REDEMPTION TRAIL

Krey had wasted no time when he gathered the necessary equipment and hauled it to the shelter at a dead run. By the time he scrambled down the stairs with a 95-pound tri-ox torch on his back and a satchel of tools over his shoulder, he was extremely winded and his legs had begun to ache. As he lowered his burden to the ground, it occurred to him that he probably should have saved a little more of his strength for the getaway; the critical timing would begin as soon as he put the torch to the steel.
Krey took a brief moment to examine the strange worm-like crystals that had been deposited on the door; they still appeared to be intact, though Krey was not entirely sure that they had not yet reacted to his presence. The thought of what might happen when the trap was triggered continued to haunt him. He drew an uneasy breath, then reached for the torch, which was bundled in a pack on the ground.
Krey's tri-ox torch more closely resembled body armor, rather than a torch. The pack basically consisted of two armor shells; one covered the front of the upper torso and head, the other covered the back. Three tanks of liquid fuel were mounted on the back piece of armor, along with the necessary electronics packages, regulators, compressors, and pumps that were needed to support a tri-ox torch.
Krey removed the front piece of armor and a large accessory bag from the bulk of the pack, then set them to the side. The thought of Cassie breathing stale air in the crumbling Star Saber urged him to escalate his pace as he lifted the back piece of armor, along with the bulk of the torch, up to his back. As soon as the torch was properly strapped in place, he paused to catch his breath, then picked up the portable.
"I'm almost ready, Cassie."
It took a moment or two for Cassie to reply.
"This is Cassella Hempton, RQ-733. I talked to The General; he said they have a portable life support systemyou don't have to remove the compressor."
A look of disgust came across Krey's face as he looked down at the heavy satchel of tools, which he had just finished hauling to the shelter.
"How portable is it?"
"It's self propelled. The General says it runs on two tracks, like a lunar dozer, and that its controls are similar to the controls on a lunar dozer. Do you know what he's talking about?"
"YeahI've run a lunar dozer before. How fast does it go? Does it just creep along or what?"
"I don't know exactly, but The General says it moves faster than them at their age. He says it's big enough for them to ride out on. They'll be readyall you have to do is get in, then drive the equipment out."

Chellaina steadied herself against the edge of the life support unit as she nervously watched The General struggle to load the life-pack of his pressure suit onto the top of the emergency equipment; her voice appeared to be somewhat uneasy.
"I don't think that's necessary, Fenny. I'm sure they have plenty of pressure suits."
The General nodded as he wrestled with the life- support package, "I know." He was still wearing the bulk of his pressure suit and already had most of the accessories, such as helmet and gloves, secured to the equipment. "This is my uniformit's the only keepsake I'll have left from the war, once we leave."
There was a pause in the conversation as The General finally managed to position the pack on the equipment. He spoke in somewhat of a disheartened voice as he started to secure the load, "In ten minutes the United Nations is going to come crashing through that door. Whatever we have ready when they break in is all we'll be able to keep. We'll have to abandon everything else. I at least wanted to take my uniform."
Chellaina thought about The General's words for a moment or two.
"Maybe we should take my medical case too."
The General nodded as he finished securing his life-support pack, "I also want to take my laser rifle." He turned, then started for the ruins of the store room at his best possible shuffle.

Krey had already finished donning the body armor, which made him look somewhat like an ill-designed robot resurrected from the dawn of motion pictures. His entire upper torso and head were enclosed in a ridged metal case, which had absolutely no provisions for head movement and was completely void of any windows, viewing lenses, or respiration vents. It was, however, not without character; one day during a drunken stupor, Krey had painted a silly, cross-eyed face with an O-shaped mouth on the front of the head. Sometime later, he had added a bow tie, buttons, and lapels to the front of the torso. He often playfully referred to the dummy-like armor as `Hot Franky'.
The rest of the body armor was a little more movable, though considerably less colorful. The armored sleeves and gloves were equipped with cumbersome, movable joints, which allowed restricted mobility, and a heavy mesh-like metal skirt hung down to just below the knee. Krey lowered himself to somewhat of a squat, kneeling position, which allowed him to protect his legs under the metal skirt, as he hurried to complete the final preparations.
Operating a tri-ox torch was no small job, and one that few could master. Krey, however, had become somewhat of an expert at using the liquid-fueled torch due to frequent repairs on RQ-733. The high-temperature alloy used on Krey's Star Saber was identical to the high-temperature alloy used on the hatch, which required an incredible amount of heat to change its physical characteristics. As a result, a liquid-fueled torch was one of the few tools that could bend, cut, weld, or melt the exotic metal.
A tri-ox torch could cut almost anythingincluding its own tips. Although the cutting tips were cryogenically cooled, they still had the tendency to melt down at the rate of one every two minutes or so. To remedy that problem, the head of the torch was equipped with a rotary magazine which automatically replaced the cutting tip when directed to do so by the operator.
Krey was inside the armor watching several display screens, which were mounted directly in front of his face in lieu of a window. Two of the screens displayed pictures from the infrared cameras, which were mounted on the armor, while a third screen displayed pictures from a visible-light camera. The forth screen was used to monitor computer data such as fuel pressure, cutting tip temperature, armor temperature, and torch thrust. At that particular moment, Krey was watching the visible light display as he awkwardly struggled to position a semi-robotic brace, which would assist him in holding the tip steady against the thrust of the flame. One end of the brace was attached to the head of the torch, the other was planted firmly against the face of a step.
Once the brace was in place, Krey took a moment to catch his breath, then keyed the armor's transmitter, "I'm ready, Cassie. I'm going to light the torch."
"Good luck. Remember, get in and out as fast as you can."
"No problem. Standby..."
Krey rolled a fresh cutting tip into place, then started the cooling systems for the armor and cutting tip.
Less than a heart-beat later, a small explosion echoed through the tunnel, followed by the fierce roar of a liquid- fueled flame. The entire end of the stairway was immediately engulfed in eye-piercing light as white-hot flames raced across the face of the hatch.
Krey carefully studied the display screens inside the armor as he struggled to hold the tip in place against the thrust of the flame. The infrared displays were his primary concern; they shown how the heat was distributed in the metal, which allowed Krey to maintain optimum flame position for the most expedient cut. Within fifteen to twenty seconds, he could see that molten metal had begun to spatter off the face of the hatch. He knew, from experience, that it would take at least another minute to cut a small hole completely through the hatch; after which, the process would become a little more expedient.
Operating a tri-ox torch required concentration, as well as undivided attention; Krey was too busy with the torch to notice that the strange, worm-like crystals on the face of the hatch had changed to a milky colorand that several of them had already cracked.

Far from the roar of the tri-ox torch, in space high above the opposite side of the devastated planet, an ungodly, ghostly image was beginning to take shape. The cracked crystals had summoned a huge, V-shaped spacecraft, which had begun to drop out of its hiding place somewhere in the time continuum.
As the transition neared its completion, the bleak detail of the unearthly craft became much more apparent. The craft was nearly half the size of RQ-733, sleek, and impressively streamlined. It was bright yellow in color with overall proportions that were similar to those of a large boomerang. The craft was almost completely featureless, with the exception of a large docking fitting at the point of the `V', and several vents or exhaust ports at the ends of the `V'.
The exotic craft was not actually in an orbit; it was expending energy to maintain a rigidly stable position over the planet as the orbiting debris of crushed space vehicles and dead bodies passed by for its inspection. The unidentified vehicle was no stranger to the horrible ruins of Theti, nor was it sympathetic toward the sight; it had been above Theti when the ruins were forged, and had been lurking there ever since the rest of the armada moved on.

Krey had already managed to cut a small starter hole in the hatch, and was beginning to draw the torch around the latch in a tight arc. He had hardly cut more than an inch or so when he noticed that the first tip had already begun to melt. According to the infrared displays, the flame was spreading and the heat being transferred to the steel had become much less concentrated.
Krey muted the deafening roar of the torch, then rolled a fresh cutting tip in place. It was then that he noticed Cassie's panicked voice coming over the radio.
"...the time continuum. Damnit, Kreyanswer me!"
Krey keyed his transmitter, "I couldn't her you; the torch was running. What's the problem?" He immediately relit the torch, then pulled the flame back to an idle in hopes of keeping the metal from losing too much of its heat.
"I said; something just dropped out of the time continuum!"
"A rescue ship?"
"No. It's not a conventional ship; it's not in orbit."
Krey lowered his brow in confusion as he tried to maintain some kind of heat on the metal, "What do you mean; `it's not in orbit'?"
"It's expending energy to hover stationary somewhere on the far side of the planet. All the debris is drifting past it, as if it's looking for something. I think it's sifting through the ruins."
"You sure it's not a rescue ship?"
Cassie's voice was firm and assertive, "Positive. I think it's a response to the trip wire."
Krey glanced up at his visible light display, then an eerie chill ran down his spine, "You might be right... Most of the crystals are cracked. Where are you?"
"I just passed over your location. According to my calculations, I should be passing within a thousand meters of the craft in about twenty five minutes."
"What do you think it's looking for?"
Cassie's voice became somewhat indignant, "Me, Stupid!... If you set a trap using survivors as bait, wouldn't you want to take out any orbiting support vehicles before you assaulted the surface?"
There was a short, uneasy pause, "I'll hurry as fast as I can, maybe we can rendezvous before you get therethen we'll make a run for it through the time continuum."
"Not a chance! Even if you took off now, we'd be rendezvousing in plain sight of this thingwho knows what would happen!"
"Hmm... How are you set for air?"
"I've got an hour and a half before I have to start worrying."
Krey noticed that the metal on the hatch had begun to cool more than he would have preferred; he turned up the torch, then shouted, "I have to finish this while it's hot. I can't hear you, but I'm pretty sure you can hear me. RQ-733 looks like junk. Just fire an attitude motor and put it in a slow tumblelike drifting junk..."

An unexpected smile came to Cassie's face as she listened to Krey's idea over the cockpit speaker.
"...Shut down all non-essential systems, and stay away from the glass. There's enough gaping holes in her to look like junk, all you have to do is play the part. In the mean time, figure out what would be the optimum departure time for us, and program the service tug accordingly; we don't want to lift off and spend three orbits trying to catch you. Krey Altson, over and out."
Cassie nodded proudly, then switched off the communications system.
"Sorry I called you stupid."
Cassie turned her attention to the computer console, then quickly entered a series of commands, which were immediately followed by the subtle hiss of an attitude motor. Less than a second later, the huge, dilapidated hull began to creek and moan as the nose of RQ-733 began to slowly pitch downward.
The slow, gentle tumble of the ancient battle cruiser produced a subtle, artificial gravity, which was caused by the constant centrifugal force of the tumbling craft. Cassie had to hold onto the back of the seat in order to keep from drifting into the forward windows, though she still refused to sit with her legs under the console for fear of insects. An optimistic smile came to her face as she looked at the scattered debris rolling pass the forward windows. On that particular occasion, she found the creaking of the hull to be a comforting sound; she knew if this junk-heap didn't pass as space refusenothing would.

The inside of the disaster shelter had become extremely hot and uncomfortable as a result of Krey's efforts. The General and Chellaina had taken refuge behind the life-support equipment in hopes of sheltering themselves from the three-foot plume of fire, which had been roaring from the hatch for quite some time.
"Will they be done soon?" Chellaina shouted. Her face was streaked with soot and sweat.
The General nodded his reply, "I think so."

Outside, Krey was still struggling to cut through the nuclear-hardened hatch, and had finally come to within a half-inch or so of completion. He was hoping that he could finish the job without using another tip, but the flame, once again, had begun to spread uncontrollably. Reluctantly, he shut down the torch, then directed the head to change tips.
"Are you there, Cassie?"
He listened to the silent receiver for a moment or two.
"Are you there? Come in RQ-733."
When it became apparent that no reply was forthcoming, he relit the torch, then proceeded with the cut.
The fact that Krey did not get a reply brought great concern; he realized that she was probably just maintaining radio silence, though other possibilities continued to haunt him. During the last quarter-inch of the cut, Krey entertained the possibility that RQ-733 had been destroyed by the rogue shipand Cassie along with it. He wondered what he would find at the landing field; was the service tug still there, or would he find something far more sinister waiting in its place?
Krey was distracted from his worries when the latch, along with a heavy chunk of metal, fell to the ground with a thud. He immediately shut off the torch, then stowed the head and brace on a hook at the side of his armor. After allowing the metal to cool for just a second or two, he reached for the hatch with an armored glove, then gave it several quick, sharp jerks.

Inside the shelter, The General and Chellaina rose to the unprecedented sound of the hatch swinging open. They anxiously watched as an ominous armor-clad, painted-face figure stepped through the smoldering threshold into the shelter.
Chellaina looked straight into the cross-eyed, awe-filled face of Hot Frankythen began screaming.
"AHHH! IT'S THEM!!... IT'S THEM!!!"
Krey quickly reached for the catch on the side of his armor, then swung the front armor shell to the side where it latched open with a click.
"It's me, Krey! I'm here to rescue you!"
Krey started for the stranded couple at a trot, though his pace was heavily burdened by the weight of the torch and armor on his back.
"Where's your uniform?" The General asked.
Krey ignored the question in the interest of speed; he pointed to the portable life support unit.
"Is this the equipment?"
The General nodded, "I hope you don't mindwe loaded it up with some of our things."
"Get on, hurry!"
"I'll need a leg-up." The General turned toward the equipment, then lifted a boot.
Krey quickly interlocked his fingers, then bent down near The General's boot. With slow, yet persistent movements, The General placed his foot in Krey's hands, then proceeded with the precariously difficult task of climbing onto the top of the life support unit.
There was an unmistakable tone of relief in Chellaina's voice, "Thank you for saving us, young man. We thought we'd never get out of here."
"Don't thank me yet," Krey was helping The General get settled on top of the equipment, "It's still a long way to RQ-733."
The General managed to find a reasonable place to sit, which was somewhere at the front of the equipment with his legs hanging over the edge. Krey immediately turned his attention to Chellaina. Although he was already burdened with a heavy torch, he still managed to find the strength to wisp Chellaina off her feet and set her on top of the equipment with her legs dangling off to the side.
"Are we at war?" Chellaina asked through a frightened frown.
"I don't knowwhere are the controls for this thing?"
"Back there." The General pointed toward the rear of the unit where an open access panel revealed a wide variety of controls and indicators.
Krey hurried toward the rear of the equipment, then quickly came to a halt as he studied the controls. After a moment or two of head scratching, he looked to The General.
"I thought you said these controls were similar to a lunar-dozer?"
"They are," The General replied in an assured voice, "Just flip the Locomotion switch to Transport."
Krey quickly located the locomotion switch, which was in the Maneuver position. When he flipped it to the Transport position, a short, shelf-like perch slid out from under the unit, followed by two handholds, which came out from the upper rear edge of the unit. Krey recognized the handholds and their associated twist throttles; each throttle independently controlled one of the two tracks under the unit.
An unexpected smile came to Krey's face, "That's more like it."
Krey grabbed onto the handholds, then stepped onto the perch.
"Hang on!" Krey turned one of the throttles backward and the other one forward as he angled the life support unit toward the door. As he rolled the throttles forward to move toward the door, he noticed The General's laser rifle among the possessions that were tied to the top of the equipment.
"What's this?... A laser rifle?"
"Yes," The General replied, "I hope you don't mind."
"Perfect," Krey muttered.

Chellaina and The General were understandably shocked as they passed through the smoking threshold of the disaster shelter; their eyes gazed up at the dark, eerie tunnel in disbelief. Neither one of them spoke until Krey stopped to pick up his satchel of tools, which were laying on the ground at the bottom of the stairs.
"What happened to our house, Fenny?"
The General shook his head, then turned to Krey, who was just stepping back on the perch with a satchel of tools over his shoulder, "What happened here?"
"I don't know." Krey rolled the throttles forward, then the life-support unit began to crawl up the staircase. "We can't make sense out of any of this."