by Paul Grover
“Officer, my aide Ben Jones is somewhere in here. Please afford him the same courtesy as you have me and Ms Wade.”
“No guarantees, but if he turns up, we’ll do our best to re-unite you,” he replied, taking her arm. “Now this way, please.” He turned to the officer who had brought them to him and issued instructions. The young man agreed and led them to a service exit. He opened it with a key card.
Behind her Meyer heard the rattle of gunfire. The policeman moved them on with greater urgency.
“Come on,” he said. Meyer, he could not disguise the panic in his voice.
The stairwell was narrow and lit with dim overhead cage lights. The steep, concrete steps seemed descend forever. They soon arrived at a steel door guarded by a sole officer, bereft of body armour. The man’s blue shirt was stained with sweat, his face flushed. Meyer blinked as she emerged into the thin Martian daylight. Palls of black smoke rose around the city, standing in stark contrast to the hazy red mist that fogged the outside of the dome. People spread everywhere; overstretched police and corporate security officers tried to herd them in different directions but panic reigned. The VIP’s were separated from ordinary citizens; those who ranked highly enough afforded greater protection.
Even terror harbours inequality, she thought.
“What is happening, officer?” Meyer whispered.
“Martian Dawn control the Parliament Building, the Planetary Media Office, and are moving against police and military targets. Their numbers are small but they are well armed and it is going their way,” he replied.
Like Meyer the unnamed police officer scanned the city. Smoke was collecting at the top of the dome, bringing with it an eerie twilight.
Meyer walked down the steps to a waiting transport; the load master blocked Shannon from entering.
“Members of the Senate only Ma’am.”
Meyer surveyed the empty shuttle.
“She is with me and she is getting on this ship!” She shook as anger took the place of shock. The man relented and ushered Shannon aboard.
The craft sat idling for an eternity. Meyer checked her wristwatch. The modest Timex told her a mere eighteen minutes had elapsed. The ramp abruptly closed and the shuttle lifted off the ground. No one else had boarded.
CHAPTER SIX
MIRA groaned and sat up. She pushed clear of the wreckage and stood unsteadily. Her right leg buckled under her weight. A lump of twisted metal was embedded in her thigh. She swayed as she tried to hold on to consciousness.
Death surrounded her. Broken and scorched bodies littered the ground, some so badly burnt as to be unrecognisable. They lay in twisted inhuman shapes, smoke and steam rising from them like ghosts.
She was not the only survivor. Many in uniform were limping or dragging themselves off the field. She tried to find General M’Beki but could not.
Mira flexed her hands; her skin was red and tender from flash burns. She pulled off the eyepatch and tossed it away. She examined the leg wound. Gripping the metal fragment and pulled it as hard as she could; she screamed as it came free. The wound wept blood, fortunately the shard had missed her femoral artery. Her vision swam as the pain dulled to a manageable level.
Over the sound of screams she heard gunfire.
She scanned the stadium; people were running in all directions. Others in the stands moved as one toward the exits.
Through the smoke she saw a man in a Marine Corps dress uniform dragging himself toward the edge of the steps; the explosion had severed his legs above the knees and a trail of blood stained the scorched field in his wake.
Mira limped to him.
“Let me help,” she said. “I can tie the wounds off, so you won’t bleed out.”
The man’s face was soaked with sweat and blood.
“Save yourself, I’m not going to…” he never finished his sentence. His head exploded, destroyed by a high calibre bullet. Mira staggered back, covered with the man’s blood.
“What the fuck?” she murmured. This was bigger than Flynt’s intel had predicted.
Once again a crushing failure for Military Intelligence. If you asked those people to find their own arseholes, half of them would fail…
This was no localised disturbance; this was a war. Martian Dawn had decapitated the Federation and were now setting about the remains of the Senate. Mira wondered if the attack was restricted to the stadium or widespread.
Jon Flynt had feared Conway would make a move against Meyer using civil disturbance as a cover. She was in no doubt the President was dead and that gave Conway his job.
What have you sent us into, Jon?
Mira ran through her options: Meyer would be toward the back of the Stadium; Tish would be in the stands. She keyed the private com-link, static popped and crackled in her ear.
She had to decide, Meyer or Tish.
In the stands she spotted a flash of red hair.
Tish hunkered between the rows of seats. Her body trembled as bullets ricocheted around her. Aside from Zoe Sinclair she was alone.
“We train for incidents like this,” Zoe said. “Hide until we are safe and then try to reach a secure area.”
She took Zoe's hand.
“I need to find Mira…” she said.
“It’s a mess down there; I don’t know how many got out. I understand she is your superior officer, but she would want you to do you duty. Your duty is to get to a place of safety and regroup.”
“No! I’m not in the Navy. She’s my… partner… we came because Aussie Jon thought Senator Meyer might be in danger. We were supposed to get her out safely. We didn’t expect a war!”
“I understand, but right now we can’t help Mira nor the Senator.” A laser blast close by drowned Zoe’s words.
“Come with me. I’ll get us out. We’ll find Admiral Thorn too, I promise you,” Zoe said.
Tish was reassured as much by the confidence and conviction in Zoe’s voice as the words themselves.
Zoe broke cover. Tish followed. She coughed on the smoke rising from the centre of the stadium.
A crowd moved like a river up the steps from the pitch. Tish stopped and stared past them. A sole figure in a uniform stood amongst the dead and the dying. Before she could react, the crowd surged and Tish was swept along with them. Zoe grabbed her arm and dragged her through a doorway to the service level.
“We’ll head for the yellow zone. The external parking area is the official assembly point in the event of an accident.”
“Okay.” Tish followed. There were people moving in both directions, looking for the least congested exits. From what Tish could see there were few that met the criteria. The sound of gunfire was continuous. The high stands made it impossible to judge distance or direction.
“Over there!” Zoe cried. “I know him; he is Senator Meyer’s aide.”
Tish’s eyes followed Zoe’s pointing finger. A young man walked toward them, seemingly oblivious to the surrounding confusion. One arm hung limply at his side; in his other hand he held a battered synthetic leather satchel. His mop of curly hair was full of dust.
Gunfire rattled over Tish’s head. She ducked and ran toward the shell-shocked man.
An impact forced the air from her lungs. She staggered and landed on the concrete floor. She gasped as the world swam out of focus.
She rolled over and blinked.
Have I been shot? No… I’m alive, nothing is bleeding… Zoe pushed me…
“Zoe!” Tish screamed, leaping to her feet.
Zoe’s eyes were wide and fixed ahead of her. Her face wore a shocked expression. Three exit wounds bloomed red on her chest as bullets slammed into her back. She stumbled, fell to her knees and then on her side.
Tish stood paralysed for several seconds, her mind struggling to process what had happened. A man in a D37 uniform stood ten metres away, ejecting the clip from his assault rifle and inserting another.
Time slowed. Tish’s rage manifested itself in a bellow of obscenities, strung together nonsensically. She char
ged at the man. She shifted her weight to her left leg and spun on it as a pivot, her right coming up in an arc. All of her weight propelled her boot forward as her body became a weapon. Tish’s foot connected with the man’s jaw, breaking it and showering the floor with teeth. She landed like a cat and launched herself at the prone assailant. She kicked him unconscious, maybe even to death.
Tish took three breaths and tried to calm herself. Rage and guilt fighting for her soul.
The young man stood dazed and confused.
“Wait!” Tish yelled at him. “I came to help Senator Meyer! I have a ship.”
Trauma and fear haunted the man’s pale face. His eyes were focused on point beyond the horizon.
Tish ran to where Zoe lay. She was breathing in shallow gasps, her eyes wide. She tried to speak and coughed blood.
“I’m sorry, that bullet was meant for me,” Tish said.
“You have to go…” the girl said in a gasp. “Find your friend and…get… off this rock…”
Tish grabbed her hand and held it; it was cold and clammy.
“You’ll be okay, let me help.” Tish knew the wound was fatal, there was nothing she could do, but she had no intention of letting Zoe die alone.
Zoe took a final breath. Her hand tightened on Tish’s before going limp.
Tish was unable to move. The reality of what happened sunk in. Zoe had died to save her; she had to make it worth something.
“Help me,” she said to the man. He dropped his satchel and ran to her aid.
They carefully carried Zoe to the edge of the corridor and propped her against the wall. Tish straightened the woman’s clothes and closed her eyes. She kissed her forehead, silently thanking her.
She stood and turned. “What’s your name?”
“Ben,” the man replied. “Ben Jones.”
“I’m Tish. You have questions and I’ll answer them when I can. Right now let’s find your boss and Mira. We have a ship, we can get you out of here.”
Gunfire echoed at the far end of the corridor. Tish grabbed Ben’s hand and led him away.
Mira stumbled over the cinder running track. The sound of gunfire had diminished. It was mainly confined to North end of the stadium. Sounds were muffled, almost distant. It was as if she was cocooned from the unfolding events, insulated from the violence by a shroud of fear, confusion and pain.
She tried the com-link; still there was no carrier wave.
A big man in a D37 uniform emerged from the smoke, his weapon raised. She staggered and tripped. As she stood, he closed in. His gun was aimed at her head.
“You…” he said. “Who are you?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” she said, calmly.
“Don’t get smart with me. I’m the one holding the weapon.” He spoke with a vicious tone.
“My name is Mira Thorn.”
“It’s you on the banners?”
“You want an autograph?”
“You’re funny. Keep them coming and you’ll be laughing through a hole in the back of your skull.” He paused, uncertainty clouded his face.
“You were on LDC-132. I saw your body; now you are here walking around and breathing like nothing ever happened. So who the fuck are you?”
“You were on Arethon? One of the Mercs? How did you escape? Eden set off that device and only Vic Rybov got out.”
A look of puzzlement crossed the man’s face.
“You know all of that?”
“I was there. You’re right though; I’m a heavy sleeper.”
The man lowered his weapon. “You work for Legion too?”
“The Pharn?” she asked.
“An old guy told me I had work to do. When I woke up in the real world, I was on Mars with a datapad full of instructions. It was days after Eden turned 132 into slag.”
He continued to stare at her.
“What happens now?” Mira asked.
The man shrugged, raised the weapon and pulled the trigger. It clicked. He fired again. It clicked.
Mira took the malfunction as her opportunity. She ran as fast as her leg would allow and headed toward a tunnel leading into the stands. She glanced behind her. The big man followed; he stopped when he realised she had eluded him. Mira kept running until a police patrol told her to stop.
“Miss, please stay where you are. We are the good guys. I know the people in uniform have been shooting. Trust us, let us help,” the leading officer said.
She stopped and gasped air.
“Are you hurt Miss… Admiral?”
“My leg…”
Mira opened the tear in her trousers. The skin was bloody, but the wound had closed; it appeared days old rather than minutes.
“Weird…” she whispered.
An officer gave her some water. She took the aluminium flask and drew a long pull. The warm water eased the dry burning sensation in her throat.
“I have to find Senator Venessa Meyer… it’s important.”
“Meyer?” the man said. “We packed her off on an evac shuttle. She is on her way to the Phobos Orbiter; we are using it as a secure evacuation centre.”
Mira took another slug of water.
“My yeoman is also missing… Tish… Tish Gallagher. She is an ensign. She was in the stands.”
“Name does not ring any bells,” he replied. “Many people died here, but many more got out. I am sure she is fine. Law of averages is a good as anything else right now.”
Mira understood; they used to call it big sky theory. Flight crews believed there was a lot more sky than there was ordinance in it, so the odds would always be on the side of the pilot.
Tell that to Sundown or Joker…
“I need to get to the Marine Barracks.”
The best plan would be to meet up with Barnes and head back to the ship. She still worried about Tish, but she knew the girl would do the same, as long as she could.
The officer pointed to a ramp. The faint ghost of dome filtered daylight could be seen at the end.
She thanked him. He wished her good luck. She ran toward the light and into the confusion outside.
Smoke erupted into the air from fires around the city; the atmosphere was thick and polluted. Mira wondered how much spare capacity the air scrubbers could offer.
Injured and distressed people ambled in the shadow of the stadium; they were mostly civilians, often Martian residents; Mira could see some EarthGov ID badges. There were preciously few Navy uniforms to be seen.
During the war more civilians had been killed by Martian Dawn than by the Navy or the Corps. It seemed to Mira that little had changed.
She keyed her com-link expecting nothing, instead it hooked up a carrier wave.
“Mira?” Barnes said.
“Rich are you okay? Have you heard from Tish?”
Relief was clear in his voice. “She’s here, shaken but intact. She has the Senator’s aide with her. We are on an air transport back to the barracks. We tried to wait, but local law enforcement made us leave.”
“Just get to the ship and stay safe,” she replied through tears of joy. “Meyer has been taken to the Phobos Orbiter. Ask Tish to arrange a flight plan with the Base Commander; tell him it is on Admiral Thorn’s orders.” It sounded odd, fraudulent.
“Okay, understood. Good luck Mira.”
An explosion went off in the distance. She flinched. The air quality was getting worse. She needed to get out of this hellhole.
Mira fought through the crowds. Her lungs burned and eyes stung in the toxic air. As she walked she stared into the eyes of strangers; they were sometimes full of hate, sometimes they mirrored her fear. For her it was different.
Mira Thorn had spent much of her life in fear of the world. She saw danger all around her; it paralysed her ability to make decisions, crippled her relationships; at its worse it altered her ability to perceive the world in a logical way.
She hid it well. Outwardly she was a fleet officer, competent and skilled; underneath she was an orphan of heartbreak s
eeking refuge from reality wherever she could find it.
Prescription medication had helped, nor was she averse to self-medicating; somehow she dealt with it.
Solace lay in control, the only weapon strong enough to defeat the fear demon, to silence her Shadow Sister for a while at least.
Mira would put herself in situations where life and death lay either side of a thin line. As a kid she had climbed dunes and body surfed down the other side. As a teenager she raced J4 JetSuits. As an adult she flew star fighters and drop ships to the edge of the envelope. She used adrenaline to banish the fear and gain control of her life.
Cutting herself with a razor blade was the same deal; you can’t fear pain if you have control over it.
Mira was conscious of the fear burning inside her. Her Shadow Sister had started whispering dark thoughts in her ear.
Only it was not just her she feared for. Tish could have died today, the beautiful red-haired girl who saved her.
So what do you do Thorn? Her Shadow Sister asked. Break it off, send her back to Xander, just so you don’t have to worry about her? All because you are too scared to love?
But that was it, she loved her. She was too scared to tell her, too scared of rejection.
Mira pushed forward. She had covered the length of the concourse and was entering a parking area. Voices and noise crowded in on her mind.
Focus, Mira. It was difficult when the world moved so quickly.
Get back to the ship; get to the Orbiter. Work it out from there. That’s what Tish would tell her.
A local police unit were loading injured people into a civil defence liveried Naja drop ship. She approached the squad leader.
“Excuse me?” she said.
“What?” he turned, anger, stress and fear all present in his face.
Mira drew back.
“I… I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I need to get to the barracks.”
The man was about to reply, he paused, appraising her tattered uniform.
“I am sorry Admiral, for my attitude, as you can see…”
“I understand, but I have to get to the barracks. I cannot explain, it is important. Life and death important.”