by L S Roebuck
In the chaos, the weaponless Amir, who was still crouched on the floor just a few meters from where Smith lay, saw her stun gun open for the taking. He quickly crawled over and stretched for the gun, hoping that he could recover a weapon and return to cover and survive.
Leo had seen Smith fall, and figuring his days, rather, his minutes, were numbered anyhow, decided now was as good a time as any to be heroic. Johnson's troops were still in a chaotic state from North’s assault. Less than two meters of open space separated the main desk from the overturned table, and Leo sprung into a sprint to cover the distance.
Leo almost collided with Amir, who quickly grabbed the stun gun and discharged in Leo’s direction. At the same time, the leaping Leo pulled the trigger on his assault rifle. Leo took a direct hit from the stun gun, and almost instantaneously lost consciousness. His momentum carried him behind the table, and he slumped next to the fallen Smith, drool running from the corner of his mouth as he twitched from the aftereffects of the stun shot.
Amir rested peacefully on the floor, his arms spread out in front of him, his left hand clutching the stun gun, his head and torso perforated with several bullet holes.
North looked over at the motionless body of Smith, and the twitching body of Leo, and swore again. He looked over his shoulder to his left where Leo had been keeping watch on Dallas, and realized they were now exposed. He saw Dallas standing up, and pulling a pin out of what appeared to be some sort of grenade. North knew he had no time as Dallas pulled back his arm to toss the explosive. North curled up into a ball and covered his head with his arms.
A shot expertly zipped in between Dallas’ eyes. On the far side of the hangar, Marcos DeLeon, the best shot of the Magellan Marines, had emerged from the control center side portal with Tricia Moreville laying down covering fire. Boro and Wong were close behind, armed and armored.
Dallas collapsed, and instead of following through with the throw, his limp, dead body dropped the grenade where he had been standing.
Both Johnson and Kyung-ah, not to far from where Dallas had repositioned, saw Dallas and the armed grenade go down, and they leapt for cover.
The explosion blew twisted pieces of aluminum files and chairs several meters in all directions. While Johnson and his troops scattered to avoid shrapnel, the Marine reinforcements moved to press the advantage. Marcos, Boro, Tricia and Wong all began firing simultaneously and continuously toward the destroyed plexiglass door.
“Fall back, fools, fall back,” Johnson said, realizing that he was going to lose at least half of his recently assembled force. Johnson himself rounded the corner away from the hangar reception door and made for a full sprint towards the Chinatown restaurant at the end of the passage.
“Kyung!” he called, looking back. He saw his friend sprinting behind him, escaping the Marine reinforcements.
In total, Johnson counted ten running with him down the deserted hall. North was going to pay for this, Johnson thought angrily, letting his emotions fuel his hasty retreat.
Boro and Wong immediately starting shifting any large piece of debris or furniture to make a makeshift barrier where there had once been a door to the hangar. Tricia was checking the life signs of the fallen enemies. At least three had only been taken down with stun bolts, and she cuffed their hands and feet where they lay. Most of the Chasm agents who had taken bullets were dead.
North stood up and ran over to Smith and Leo, shouting at Marco, who was chasing Johnson’s men down the hall with warning fire. “We need some medics, Marco!”
“Already on their way,” Marco said as he dropped back to support Tricia.
As if on cue, two military nurses, guarded by a pair of MPs, emerged through the control center side portal. Behind them came Skip and Kora, who hoped to put her civilian nursing skills to work.
“Kora, get over here,” North indicated Leo. “He’s been stunned.”
Skip ran up as well, and looked at North. Skip, not used to seeing so much blood, became nauseous.
“North,” Skip said, “your ear!”
“I’m fine. I’m fine,” North said, waving off his friend. “Help Kora with the others. He was hit by a stun.” North pointed at Leo.
“Yeah, I’m still hungover from the same thing,” Skip rubbed his head, and pulled Leo into a sitting position, revealing the blood-soaked Smith.
Kora kneeled over Smith, placing two fingers on her neck.
“You! You!” Kora pointed at the MPs. “This woman is alive. Help me get her back to the medical center. She’s bleeding everywhere.”
Kora produced a can of foam bandage from the first aid kit she was carrying, and she sprayed it where she thought the bullet holes were — it was hard to tell because of the ubiquitous blood. The foam contained antiseptics and a coagulant and would keep Smith from losing any more blood while being transported.
“North,” Moreville shouted from the makeshift barrier at the front of the hangar. “Moreno wants you back in Cencom ASAP. The Firebird is back.”
North looked at the damaged hangar doors. Thanks to the assault by Johnson, the hangar could not be used without creating a major hull breach.
Kora looked up at North from where she was treating a fallen Chasm agent. The concern in her eyes spoke for her.
“Amberly is trapped out there,” North confirmed.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Capt. Järvinen was attractive for a man with no spine, Kimberly thought, as she ran her fingers through her dark black hair. Järvinen was a tall man and walked with a slight hunch, no doubt from years of walking through portals on the American Spirit with not enough clearance to accommodate his above-average height. He had a muscular build, but not too bulky, and his head was crowned with brilliant white hair.
Kimberly was surprised Järvinen had grown so squeamish, so weak. He hadn’t always been unwilling to get his hands dirty when the greater good demanded it. Six years ago, he’d even airlocked an unfortunate soul who accidentally came across Kimberly’s real identity.
This was the second time Järvinen had visited Magellan. The first time was nearly eight years ago when he was first mate on the supply ship Sucellus from Arara. Of course, Järvinen was already high in Chasm’s ranks even at that time. Järvinen’s mission was to take command of the American Spirit, at the time en route to Arara from Earth, more than two decades in transit. He would intercept his quarry at Magellan.
Järvinen had more than a year to prepare for his ascension to the master of the American Spirit, while waiting for the deep space vessel to arrive. He worked as the dock master for the privately held Estrella Logistics, a Chasm front firm that did long term waypoint supply planning and fulfillment.
When the American Spirit first arrived at Magellan, Järvinen had made friends with the captain, Lars Olaf, who had a weakness for gambling and alcohol. The first officer on the American Spirit, Montgomery Rice, was, unlike his captain, completely by-the-book and incorruptible. Järvinen’s secret Chasm commanding officer, Raven One, gave the order for Järvinen to dispatch Rice in a manner that seemed fit.
While ashore supervising freight transfers, First Officer Rice was crushed to death in a freak “accident” at the Estrella Logistics transfer station. Meanwhile, Kimberly Macready hacked Olaf’s communiqués and found that he had been taking bribes from waypoint residents for transport on the American Spirit — a highly illegal act, as space transport, by law, had to be sold in lottery at a controlled price.
Macready, using anonymous communication, threatened to expose Capt. Olaf. Olaf knew he would be ruined, and probably marooned, tossed off the American Spirit and jailed on Magellan, never to set foot planet side again.
He quickly asked Kimberly through the anonymous communiqué what her terms were, expecting to have to pay a significant portion of the millions of credits he’d extorted out of desperate travelers. She replied with a simple message, “Hire Järvinen as your new first officer and the condemning evidence will disappear.”
Olaf took the de
al, not wanting to look the gift horse in the mouth and counted himself fortunate to not have to part with the ill-gotten lucre he’d collected to set himself up as a king on Arara.
Raven One didn’t know how Järvinen was planning to handle the rest, and she didn’t care. She was very pleased to hear the news that before the American Spirit had reached Waypoint Cortez, Capt. Olaf had developed Deep Space Dissociative Disorder, an all too common occurrence for space travelers who just couldn’t psychologically adjust to years of space travel. Olaf had gone stark raving mad, and as first officer, for the good of the American Spirit, Järvinen had to have the captain committed mid-voyage. Järvinen temporarily assumed command while Olaf recovered.
Of course, Olaf wouldn’t recover as long as Järvinen kept slipping hallucinogenic drugs into the captain’s nightcap. Once Olaf was committed, covertly slipping him the crazy pills was easier; just a simple swap with the captain’s regular medication.
Because of space limitations, psychologically unstable and potentially dangerous individuals had to be incarcerated in the brig unless they were being chaperoned by one of the two mental health professionals that served full time on the American Spirit.
Although the captain was supposed to be on 24-hour suicide watch, Olaf was somehow still able to commit “suicide” within a few weeks of being committed.
Järvinen had already gained the confidence of the senior crew, and the full crew gave a positive vote of confidence, making Järvinen the new permanent captain of the American Spirit. Järvinen held a quick funeral for Olaf, and they buried his body in space without doing an autopsy, sending it on a collision course with a nearby star. Järvinen had confidentially shared the incriminating bribery data with the ship’s chief judicial officer, suggesting Olaf’s guilt got the better of him. Järvinen convinced the JO that nothing would come of publicly disgracing Olaf now, but he’d arrange to return the bribe money to the passengers quietly.
By returning the bribe money quietly, Järvinen made the nearly 100 American Spirit passengers who paid the bribe both love him and fear him. They loved him because they were suddenly tens of thousands of credits richer. They feared him because they knew that Järvinen had something on them, that offering a bribe in the first place was a criminal offense. The offense of making the bribe wasn’t as grave as taking the bribe, but it was enough to potentially get thrown off the American Spirit at the next waypoint. He was able to convert about 90 of those passengers into Chasm agents by the time they reached Arara. The 10 who rejected Järvinen’s recruitment efforts all ended up meeting unfortunate ends within a few months of reaching Arara.
Clearly, the Järvinen who was willing to set aside irrelevant personal morality for the cause of creating a perfect society was not the man who was talking with Kimberly Macready now. She sat on the bridge of the M.S.S. Firebird, stolen days ago from Magellan’s hangar bay, with the help of her daughter and that witless Marine, North.
“Järvinen, I am trapped out here and I can’t land,” Raven One said, “You have to take everyone who is still onboard the American Spirit, find out who is loyal and who will join us. Charge the hangar, then the command center. You have plenty of weapons in the armory. Once you have control of the command center, I’ll figure out a way to get off the Firebird and onto Magellan or the American Spirit, perhaps via escape pod, and I’ll meet you in the control center.”
Järvinen’s image flickered on the magnetic screen.
“That’s not the plan,” Järvinen said. “The plan was for us to wait here on the ship until Johnson and his troops came to us and we were to turn the contents of the armory over to him.”
Sparks was sitting in the navigator’s chair. She was frustrated with Järvinen’s new hesitance as well.
“Listen, Jarve,” Sparks said over Kimberly’s shoulder. “Plans change. Turns out Johnson is the loser we all thought he was, and he isn’t going to get to you anytime soon. So either you prove you are worthy to wear the captain’s bars and assault the command center — or we’re about to flush decades of planning out into space like refuse.”
“Kimberly, tell that whelp to shut up,” Järvinen said through the secure communication line. Sparks seemed unfazed by the insult.
“She’s right, Järvinen, and I’m Raven One to you. Don’t think we are familiar. If I had the chance to put Dek or Sparks in your place right now and put you out in cold space, I’d do it like that,” Kimberly snapped her fingers. “Your time for great things has come, Järvinen. Are you on the side of victory, or are you going to be a frozen body, floating forever in space, waiting for the warm embrace of a star to finally erase your existence?” Kimberly knew she needed his absolute commitment to the task. The value of the carrot with Järvinen had long since expired. The time had come for the stick — the deadly one.
Järvinen obviously was attracted to Raven One, and for a long time, he thought that maybe with her husband out of the way, they could be something more than fellow passengers pushing forward the most significant revolution in human history. But now he realized, too late, that he was nothing to her, just another stupid man caught up in Raven’s magnetic beauty and feminine charisma.
He had laughed when he saw Joti twist in her web, but recently realized he was caught even deeper.
He knew he was powerless to resist her, even now when he had nothing to lose, when he knew he would never be anything more than another peon in the pile of suckers who sacrificed themselves on the fires of her ambition. All his life, the Captain of the American Spirit, the grand man, was master of his destiny. It was all an illusion. Her illusion. He had been her pawn since the day he met her eight years ago. Worse, his power was always hers. Self-hatred oozed from his pores.
“Look, maybe I could muster 100 or so people to hold a gun,” Järvinen said. “We’d lose about half of those at least in the assault. Maybe more. And what am I going to tell the people who might reject us?”
“The time for half measures has expired,” Kimberly said. “Just show a few the airlock. The rest will fall in line. Make sure they understand, either they will join us or die. Report back to me when you have taken the command center.”
Kimberly could taste the victory now, and it tasted like blood. She never thought of herself as one to succumb to bloodlust. But Raven One began to understand now why Alexander cried when there was no more world to conquer. She felt she was becoming a kindred spirit to Joseph Stalin, Che Guevara, Mao Zedong and Sarah Wilmington. They were fellow travelers whose shoulders she was standing on now. They all had visions of a greater good, a perfect society of order, and they were willing to extinguish millions of souls because they understood it was the only way for true progress.
Kimberly realized she was no different. She would kill ten million people if needed, because she knew this was the one opportunity humanity had to shed its corrupt past, full of selfish individualism and greed. The waypoints created the opportunity to start over on a new Earth, but not to carry the sins of the fathers further into space. They had served their purpose, and now they could only be conduits for bringing the horrible legacy of humanity from Earth to Arara. Kimberly would not allow it. Humanity’s new future started today, this day.
If only these fool men could hold themselves together. Men are so rarely balanced, she thought. She thought that men, as a group, had almost perfectly bifurcated themselves. On one side, spineless suck-ups like Joti and Järvinen, who held onto the illusion of power as if that gave them significance, but inside full of self-doubt, mixed with pure weakness. On the other side, boorish bravados like her late husband and that brainless Marine, North. They feign caring and compassion, but Kimberly knew that really, these alpha males used micro-aggressions and misogynistic cultural constructs to dominate mostly women, and perhaps weak men as well. Even though it didn’t have the trappings of power, these men wielded real power, influencing the weaker people in their lives, creating tribes and making themselves de facto chiefs. They had inner strength, and they were real t
hreats to the success of Chasm.
Three and a half centuries ago, society came so close to eliminating religiously imagined gender walls completely, Kimberly thought. But the great Islamo-Occidental War kept faith in the supernatural alive, along with the rest of Western Civilization, and the price of peace was the survival of religion. Kimberly did admit that humanity was probably better off after the alliance of Christians, pluralists, Indian Hindi and Chinese Buddhists defeated the odd axis of totalitarian leftism and Islamic jihad. But the great compromise between the factions ensured religion endured, and Kimberly believed that even the milder forms of Christianity were just vehicles for males to dominate females.
She was disgusted at the memory of being married to a religious man for so long. Christianity was just another reason to burn the bridge from Earth to Arara. Let the Terrans pray to their imaginary gods. We’ll be building a real heaven on Arara.
Kimberly’s thoughts were interrupted when the door to the bridge slid open, and both Kimberly and Sparks looked up to see Dek and Amberly.
“What is the status?” Dek asked. “Did Johnson take control of the harbor?”
Sparks looked uncomfortably at Amberly, and pointed an open hand at the redhead, and spoke to Kimberly. “Well?”
“We can trust Amberly,” Dek said. “She understands the stakes.”
Amberly nodded. “I understand if you don’t trust me, Sparks … mom.” She looked intently at both in turn. “But I am ready to go home now, I mean, ready to find a new home.”
Kimberly looked intently into Amberly’s green eyes. She saw Amberly’s father in her crimson hair, and she doubted Amberly’s resolve. Amberly took her mom’s hands.
“Mom, I love you. I am never going to leave your side again.”
“What is love, Amberly?” Kimberly said. She felt a familiar emotion crawl up her throat.
“It’s my choice to feel what I want to feel,” Amberly said. “So I choose to love you.”