Here you'll find

 

Mount Robillard

 

 

 

 

30. A Rendezvous

Arria was prowling around the Control room, face stony, eyes simmering, looking like a caged animal and fully feeling like one, too. He was seething with impatience, frustration, helplessness, an insane urge to burst into action, but there was nothing he could do.

The pilots' reports told of several vehicles that had been trying to leave the Plains Base and been duly annihilated by rebel fighters, equally eager as their blond Robillard-bound commander to jump at the first opportunity to participate in whatever was unfolding inside the loosely hexagonal walls of the Union base.

Infuriatingly, the tiny group of rebels who'd entered the stronghold had been split in two almost since the very beginning. Now the only news Robillard had heard concerned the alarming situation of Rori and André, stuck with a few surviving T-clones inside one building and in desperate need of help. The status of their companions, apparently roaming about the worryingly large area that was the rest of the base, remained a total mystery.

All right, the base was not sending any planes up, and the ones that had been launched didn't exist any more. None of the rebel fighters had been lost, the few that had suffered damages during the short but fierce air battle had already limped back to Robillard and been stowed aside to await repairs, their pilots safe and accounted for. A considerable number of the planes had also been called to retreat, so that only about a half of the rebel fighters were cruising around above the base that was by now totally invisible by naked eye, shrouded in the tight embrace of thick clouds.

Six people. They had sent six people into the Plains Base. What were they doing right now? Arria stopped for a while, raked fingers through his cropped hair and tried in vain to force his emotions under control. This uncertainty was driving him crazy! Rori and André, yes, they were in deep trouble but at least their whereabouts were known. Corinn and Vanya the latter badly injured, according to André were supposedly still in the Roadrunner. Said van, according to Maschani's incredulous account, had been successfully bombarding the escaping Union vehicles with murderous cannon fire, and had subsequently disappeared from their scanners.

Arria could only hope it had entered the Base, because the heavy noise and distortion provided by Union's scramblers prevented them from picking up anything at all within its perimeter. If it wasn't there, they could only assume it had been destroyed. A painful squeeze in Arria's gut made his breath hitch at the thought.

As for Orwel and Lancer... Arria could only pray that those two were somehow responsible for the astonishing, ominous silence that had descended upon the Plains Base. And, however much he wracked his brain, he couldn't even guess what it meant. On the surface everything seemed to be going according to their foolhardy plan: get in and immobilize the lot. However, the next step in that plan had been to get out, and besides, it had relied on a number of factors that had already been blown into pieces.

For one thing, Vanya was supposed to be there with them, wreaking havoc as only Mr. Blowjobman himself could. But Vanya's current condition was unknown and, according to the information André had supplied, the tiny team had decided not to play around with explosives on their own. The 'red alert' inside the base, and its unexpected consequences, were another source of alarm. Was the presence of intruders such a severe breach of security that the Union staff had seen it necessary to terminate a whole batch of new T-clones, supposedly the crown jewels of their cloning program? And what about the intriguing hint that André had dropped the surprisingly behaving M-clones that theyäd briefly encountered when first entering the place? What was their role in all this?

Arria realized that he had once more resumed his nervous pacing when Adrien's exclamation wrenched him out of his musings. Adrien had jerked up in his seat as if slapped, blue eyes flying open, hands locked in a death grip on the armrests. In a flash Arria was standing in front of him and grabbed him hard by the shoulders.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know... we don't know... there are very powerful blasts outside, the whole building is shaking."

Adrien was nearly hyperventilating in an obvious effort to keep his own thoughts and feelings separate from André's. Arria felt a momentary relief, then wondered in passing what would happen to Adrien if André was killed while their link was up. "They're afraid, they don't know what's happening now."

"Osip? There are blasts, or explosions, inside the base!" Lindell had taken the cue immediately. "Can you read anything? Anybody?"

"Negative, sorry. And those damn clouds are still so low we can't see a thing either. I'll take a sweep, hold on a sec."

Arria looked intently into Adrien's eyes that focused gratefully on his face, like a drowning man grasps an offered lifeline. Adrien took a deep breath and concentrated. "They're waiting inside, none of them is hurt so far, and there's nobody trying to enter through the hole in the wall at the moment. They can hear noise outside but can't see what's going on there."

"Visibility minimal," Osip's voice interrupted them. "Hard to see what's happening, should fly lower still but that'd risk "

"Osip Dahomey, you're not risking anything or anybody right now, not even yourself!" Arria spat into his headset mic and heard Osip's answering chuckle.

"Copy that, Commander! I could see blasts but not where they came from, and all detectors go crazy down there. Not worth the risk, anyway."

Arria's shoulders slumped and he let his head fall forward so that his forehead rested for a moment against Adrien's. Blue eyes looked up into his brown in weary sympathy.

"I feel so helpless," Adrien whispered.

Arria straightened his back with a drained sigh.

"I'd give just about anything to know what is happening there," he murmured to himself and returned to the futile task of glaring at monitors that still refused to display any truly useful information.

Orwel cautiously peered around the corner behind which he'd taken cover, and fired another series of shots towards the uniformed figures crouching behind a ruined transport. Its front part was solidly buried inside the wall of the T-complex, but of course there was another one waiting, safely in shelter behind one wing of the nearby command center. That, however, was not his main concern right now. It was obvious that the Union staff manning the transport were intent on getting inside the T-building, and they simply had to be stopped. An urgent alarm was hammering at the back of Orwel's head and he suspected it might be André, frantically trying to reach his untrained mind. But he didn't know how listening to the call would affect his ability to act, and that made him wary.

He had to act, quickly, get close enough to use his gun to its full effect and help their friends who were trapped inside the building. But first he had to get to the other side of the clearance separating the buildings to see how Lancer was. Even though the fog had prevented him from seeing exactly what'd happened, Orwel knew that the whimper he'd heard when the young man had ran those last steps and thrown himself on the ground hadn't been caused by mere impact. More worryingly, there'd been no fire from Lancer's hiding place, even though they'd now been separated from each other for a few minutes and the guys lurking in and around the Union transport made good enough targets.

Orwel slipped his goggles on but still couldn't see Lancer in the lingering gloom that was further obscured by thick, heavy clouds. One fat tendril of fog curled lazily between the buildings, and Orwel decided to take his chance. He fired a few shots towards the destroyed transport and then ran for all he was worth, hoping that his "invisible" suit would be enough to protect him from unfriendly eyes. When he caught a flicker of movement from the direction of the transport he leaped forward, rolled the last couple of meters and then crawled on his elbows, undignified but unharmed, towards the spot where he could see the dull shine of blond hair.

"Lancer? Are you hurt?"

The younger man nodded tersely, both hands squeezing tight his left thigh. Tears had carved pale paths down his dusty face and he crunched his eyes shut, lower lip between his teeth. Orwel glanced at the angry-looking burn showing from the gash in the suit, the skin around it all the paler between black fabric and brownish red injury. It was in a nastily sensitive place, in the inside of the thigh, but definitely not life-threatening.

"Can't do anything about it now," Orwel murmured apologetically. He knew better than to prod the wound.

"I'm not dying of this," Lancer snapped and swallowed thickly. "But it fucking hurts... and doesn't work at all. "

Orwel took in Lancer's paleness and trembling hands, then glanced around to assess their situation. He had to go, and that meant leaving his companion behind. But at least Lancer wasn't in a hopelessly exposed place. They were hiding next to an elevated concrete platform that ran along the entire length of the oblong service building, extended still a couple of meters away from the wall and descended as a staircase to the ground. Another glance showed that a low, solid concrete rim lined the platform on one side the side facing the T-clone building. It was too low to hide Orwel's hulk, however flat he'd manage to make himself, but the small, slim Lancer would be another matter.

Orwel leveled another measuring look at the blond. Lancer was breathing hard, narrow face covered with gray dust and cold sweat, but Orwel steeled himself. They were here for a purpose, their friends inside the T-building were in all likelihood running out of time, and if Lancer was only wounded in the leg, it meant he wasn't fully incapacitated.

"Can you crawl?" he asked. Lancer's mouth pressed into a hard line and he nodded. "I'll get you up there, there's just enough of an edge for you to hide behind. I have to get over there and I need you to cover me."

Lancer gritted his teeth not to cry out as Orwel picked him up, carried him a few steps away from the more exposed end of the platform, then lifted him on top of it. His leg felt like someone was slowly pushing a red-hot poker through it, and its muscles refused to acknowledge any commands his brain was yelling at them. Gingerly he rolled on his side and then on his belly, and hated himself for the strangled sob that escaped him when Orwel gently slid a hand under his knee to turn the uncooperative limb into a better position. Bright stars danced before his eyes when he snaked next to the rim, stopped to pant for a second or two, and snatched a peek over it.

The view was almost too perfect. Lancer forced himself to ignore the waves of pain that were now throbbing from his thigh to his entire lower body, raised his gun and willed his hands to stop shaking. He could see the men cowering around the transport, oh but they made such easy targets. He also saw that they were using the hole left by the shattered windscreen to try and enter the T-building.

André's face flashed in his eyes, André as he had been when they had left this morning, gods, it felt like a lifetime ago André, hair pulled into that severe braid, lean face carefully blank to hide his fear. André was in there and needed help. As if by invitation, the sound of a fighter plane swept over him, so loud and momentarily so low to ground that it apparently distracted the Union men he was looking at, and he could taste Scott's tears in the kiss they'd shared in their room.

Lancer's eyes narrowed and he pressed the trigger, saw a man fall, aimed again.

Before he could fire another time, he heard the deep roar of some large engine, saw a blinding flash, and instinctively buried his face into his arms a split second before the explosion. The pressure wave hit him, he felt something fly overhead like bullets shooting over the low wall of concrete against which he was pressed, smelled something burn and then, faintly through the ringing in his ears, the clatter of debris raining down on metal roofs and paving.

Very slowly Lancer raised his head, looked over the edge, blinked once, twice. The Union transport was barely more than a clutter of twisted and torn metal, black smoke and cinders sputtering from its ripped hull. But he could still hear that low rumbling sound.

"Lancer, are you all right?" Orwel had leaped on the platform and was crouching beside him, hand on his back, acknowledging his nod with a breathless bark of laughter. "For godssakes, I was sure that you just stay there, I'll go check them now..."

"That shot?" Lancer panted, totally confused. Orwel shook his head.

"That shot took care of those bastards for sure," he breathed. "It's the Roadrunner!"

"Corinn!" Lancer's head shot up. "And Vanya."

"I'll go check André and Rori," Orwel said and stood up, still eyeing the T-clone building warily. "You stay right where you are."

"Don't worry, I won't go running around on my own," Lancer murmured and lowered his head on his outstretched arms, temple pressing on sleek black fabric. Pain rolled in syrupy waves over him, the humming in his ears grew louder, and his eyes closed of their own volition.

"Corinn, don't shoot!" Orwel shouted into his comm. "I'm ahead of you and to the left, right opposite to the transport you blasted into pieces, I'll come to sight in a sec. You copy?"

"I copy, Captain!" Corinn sounded surprised. "Good thing you warned me, my trigger toe is getting pretty quick!"

Orwel stepped out of the shadow and waved to the Roadrunner. Its headlights dimmed a little and the hulking thing stopped. Corinn jumped out, gun in hand, and ran towards Orwel.

"Status?" he yelled.

"André and Rori are in there," Orwel pointed towards the T-complex. "We've got to get to them and see if they're alive, but they've been under attack and might be on hair triggers as well."

"What's the fuck's been happening in here?" Corinn asked. "Where's everybody? Don't tell me the guys who tried to sneak out were all the staff there was!"

"There's not that many people to evacuate anyway," Orwel said darkly. "And we've killed quite a few along the way. The biggest part of the staff by far is made up of clones. Too long a story to tell right now, Corinn. We've got to go in there, careful."

"Where's Lancer?" Corinn glanced around him, eyes widening, and stopped. "Orwel! Where's he?"

"Wounded, but not lethally. Come, Corinn!"

The two big men somehow managed to squeeze themselves into the building through the hole left by the now largely non-existent transport, but stayed behind whatever cover it offered. Neither of them wanted to get accidentally wounded or perhaps even killed by their own companions, and since they didn't know exactly where those two were holed up, caution was definitely in order.

"André? Rori? Are you there?" Orwel's voice echoed in the silent corridor. "André, it's Orwel. Do you hear me?"

For a few seconds the silence hung heavy around them, then they heard a faint shuffle and something light appeared in the other end of the ruined passage.

"André!" Corinn yelled, and the darkness seemed to shift as the blond clone in his black suit stepped out of the door and took a couple of hesitant steps towards them.

"Corinn? Orwel?" His voice conveyed clearly that he simply couldn't believe his own ears. "Oh for heaven's sake, it really is you!"

He burst into a helpless laughter and shook his head. "Rori, it's them! They're here!"

Orwel leaned briefly against the wall and took a deep breath. So those two were all right, they were united again, but the situation was still chaotic to say the least. He dug out his comm.

"Adam? What's the status?"

"Captain!" Adam's voice was crisp as ever, and despite its inflectionless quality he managed to sound somewhat delighted. "We are performing a full check of all systems. There has been a red alert. The Union has given a command to terminate all SC's and the youngest TC's, and to evacuate the Base. We have ascertained that there are no more Union masters within the Base, only the one you left in the S-dormitories. All others have either been evacuated or terminated."

For the first time Adam hesitated, having to use the word in such an unfamiliar context. Orwel stared mutely at the comm in his hand for a moment before he could make his lips move again.

"Are you saying, Adam, that there are only clones, Captain Blaine, and us, left here?" he intoned carefully.

"Yes, Captain."

Orwel raised his head and saw a number of faces staring at him. He did a double take when the sight fully penetrated his overworked brain: in addition to the three men he'd expected to see, there were five identical little faces framed by identical golden blond locks, and five pairs of bright blue eyes that studied him intently.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He didn't know what to say anyway, and besides, Corinn was currently gaping at them, too. At least that proved that he wasn't seeing things, or then the two of them were having similar hallucinations. Orwel stopped his jaw that was about to fall again and snapped it back up.

"I think I'll wait for an explanation," he said briskly, deciding to act before his brain went completely haywire at the astounding sight. "We can assume that this place is safe for the moment, and there's Vanya and Lancer who need a doctor."

"What's happened to Lancer?" André perked up immediately and shot an accusing glance at Orwel.

"He'll be all right." Orwel raised his hands reassuringly. "How was Vanya? I think he's in much worse condition."

Corinn's face darkened. "In the Roadrunner. He was about half conscious a couple of minutes ago."

"Let's go!" Rori pushed his gun into its holster and pulled himself together. "All our first aid supplies are in the transport."

Lancer moaned weakly, one hand reaching groggily to slap away whatever it was that was touching his wounded leg. Big fingers closed around his wrist and pulled his hand firmly away, and his eyes fluttered open.

"Corinn?"

"Easy now, Lancer baby!" Corinn's hazy face smiled down to him, Lancer closed his eyes for a moment and opened them again, trying to bring them to focus. "You'll feel a lot better soon."

"Hurts," Lancer complained hoarsely. He realized that he was lying on his back in their own battered vehicle. Rori's dark head was bowed, his face in a concentrated frown as his narrow hands expertly finished tying a broad bandage around the thigh. It was rather tight but felt unrealistically cool, and a wonderful numbness was slowly seeping upwards from the aching spot.

Lancer pushed himself up on his elbows and looked around. He could see a tuft of Vanya's nearly white hair ahead of him. The man was obviously resting in the front seat that had been tilted down until horizontal, a thick support around his broad shoulders and neck.

"There," Rori said and pushed himself up from where he had been kneeling beside Lancer. "I gave you a pretty stiff shot of painkillers, they should kick in soon."

"What's happened?" Now that his head was clearing and the medications were rapidly drowning the distracting pain, Lancer felt totally disoriented. Panic welled up inside him. "Where's Orwel?"

"In the command center, with that amazing Adam of yours." Corinn had retreated to the driver's seat and sat there, shoulders slightly hunched. "Everything's all right, sweetheart."

"Vanya?"

Lancer grabbed the armrest of the seat next to him and pulled himself up on wobbly legs, ignoring Rori's vocal protests. He hobbled to stand next to the silent figure and lifted an uncertain hand to touch lightly Vanya's darkly tanned cheek. It was warm, all muscles of the angular face relaxed and smooth, giving him a strangely innocent look.

"Is he... how is he?"

"He'll live," Corinn said quietly, hazel eyes for a moment so raw and helpless that Lancer wanted to hug him tight. Which he did, turned to his friend and wrapped his arms around the man's neck. Muscular arms squeezed Lancer breathless and he felt Corinn swallow hard a couple of times. Then he pushed himself abruptly to an arm's length and stared at Corinn.

"Orwel's in the command center? With Adam?" When Corinn nodded, Lancer began to gasp. "Do you mean you can't mean surely we didn't actually do it?"

"Yes," André said from the back of the vehicle, still sounding utterly stupefied. "We were sent here to take over the Plains Base, and we did it."

Lancer sagged back into Corinn's embrace, only to jerk up again when he heard the din of a fighter plane. "What's that?"

Corinn repeated the question to his comm and Orwel was clearly grinning as he replied.

"Scott's about to land."

"What?!"

Lancer stumbled away from the man's lap and into the first vacant seat he could reach before his leg gave way under him. "Corinn, step on it! I've got a promise to keep!"

"Huh?"

"To the hangars, Corinn, right now! I have to get there at once!"

Corinn muttered something unintelligible but started the Roadrunner and headed towards the long buildings, marked as plane hangars by the large doors opening to wide runways in front of them. The heavy clouds and meager light prevented them from seeing the fighter until it was almost touching the ground. The sleek machine decelerated quickly and halted, the cockpit slid open and a dark figure could faintly be seen climbing out of it.

Before Corinn had managed to completely stop the Roadrunner, Lancer was outside and limping towards the plane as quickly as he could. Rori shook his head.

"He shouldn't be walking on that leg," he said disapprovingly.

"Go to stop him then," Corinn grunted, a smile creeping on his lips.

The uniformed figure hopped lightly to the ground, took a few steps towards the approaching blond man, then broke into a run.

"Lancer!"

Scott ran as fast as he could, choking on emotions. Lancer stumbled a little but regained his footing, a broad smile on his still soiled face, and stopped. He simply couldn't take another step or he'd fall down. Scott breezed across the tarmac, grabbed him close, buried his face into Lancer's neck.

"Lancer, you are alive!"

"I promised, didn't I?" Lancer hung to him, totally exhausted, whole weight on his still working leg that was telling him in no uncertain terms that it didn't approve of the situation. "Scott, I can't believe it... that we succeeded..."

They stood there for a long time just holding each other tight, neither of them able to say another word. Finally Scott pulled back enough to look into Lancer's eyes. He smiled shyly, eyes shiny with tears.

"Lancer, you promised me something else, too," he whispered. Lancer began to laugh.

"I know, love," he sighed. "And I'm going to keep that promise."

"Good." Scott nodded, the glint of mischief at last returning to his eyes. He hugged the slim body closer. "You promised it would be long and hot and deep..."

"What a memory you have!" Lancer grinned. "Okay, let's see now..."

Several minutes ticked past before they finally, reluctantly, broke the kiss to breathe properly, faces still so close to each other that their eyelashes nearly tangled together. Lancer licked Scott's swollen lower lip.

"Was that wet and slobbery enough?" he asked.

"Mmm-hmm," Scott voiced and nudged Lancer's nose with his own. "I think I am satisfied. But you are injured, Lancer."

"Not serious," Lancer breathed. "But I really need to sit down soon... and I could use some help getting back to the Roadrunner."

"I will help you." Scott wrapped his arm around Lancer's waist. "You can lean on me."

"Right."

Lancer hopped on one leg to stand side by side with Scott, saw something in the corner of his eye, and turned to look behind him.

Dozens of M-clones in their identical uniforms were standing mutely in front of the plane hangars and staring at them, astonishment and wonder written on their faces.



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