Barracks
A lone soldier rounded the corner and saluted the Captain. "Truck's here, sir, whenever you and your men are ready."
SC-80 nodded. "Thank you, Bjorn. Tell them we'll be along in just a minute." It was strange. After six months here, the four surviving crewmembers of Deepstar Five were at last packing their things, their uniforms neatly pressed, wrapped in plastic, and placed into rucksacks along with several other changes of clothing and the few odds and ends they had acquired during their time in the base. All except for the precious ten-pound note…this was stowed in the breast pocket of RA-48's tunic, awaiting its appointment with destiny. By the end of the week, the four would be back in England, preparing to steal back their ship and set right…everything. Jonesy would undoubtedly be waiting at the trucks to see them off, which SC-80 had no doubt would be the hardest thing of all: saying goodbye to the close friend they had made, who would cease to be as soon as the timeline was corrected. SC-80's momentary doubts of several days ago seemed a lifetime away; he knew what had to be done, and he would not hesitate to do it. But he still could not shake the vague feeling of betrayal that he felt whenever he shook a hand or received a salute…Soon none of you will even be. He buried the feeling and finished stowing a final tunic in his pack. "We ready?" He looked around at them…IP-101, ever the clean-cut pilot; the elderly and distinguished RP-18; the young but brave RA-48. They were all feeling the same things that he was, but they all nodded. The Captain smiled, a tad grimly. "Waiting won't make it any easier, gents. Let's do it."
It was as if someone heard him, only misinterpreted what he meant. The instant he finished speaking, the room went black, the lights shutting off instantaneously. "What the hell?" came IP-101's voice. "Jonesy, is that you playing around?!" The bunkroom door was open, but no light came in from outside.
"Corridor lights are out, too," the Captain noted, still far from concerned. The base's power grid did throw the occasional temper tantrum, and it would not be the first time they had been stuck in the dark for a few minutes. Only then the room shook. It was nothing prolonged, just a single brief shiver and a distant rumble. But it was quickly followed by another, and then another. And the terrifying, inescapable truth fell hard and fast: We're under attack. There's no other explanation.
"What's going on up there?!" RA-48 blurted, unable to hide the fear in his voice. "They can't have found us!"
Only they could…the Captain instantly thought of Mugabe, and IP-101's story of finding him skulking around up near the air vents. SC-80 started to speak, only the emergency lights started up just then, flooding the room with dim yellow illumination. The Captain was looking right into one of the lamps and was momentarily blinded; when his vision cleared, all three of his compatriots were staring past him with expressions of alarm. He turned, and found himself looking into the barrel of a gun, which was presently pointed straight at his forehead. The wielder was none other than the very man in question: Awolowa Mugabe. The drug dealer grinned. "Does dis scene heah seem familiah, mon, or is it just me?" He laughed.
"You…what is this, petty revenge?"
The room shook again, harder this time. "Dis ain' no revenge, mon. If I'da wanted dot, I would'a shot you in de head already. Dis is about my new employahs."
"You led the enemy here." It was not a question. The Doctor started to say something, which was interrupted when 101 called Mugabe a name the Captain would not have guessed the pilot knew. The drug dealer ignored them both.
"Simple 'rithmetic. De price was right. But deah's a bonus in it for me if I be bringin' de lot o' you in wit me. You gonna teach dem how to fly dot fancy plane o' yours…dey don't tell me nothin' 'bout it, but I done heard tings heah and deah. Now I know you don' have any weapons, so let's make dis as easy as possible, eh? You gonna follow me, you gonna do what I tell you. Any questions?"
The Captain bit back any one of several smart replies, but they were nothing more than immature rhetoric. The fact was that he didn't know what to do. Mugabe was right; they were in the bunkroom, unarmed. If one of them could get within arm's reach of Mugabe, it would be over in an instant. But the drug dealer knew he was dealing with trained military men, meaning that he was smart enough not to let that happen. There was another impact, this one much harsher…likely a deep-penetration warhead of some kind. An alarm screamed in the distance and, for just an instant, the lights flickered out. But that was all it took. There was a scream of fury, and Research Assistant 48 charged past the Captain, his head down like a bull charging. "Wait!" the Captain heard his own voice say, but it was too late. Mugabe's gun swung toward 48 an instant too late, and the civilian plowed into the drug dealer's midriff. Using his amateur fighting skills to their finest extent, 48 had seized Mugabe and was kicking and punching him in every weak point he could find…the lights failed again just as the drug dealer fell backward onto the floor, pulling 48 with him. There were a few seconds of complete darkness, the Captain blundering forward toward the sounds of combat…then there was a bright flash, a deafening report, and a cry of pain. The sounds of fighting stopped, there was a metallic clink from the right, and then the lights suddenly came back. The Captain found himself standing just to the left of Mugabe, who was standing with pistol in hand, turning in alarm toward something on the other side of him…101 had taken a crescent wrench from the tool bag hanging from the end of Jonesy's bunk, and the improvised weapon now came down hard on Mugabe's outstretched right arm. There was a sickening crack, a scream, and the drug dealer's gun fell to the floor…101 drew back and swung the wrench with a backhanded motion, striking the reeling drug dealer across the face. Mugabe fell and 101 followed, leaping onto his victim with a truly terrifying savagery. The wrench rose and fell in long sweeps, coming first from one side and then the other…and Mugabe's cries of pain quickly stopped. Blood spattered with every hit, but 101 kept going.
In disconnected fashion, the Captain looked down to see the Doctor kneeling beside 48, blood spreading across the front of the Research Assistant's tunic; instinctively, the Captain turned and began searching for a first aid kit. Finding it, he walked back and silently began to dress the wound, feeling numb. The bullet was still inside and there was no way of extracting it…especially seeing as they were now in the middle of an attack and had no possibility of getting 48 to surgery. As the Captain could not help but admit to himself, the civilian's chances of survival were almost nil. He'll bleed to death before we can get him any help, SC-80 thought, wondering at the callous idea which now played at the edge of his mind. He'll never survive, and it would be easier on him to be left here in the bunkroom than to be dragged through the base during a battle. Furious at himself, he squashed the idea. It doesn't matter whether he makes it or not…we have to try, no matter how stupid or fruitless it ultimately is. 48 did not ask whether he would be all right; between the feeling in his own body and the grim look on the Captain's face, he already knew the answer.
"We have to go," IP-101 said, standing over the scene like the figure of Death, covered from head to foot in the drug dealer's blood.
"I know," the Captain growled, applying a final bandage and helping the Doctor lift 48 to his feet. Machinegun fire was now reverberating through the corridors, drawing closer. Wordlessly, 101 stepped forward and relieved the Doctor, taking his place under RA-48's opposite arm. Holding him between them, an arm draped over each of their shoulders, 101 and the Captain maneuvered 48 out of the bunkroom and into the corridor. The Doctor gathered up the rucksacks and followed, his face showing the same stoic resignation as 48.
It was like a nightmare…dim and intermittent lighting made everything vague and indistinct, the sounds of fighting reduced to an indistinct roar as they echoed through the passages. Hazy figures darted past on all sides, but none of them stopped to lend assistance; there were no faces in the semi-darkness, just silhouettes. The Captain was leading, 101 simply staying beside him and keeping 48 on his feet, the Doctor trailing behind. SC-80's objective was the nearest emergency elevator, which would take them down to the lower cavern and the evacuation tunnel. Granted, it's anyone's guess as to whether we'll actually get there. Their progress was painfully slow, and the sounds of gunfire were drawing ever nearer. Suddenly, a group of figures rounded the corner just ahead, one extremely short one pausing and looking in the direction of the Deepstar crew. "OY, IS THAT YOU LOT?!"
"Yeah, Jonesy, it's us!" 101 answered. "What the hell's going on?"
"We've gotta get our asses out o' here, mate! That's what's going on! They're spreading out through the base, killing everyone. Bucket's dead, Carver's dead…Hamilton was in charge, but I think he's dead too!" He realized now that both 48 was wounded, and stepped forward. "Here, give me a shoulder."
"I'm all right," the Captain grunted. "Take over from 101."
"What happened?" Jonesy asked as he took 101's place under 48's right arm.
"It was a damned spy. Same man who led them here. Had a gun on us…apparently there's a reward for our capture." 101 growled the words as they moved. "48 rushed him."
"Damned brave of you, bully boy," Jonesy said quietly, talking in an undertone to 48 as they walked. "Took a lot of nerve, that did…you just hang in there, eh? We'll get you all fixed up. Don't want you looking like this when I go to collect that reward money, now do I?" And though it wasn't much of a joke, it still drew a weak rasp of laughter from 48. The elevator was drawing closer, though the small procession was now beginning to pass the bodies of fallen Resistance members. The enemy was near…there could be no doubt. And 48's condition was still deteriorating. As 101 moved to relieve the Captain, 48's weight shifted slightly, and the unfortunate Loompa let out a roar of pain.
"Please, no more! No more…just put me down."
"Don't give up now…" the Doctor started to say, but 48 cut him off.
"Listen to me, damn it! I'm done…we all know it. I know it. Just no more pain…please. Just set me down against the wall there."
Jonesy hesitated. "You heard the man," SC-80 said quietly, and Jonesy helped ease 48 into a sitting position. RA-48 was in bad shape; he was shaking severely, his skin clammy.
"Thanks for trying, but we all know…I'm staying here. I can't slow you down any more, and it wouldn't do me any good if I did. I'm finished." He wiped a shaking hand on the sleeve of his tunic, getting away the blood before he reached into his breast pocket and drew out the crumpled but serviceable bank note. He extended a hand to the Captain. "Finish it, sir. Set it right."
"We will," the Doctor said gently, kneeling beside his junior associate. He took the bill and passed it to the Captain. A grandfatherly hand rose to 48's shoulder. "I'm so sorry, my boy. It's my fault, all of it."
"No." 48 shook his head. "We couldn't have known…" His words ended in a hiss of pain, and he gestured vaguely to the body of a Resistance soldier lying nearby. 101 understood, removing the man's equipment belt and dragging it over to where 48 rested against the wall. He started to draw the soldier's pistol, but 48 stopped him. "No…just a grenade. You know I can't hit anything with the other." He looked around at his little circle of friends, the faces he knew so well, and smiled weakly. "I'd like to get just one." 101 handed over the grenade, clasped the other's hands in understanding for a brief moment, and then rose.
The Captain nodded. "Farewell, son." He turned, 101 following.
The Doctor hesitated, and 48 looked straight into his eyes. "Go on, sir." The Doctor slowly nodded and followed the other two, but not without a look back.
The last to go was Jonesy, who indicated the grenade with a tilt of his head. "Make it count, mate." And then RA-48 was alone in the corridor.