I got burned, sir,” I said. He was a lieutenant commander.
“What happened?” he repeated.
“You know the bomber? I was just outside an admin building he attacked. The explosion burned off my hair and did this to my skin,” I said. It sounded good for spur of the moment.
“Lord,” the lieutenant commander said. “Did you hear the good news?”
“What news?” I asked.
“You’re going to love this. It turns out there were two bombers, and it looks like they blew themselves up. They were hiding out in a supply depot.”
“Great to hear,” I said.
The hatch of the kettle ground shut and the only light inside was red emergency light. The flight went quickly. We hovered horizontally for a minute, then entered the gravity chute. My stomach dropped below my feet. The chatty lieutenant commander sitting beside me started to moan, then brought out a plastic bag and vomited into it. The ammonia smell coming from that little bag nearly made me retch.
The lieutenant commander looked up at me and apologized. “Late breakfast,” he said. When we left the chute, and our flight pattern normalized, he excused himself and deposited his prize package down the toilet. Probably embarrassed about having coughed up his meal, he found another place to sit.
Up to this point, our plan gave the Mogats nothing to worry about. To them, this day began like any other day. We arrived on a routine shuttle flight to the fleet.
Illych and I deplaned with the other passengers. No one paid any attention to us at all as we crossed the launch bay and went our separate ways.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The alarms started before the announcements. First we heard the alarms sounding general quarters. This meant that every man on the ship—sailor and commando—had to report for duty.
Then came the announcement: “All commando teams, report to launch bay. All commando teams, report to launch bay.”
A second announcement followed on the heels of the first: “Prepare for broadcast. All hands, prepare for broadcast.”
Amber lights flashed in the halls. Men scrambled to their posts. In a moment, our ship would enter a battle zone.
I stood in the open hatch. Men ran past me without a second glance. No one noticed the bald, bleach-haired, green-eyed Liberator. They ignored me, and I ignored them; it was a reciprocal relationship that would come to a rapid end. I needed commando armor. The only way I could get it was to take it.
An entire platoon of commandos darted past me. They all wore the armor I needed, but they ran with the herd. I needed a straggler. And here he came, right on time. The man was nearly my height. The boy looked to be
