Before she could pull out her communicator, there was a loud crack, a bullet hammering into the alloyed wall, and she dived behind the door, peering into the corridor, cursing herself under her breath for her carelessness.
“Stay down, sir,” she said. “I’ll take care of this.”
“Watch yourself,” he replied.
She grimly smiled, inching forward, risking the move out of cover into the battered stairwell beyond, looking around in a desperate bid to locate her would-be assassin. There were a hundred places to hide in the shattered building, a hundred places were a cunning man could plot their doom. A loud creaking came from the wall struts, and she looked to the side, spotting more debris falling down to the ground. The building had already been battered in the first wave of attacks. Detonating that bomb so close had done even more damage to the fabric of the building. Perhaps sufficient that it could collapse.
One more reason to move quickly. She had one idea, a desperate one, and after taking a deep breath, she took it, diving out of cover to make herself a target for the assassin, letting him take an easy shot in a bid to lure him out.
It worked, far too well. A pair of bullets cracked into the floor beside her as she ran, her eyes tracking them back towards their starting point, a figure she could barely make out in the shadows. She spun around, losing her footing in the process, and fired, a single pulse of laser energy briefly lighting the ruined space, before fading away an instant later.
She’d had one shot.
She’d missed.
And now, she was about to die.
A heartbeat before her unseen assailant was about to end her, she heard another loud crack, and saw his body tumble from his hiding place, falling down to slump against the stairs, the light draining from his eyes.
It was the man who had accompanied her from the shuttle, the man she had told to go back. They’d had a traitor with them, the whole time. She looked down to see the cold glare of Todorova looking up at her, pistol still in hand, with Rojek behind her, looking nervously around.
“Where there’s one there are others,” he said. “Have you managed to find the President? Commander Corrigan wants to speak to him.”
“He’s in his cell,” she replied. “I could use some help. He’s a sick man, Major. I’m not sure he’s up to whatever the Commander wants him for.”
“He’d damned well better be,” Rojek replied, ignoring Todorova’s glare. “There’s a chance of a ceasefire, the Belters offering a surrender, but they’re making it conditional on guarantees of their safety.” He paused, then said, “It’s a brushfire, Cat. This isn’t an army, it’s a mob, and in there you’ve got the only man who might be able to stop them. Or there’s going to be a massacre, and a lot more people are going to die.”
“I don’t think…,” Carter began.
“I’ll go,” Bellini said, new strength in his face. “I will go where I am needed. Or I will die in the attempt.”
Chapter 17
Corrigan climbed into the shuttle, strapping on a holster as he moved forward to the cockpit, a reluctant Dixon waiting for him in the co-pilot’s seat, completing the final series of prelaunch checks.
“Have I said that this is a really bad idea?” Dixon asked.
“Repeatedly,” Corrigan replied. “Nevertheless, we’re going.”
“I thought there were regulations against the commanding officer of a starship leaving the bridge in a battle.”
“We’re not in a battle, Dix, and besides, technically I’m still a fugitive, wanted for murder, piracy, mutiny and treason. Somehow I don’t think that adding a few regulatory violations is going to add noticeably to the time I can expect to remain incarcerated.”
“Very funny,” Dixon replied. “Course computed and programmed. All planetary defense systems are either disabled or under rebel control. Which doesn’t mean that they won’t try and shoot us down, anyway. Did you manage to get through to Harrison or McBride?”
“No,” Corrigan said. “They’re being insulated, which is one more reason why I need to go down there and poke a stick into the wasp’s nest.”
“That’s an excellent way to get stung. Did I mention that I have this allergy against being shot? My doctor said that….”
“Novak to Corrigan,” the overhead speaker interrupted. “You have launch clearance, all the way. I’ve prepared the communications link.”
“What link?” Dixon asked.
“Thanks, Lieutenant. Keep the home fires burning, and don’t talk to any strange men. That’s my job. Finish the installation of the orbital sensor network, and keep a tight focus on Plato City. If anyone decides to do something stupid, I want to know about it.”
“After all,” Dixon added, “we wouldn’t want them to steal our schtick.”
“Initiating launch sequence,” Corrigan said, reaching up to release the docking clamps, the shuttle drifting away from the side of Avenger for a second before the main engines fired, throwing them down towards the surface of the planet. He looked up at the sensor display, a thin smile on his face.
“About ten seconds, I think,” Corrigan said.
Shaking his head, Dixon replied, “Too many secrets.”
“Not secrets. Just poker. It’s all about knowing when to call a bluff.”
Dixon looked up at his board, and said, “We’re being hailed!”
“I thought that’d do it,” Corrigan said with a smile. “Who is it?”
“Both of them, I think,” Dixon replied. “Patching them through.”
“Commander Corrigan,” McBride began, “You will….”
“I am proceeding to the surface at the request of the Interim President in order to conduct negotiations for a ceasefire and a surrender,” Corrigan replied, not giving his superior officer a chance to finish. “That authority far surpasses anything that you might claim to possess. And if you think I’m going to sit up on Avenger and watch a massacre take place down on the surface, you are very much mistaken!”
“I couldn’t agree with you more, Commander,” Harrison replied. “I’m coming down to join you. We’ve got to bring this to a halt right away, or we risk leaving ourselves completely defenseless against a Belter counterattack. I’m also ordering the defense satellites transferred to Avenger right away, so that you can begin immediate installation.”
Corrigan glanced at Dixon, then said, “Lieutenant Novak will start work on that immediately. I believe our estimate was eighteen hours, including calibration time, assuming there aren’t any surprises.”
“I will supervise the installation myself,” McBride said. “And assume command of all orbital defenses. As per the original agreement.” He paused, smiled, then said, “When the Belters show up, I want to be ready to show them a fight they won’t soon forget. That’s got to be our top priority. We can clean up the mess on the surface later.”
“Unfortunately, Commodore, we won’t be able to bring the dead back to life when all of this is over,” Corrigan replied. “They can’t wait. I’ll see you on the surface in a few minutes, Captain. Corrigan out.”
Shaking his head, Dixon said, “He really doesn’t give a damn, does he.”
“I’ve no idea whether this is just the master plan of using Atlantis as a decoy to hold off the Belters from attacks on Earth, or whether he wants some revenge against the people who destroyed his last command.”
“Or both,” Dixon said. “My experience is that usually, people seeking revenge claim that they have the best possible motives for it. That it all benefits the greater good, that sort of thing. More usually, it’s just an excuse to hurt the people who hurt you.” He looked at the sensor display, and said, “Harrison got moving pretty quick. There’s a shuttle following us down already, and two more heading over to Avenger.”
“Good,” Corrigan replied. “The sooner we can get this mess clean up and get the hell out of this system, the happier I’ll be.” He looked at the stars outside, and added, “This trap can catch us, just as easily as it can
catch them.”
“The Belters?” Dixon asked. “You think they’re playing games again?”
“I wouldn’t rule it out,” Corrigan said, as the shuttle hammered into the atmosphere, flames licking around the heat shield. “It’d be completely in character, after all. As soon as we’re through the ionic sheath, see if you can raise someone on the surface.”
“Aye,” he replied, working the controls. “Looks like the President’s shuttle is heading right for the heart of the trouble. The mob has the Governor’s Residence completely surrounded, maybe five, six hundred people. I think they’re being a little optimistic.”
“Hopefully they know something we don’t,” Corrigan said. “I’m going to follow them in.” He reached up for his respirator, and said, “Don’t leave the shuttle under any circumstances. Keep the systems warm, and plot a course to get us back to Avenger. There’s a good chance that we’re going to have to get out of here in a hurry.”
Dixon smiled, then said, “I think a pretty damned good chance. Don’t worry. I’ll have our escape planned and ready to go.”
The shuttle steadied out, soaring over the desolate terrain. Corrigan looked down at the surface, an uninviting wasteland, roads gouged out of the landscape, leading from the mining settlements to the spaceport at the core, the home of more than ninety percent of the population of the planet. Plato City was a collection of gleaming domes and subsurface shelters, supported by a network of towering wind turbines, perpetually beating the air for power.
It was a completely fragile environment. He couldn’t think of a worse place to fight a battle. In the early days of space colonization, terrorist attacks had taken out whole worlds, simply by destroying one key system, bringing a network down for just a little too long. The hardware had been strengthened, more redundancies added, but ultimately, there was nothing that could be done to fight that most deadly force of all. Human nature.
He could see vehicles racing across the landscape, scurrying in all directions. Mostly rebels, more than likely. Any of the Belters, if they’d had any sense, would by now be in hiding, waiting for a miracle that he was going to have to deliver. There was already too much blood on his hands. The space platform had seen to that. He didn’t want any more.
As the shuttle soared down towards ground level, he could see the crowd gathered around the Residence, flashes of light as laser cannons and older-fashioned weapons fired at the defenses, trying to batter them down. Sooner or later, they’d succeed, and everyone inside would be dead. Along with the bulk of the mob, more than likely.
The President’s shuttle had already landed, touching down a few seconds before, and he brought his own vehicle down alongside, resting on the ground, dust kicking up into the air from the landing thrusters as they fired. With a quick glance at Dixon, he unstrapped the seat restraints and made his way back to the airlock, tugging on the cold-weather jacket he’d need outside. It was a nice day, for Atlantis. Not far below freezing point.
The hatch cracked open, and he stepped outside, a hundred pairs of eyes watching him, looking at his every move. At least some of them knew that he was on their side, that they’d helped the rebels win their freedom, and that bought him at least temporary safety. He looked across at the other shuttle, their hatch opening now, the frail figure of Bellini stepping out onto the plain, supported by Dixon and Rojek while Todorova looked on, rifle in hand.
For a moment, the fighting had stopped, the mob’s attention drawn to the shuttles. Then, one of them saw their new leader, and a chorus of cheers spread across the people, joy and pride on their faces, despite the desperate desolation of the battlefield. Corrigan looked warily at the Residence, its defenses silent for a time, the Governor likely realizing that any attack would end his last chance of living to see the dawn.
“We need a loudspeaker,” Bellini said. “I’ve got to talk to them.”
Nodding, Corrigan reached into the airlock, pulled out a microphone, and replied, “I thought you might say that.”
Bellini smiled, took the device, and said, “Good morning.” He adjusted the volume, turning it up high enough to set all ears ringing, and continued, “Good morning, Atlantis, and it is a beautiful, beautiful day.” The cheers rang once more, louder and louder, the old man fighting to be heard. “Today the sun has risen on a free world, a free people, free for the first time in decades…”
The cheers rose again, louder and louder, and Corrigan felt a surge of warmth, deep inside, the effect of the old man’s words stirring him as it had the rest of the crowd. The past was prologue. They could build something out of all of this, out of the destruction and the chaos, something better than had been before. And perhaps, just perhaps, justify the lives spent thus far.
“Now, our freedom is won, at least for the moment, but to keep it will require greater work, greater sacrifices than we have known before, an endless struggle against the enemies who have oppressed us for so long. That requires, perhaps, the greatest sacrifice of all, for we must give up our revenge.”
The crowd was quiet now, their leader, their hero saying something they found far less pleasing, less satisfying. Corrigan looked around, conscious once more of the mass of weaponry surrounding them.
“We will have to come to terms with the Belt. That cannot come if our first act as a free world is the perpetuation of a massacre. I do not demand that you forgive our erstwhile oppressors. I do not demand that you forget. All I do demand is that you show the same mercy to those who remain among us that we would have prayed to have shown to us. I have agreed that the occupants of the Residence should be turned over to Commander Corrigan. Those who have committed crimes against our people will be tried in our courts, where we will demonstrate what justice truly means. The innocent will be free to leave. If we attempt…”
He was winning them over. The crowd was listening. Though one of them, it seemed, was listening too loudly. There was a crack, the sound of a bullet being fired, then another, and time seemed to stand still as Corrigan turned, trying to find the shooter, knowing what it would mean. Then there was a cry, a bitter, despairing cry, and Bellini fell to the ground, dead, clutching at the bloody wound on his chest. Next to him, Todorova lay, weeping in pain, hand clasped over her shoulder.
She’d tried to save him.
She’d failed.
And the crowd were going to demand justice for the death.
“Into the shuttle, now!” Corrigan ordered, as the mob surged towards the Residence, now determined to take it regardless of the risk, the cost, of how many lives they would lose in the process. “We’re leaving before they decide we’re with them.” He looked up into the sky, and asked, “Where the hell is Harrison?”
“I have a course track,” Dixon yelled. “Ready for takeoff.”
“The other…”, Rojak said.
“Leave it, Major,” Corrigan replied. “We lost. The mob won. And now we’re all going to suffer the cost of that defeat.”
Chapter 18
The shuttle docked with Avenger, the feeds from the surface cameras flooding across the monitors as Carter guided them in. The Residency had lasted for only another ten minutes, the mob finally using suicide bombers to bring them down, the communication channels blaming the Governor for the murder of Bellini, for the death of their hero, their idol.
“What do we do now?” Dixon asked.
“First things first,” Corrigan replied. “Take Todorova down to Sickbay and see what the medical robots can do for her. No matter what I might think about her, she had a serious try at trading her life for Bellini. Meaning that she almost certainly isn’t involved in whatever went on down there.” Shaking his head, he said, “She’s a fanatic. Which makes her too dangerous a weapon to use in this way.”
Nodding, Dixon said, “Which doesn’t mean she might not have some useful information. I’m on it.”
Rojek helped Dixon load Todorova’s unconscious form onto a medical gurney, then turned to Corrigan, and said, “Want some free advice?”
“Get the hell out of here while there’s still time?” Corrigan replied.
“That’s about the size of it,” he said. “Right now, we can pull out without risk to ourselves. The planet’s lost. Write it off. The last hope they had of an organized government is dead, and it’s going to take them a long, long time to recover from that…”
Turning to Rojek, Corrigan said, “That’s it, then? We give up?”
“That was always a risk,” Carter replied. “Commander, the rebels have committed atrocities. Terrorist attacks. I don’t know about you, but this isn’t what I signed up for.”
Looking at the two of them, Corrigan said, “It’s easy. Tempting. We can handpick a few people to take with us. Todorova, out of necessity. Malone. That other crewman of yours, Ulyanov. We can run for the stars and leave the Atlanteans behind to die.”
“That’s what McBride wants,” Novak replied. “That’s obvious. Open question whether he wants to die here or whether he’s planning on pulling out on Icarus before the end, but either way, the result is going to be the same.”
“What about Mathis?” Corrigan asked.
Carter looked at him, and replied, “He’s not the man I knew. Or maybe he is, and I’m the one who changed. He’s down on the planet somewhere.”
“Where?” Corrigan asked.
“He was assigned to Shuttle One,” Ulyanov replied. “They had some sort of special mission. I helped with the briefing pack.” He looked at Carter, and said, “You two are involved, aren’t you?”
“He’s my fiancé,” she said. “Let me guess, Boris. Plato City.”
Nodding, he said, “He and Todorova lead the Blackguards. I suppose you might call them our special forces unit. They do all of the assassinations, the attacks, and run some of the infiltration forces. He was very good at what he did. They worked very well together.”
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