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Here you'll find
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Mount Robillard
14. ...by FireCrosshairs followed relentlessly three Union planes that were hot on the heels of Wilson's slim fighter. She was doing a super job, attracting pursues that she would subsequently lure low enough to be picked out by the AD guns, and this time she was leading the tailing trio beautifully into Lancer's range.Wilson sure knew how to serve them on a silver platter, Lancer thought with a feral smile, switched his aim at the last moment to the one in the middle and pressed the trigger. The plane exploded into a miniature supernova that also swallowed the one behind it, so that only the first one escaped unscathed. It had been slightly off the others' route anyway. Lancer grunted to himself in satisfaction, eyes already searching for new prey. His first reaction to the hand tapping on his shoulder was to lash out with a bony fist, a reflex he suppressed only because he didn't want to let go of the controls. It took several seconds before he fully registered that someone was trying to catch his attention, and he turned away from the heat of the battle, blinking owlishly, to look at the freckled face that peered at him from the door. "What do you want?" Okay, maybe that was a bit rough to a weary-looking man who wouldn't have disturbed him without a good cause, but goddamnit, there was a war going on! The man said something, Lancer shook his head and yanked the headphones off so that sweat-soaked hair flew into his eyes. "Arria wants you in the Control Room immediately," Lindell repeated. "Your replacement will be here in a sec." Lancer snarled something unintelligible, loath to snap out of his battle high. He pushed himself dazedly out of the 'cockpit' through its low door and nearly bashed his head into Riki's gut. The black-haired young man, a recent addition who normally operated one of the smaller ADs, gave him an example of his street-rat grins and disappeared without a word into the belly of the gun. Lancer shot a jealous glance after him, snatched the drenched scarf from around his head and started to walk towards the Control Room. Only when he was halfway there did he begin to question why Arria would want to see him in the first place, right now, in the middle of combat? Scott. Oh god, Scott. Scott's eyes opened wide with surprise when the echoing background noise in his headphones suddenly changed pitch. Somebody else had entered the channel, and that somebody had done it without his assistance. He only had time to open his mouth before a new voice spoke, straight into his head, it seemed. It was dark and rich and metallic, and it oozed personality. "SC-077M, SC-098M, this is Base Control. Do you copy?" "Yes, Base." "Yes, Base," Scott echoed breathlessly. "SC-098, you shall receive the coordinates of your destination from SC-077. 077, direct 098 to landing chute 6B. Do you copy?" "Yes, Base, I copy!" Scott could only hope that his ear-to-ear grin wasn't too audible in his voice. He quickly bundled the coordinates and other pertinent information into a neat data package and transmitted it to the other clone, ears pricked for more. "SC-098, you shall fly to the indicated destination to meet your new controller. You will follow his orders and then await further instructions. SC-077, you have completed your extra assignment and will now return to the battle immediately. Base out." "Copy that, Base. SC-077 out." Scott glanced once more at the plane that was slightly below him, heading steadily towards the indicated entry chute. He heaved a deep sigh. This was out of his hands now, and he could only hope that Arria had indeed managed to read his thoughts. Apparently they'd been listened to already before the intrusion, that much he could guess, even though it was a mystery to him how that was possible with all the shielding. But then, he wasn't the communications specialist here. His last fleeting thought before plunging back into the fiery chaos concerned the new "controller" assigned for SC-098. Lancer barged into the small hangar, skidded to a halt and tried to slow down his breathing. He couldn't remember when he had last run so hard, and could only be thankful for the fact that the ongoing aerial battle ensured that the corridors were devoid of people. If that hadn't been the case, he would surely have bowled over at least half a dozen hapless others on his way first to the Control Room, then to his quarters and now here. His hair, hastily pulled into a tight ponytail, was still almost dripping wet from the fifteen-second shower he had taken before jumping into a set of clothes that'd been dry until he donned them, and the trousers clung unpleasantly to his legs. His eyes swept around the bare hall and lighted upon two figures that were clothed in identical steel-gray uniforms and looked nonplussed. "Lancer, what the heck is going on?" Baris called and the two men trotted to him. "Yeah, what's this all about?" Merez echoed. "All we know is that Arria called us in a goddamn haste and told us to get our asses into similar gear and come meet you here. What's up?" Lancer fixed them with a stony glare. "M-clones, you seem to be forgetting your place." "What?" "Well, I don't know much more, Arria didn't have more than about ten seconds to explain." Lancer wrung some water from his hair and grimaced, shaking his hands dry. "Scott's commandeered another Union plane, complete with pilot, from the battle and directed it here." "I see!" Merez' eyebrows shot to his hairline and he grinned. "So we're to portray M-clones here?" "That was the brilliant idea," Lancer nodded. "And it really is brilliant. You two just shut up and try to look as unfazed by anything as you can. You'll provide an illusion of normalcy to him, so that he doesn't freak out at once. I'm to disarm him and take him out of harm's way." "Pheww..." Baris looked sympathetic. "Surely you're armed? Since I don't think we can be, anyway?" "No, I don't think M-clones can carry weapons. And yes I am." Lancer patted affectionately the gun he'd strapped on his hip while running headlong through the maze of corridors that was the Robillard Base. That was an achievement he truly felt proud for. "But it's definitely best if I hold on, guys, here he comes!" The noise from the chute grew rapidly louder and the plane, an exact lookalike of Scott's, slid in. Its passage was cushioned by strong magnetic fields that also slowed down its speed so that it didn't dash straight into the opposite granite wall. Lancer pulled himself straight and shot a warning glance at the twins. Luckily the two had immediately snapped into attention and were looking straight ahead, at the aircraft that whispered to a stop in the middle of the hangar. Its engines powered down and after a couple of seconds the hood opened. The figure that emerged from it looked eerily like Scott upon his arrival, and yet not. The features were the same and so was the severe cut of black-brown hair. The clone was almost painfully slim and looked very small and fragile as he climbed down and jumped to the floor. Lancer walked straight to him, but as he got closer he found it nearly impossible to hide his rising consternation behind an impassive mask. The clone could have been Scott's little brother very little. Not only was he thin, he was also a lot shorter than Scott had been, and the face was childishly rounded. He looked maybe about fourteen or fifteen and that, Lancer thought with a twisting stomach, that meant that he couldn't be anywhere near that age. "SC-098. Very good landing," he said, trying to sound stern. "SC-098 reports, sir!" Even the voice was youthfully high, a young boy's voice. Lancer had a sudden urge to hug him close, to protect him. This was a child, for crying out loud! "I am Lancer, your new controller." Good, his voice didn't quaver. From the corner of his eye he saw the twins approaching the plane, faces emotionless. Now all he needed to do was play his part right. "This base is a safe zone, and therefore you are to hand over your weapons to me. You do not need them here." The boy no, the clone v hesitated for a moment, eyes flickering to the gun on Lancer's hip. Then he removed the gun from his belt, added two small cartridge-like things to the package, and gave them to Lancer. "Good," Lancer nodded. "Then your pill." The clone's eyes widened in shock. Lancer didn't flinch. "I require your pill," he repeated steadily. "It will be replaced with a new one. You do not need it in this base." Small, birdlike hands shook slightly as the clone opened the lock of the chain and dropped the necklace on Lancer's waiting palm. Lancer nodded, a tiny smile escaping his control. To his surprise the corners of the clone's mouth drew up, very slightly but anyway. He spun around clutching the gun and pill in his hands. "Follow me. I will now show you to your quarters where you will rest. You will be brought some fo nourishment shortly." The little clone padded obediently after him along the deserted corridors, all the way to the room that Lancer already knew like the back of his hands from those countless sessions with Scott. He watched as the clone stepped in and looked around, face registering mild astonishment. Dark blue eyes flashed to him and then turned away, this time exuding something like shame. "Do you have questions, SC-098?" Lancer asked, wondering whether he should or shouldn't sound encouraging. "Will I be here alone?" "Yes. This is an important task that you have been chosen for, and therefore it is necessary that you have the opportunity to rest without any disturbance from others." "Yes sir!" As soon as Lancer was safely out of the door, he turned abruptly and marched to the Control Room, shaking with suppressed rage. Ha wanted very badly to hurt someone, preferably someone responsible for the Union's clone program. First he'd been torn away from his adrenalin trip, then the shock of meeting the child-soldier had been slammed to his face, and now he simply couldn't hold it back any more. His insides were roiling with impotent fury, and it was probably very lucky that he didn't meet a single soul on his way to the Control Room. Of course he was well aware that he shouldn't be anywhere near the place, not with the battle most likely still raging on and all of the Base controllers up to their ears with work, but at least he wanted to be somewhere as close to action as he could. He briefly contemplated taking over the AD gun that Riki had abandoned in order to operate his cannon, then shrugged that idea off. He wasn't quite sure of its whereabouts anyway, and besides it was one of those that hadn't been upgraded yet. That meant it wouldn't wreak nearly as much havoc as Lancer wanted. He kicked the Control Room door open ahead of him, eyes glinting dangerously, and stopped dead in his tracks. "Osip? Osip!" Arria stood hunched over the console, body taut as a tensed spring, bracing himself with both hands on the desk. His face was pale as a sheet except for the red blotches of agitation on his cheeks, and he was practically yelling into the mic. "Osip, come in this instant! Do you copy? Osip?" "Negative." Even over the noise of the line, the uneven, rasping breath was clearly audible. "That's an unacceptable risk. I refuse to blow up the whole base in case the extinguishing system can't handle this. Osip out." "There is still smoke." Scott's voice was tight. "Group A, take care of the remaining planes at ten o'clock. Group D, follow me. Group C standby, sector one, altitude two-seventy. Scott out." Lancer slumped against the doorjamb, breathing hard. His eyes searched frantically for white dots on the screen, but he hardly registered that they far outnumbered the red ones as he spotted the one he was looking for. It was blinking the distress signal, and even on the radar screen its movement seemed blood-curdlingly erratic. Arria snapped orders into the in-base system before switching over to the external channel once more, white-knuckled hands grabbing the edge of the desk. "Osip, this is a command! Enter through chute 12 at once. Everything's been prepared for your entry." "Arria, I cannot " Osip coughed painfully and fell silent for some maddening seconds before continuing. His deep voice sounded resigned, weak, exhausted. "I can't do it. I'm still on fire and it's too big for my systems to handle. You don't want a live bomb in there." "Oh god..." Lancer whispered. Arria straightened himself and lifted his face to stare hard at the dot on the screen, as if he could will himself to see through solid stone. His voice rang over the link, hard as titanium. "Osip Dahomey, this is Base Command. You will come in immediately. Chute 12. NOW!" "Roger, Base." The reply was barely audible. Arria's comm crackled into life. "Arria? The chute's now filled with foam and everything's ready in the hall. We put the magnetic cushions to full force, they're taking quite a lot of power but we haven't a choice. The medics are here, too. What's the estimated time of entry?" "Three minutes," Arria said quietly, gaze following the blinking dot that seemed to be heading to the right direction at last. Yes, everybody knew what a brilliant fighter Osip was. He'd had ample opportunity to prove it yet again, before being hit by that blast of shrapnel. But why did that man have to be so stubborn, wasting precious seconds to argue with him about the advisability of flying a burning plane into the base? If it had been anyone else, one of his own flyboys, he wouldn't have hesitated to trust their emergency systems and command the pilot back without delay. But no, he had to play hero... unless his initial refusal had been because he was so badly injured that he doubted his own ability to pilot the plane safely back in. Arria squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then tore himself out of the daze. Time to focus, Commander, he reminded himself. Wasn't this exactly why the Base had two commanders that even if one was incapacitated, the other could still carry on? Focus! He steeled himself and quickly surveyed the situation. The pilots were holding their own splendidly. It did indeed look like their new strategy of splitting the planes into relatively autonomous teams, each with its own sub-commander, was doing the trick. The carnage they'd caused was spectacular, and the trashwagons with their crews were going to spend days hauling all the salvageable material back into the base. But before that, they still needed to get this battle over with. Arria took a deep breath and plunged into action, pushing the ticking clock inside his brain to the background. Lancer walked listlessly into the common room and sank into a free chair, only to jump on his feet when the echo of an explosion made the rock under his feet shake. Everyone in the room was looking anxiously around, eyes wide with shock, and more than one of them reflexively glanced up towards the vaulted ceiling. "Emergency crew, check AD-3!" Base Control sounded worried, and Lancer heard the gasp of two newcomers, mechanics he thought they were, who had been standing close to him. "Isn't that Riki's?" The younger one, a brother if his looks were anything to go by, looked horrified. "He's OK," Lancer said wearily. "He's replacing me on number nine." Relief flashed across the boy's face and Lancer closed his eyes. Very plainly something had exploded on the ground, and after overhearing the exchange in the Control Room he simply didn't want to think what it might've been. He bit his lip. His anger had seeped off, leaving behind only one feeling: fear. He was so tired of being afraid. In the Control Room, Arria stared through the screen with unseeing eyes. The frantic noise around him was fading. Apparently the surviving clones had finally been ordered to retreat, and the Robillard base was busy receiving the last of the rebel pilots back in. He could feel the buzz and the waves of gratitude all around the base. Their own losses had been minimal, especially in comparison to those of the enemy. One of their AD guns was a goner, by sheer luck the only one that hadn't been manned at the moment, and one of the entry chutes was badly damaged by that accursed fighter that had waited until hitting the ground before blowing up. But otherwise they had done marvellously. They really were a lucky bunch. Arria wiped a numb hand over his face and started at the bleeping of his comm. "Yes?" "Edmé here." The doctor, too, sounded tired. "I just thought I'd give you a quick update. We've got Osip out of the plane, he's here now. We're currently stabilizing him, and after that we'll take a closer look at his injuries. But he's alive." Arria swallowed and sent silent thanks to whatever it was that worked miracles. "How bad is it? Can you say anything?" "... rather bad." Arria swallowed. Edmé never hesitated unless things looked really bleak. "There are extensive burns and he's unconscious, that's all I can say now. Sorry. Try to rest, Arria. We'll do our best and I'll let you know as soon as I have anything to tell, believe me." "Thank you." Arria pushed himself on his feet and walked to the door, into the corridor, towards their room. On his way there he passed by Lancer and Scott, wrapped in a tight embrace outside the big hangar, but didn't see them. All he saw was a white dot of light on the radar screen, blinking. Blinking. Blinking.
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