A Threat Among the Stars

by Mark Henwick

  There are mercenaries running back from the station. Seeing us airborne, a couple stop and lift plasma rifles to their shoulders just as they disappear into the spreading cloud of dirt.

  There’s a thump from behind, as Kat experiments with the mounted plasma gun. The road in front of the depot explodes, and I imagine the closer mercenaries are too busy hiding to shoot at us. The flashes of those still up at the station warn us of incoming plasma bolts. A couple pass right through the body of the helicopter and cause the whole thing to swing around like a weathervane.

  The pilot curses in his own language as he gets control again, then his voice quiets down till he’s muttering. It’s too noisy to hear, but I lip-read him. He’s changed his protest around: “You die, I die,” he’s saying now. Smart man.

  Kat fires the plasma gun again, but the angle’s not good. Glancing back at the station, I think she may have hit one of the sheds.

  Another couple of bolts hit us. One vaporizes a section of the landing gear just beneath me, and the helicopter lurches again.

  The pilot’s face is pale. He pushes the helicopter’s nose down further and we’re racing away over the broken ground. Low. I could just about reach down and touch the tops of some of the shrubs. Too low for any more plasma bolts.

  That’s the good news. The bad news is that the helicopter’s damaged. I can feel it through my seat, a juddering feeling. Rotor balance maybe.

  I’m putting on the navigator’s headset to talk to the pilot when I feel the ping from my pad.

  We’re too far away from the station, and that hub has been switched off, anyway. We’re kilometers away from any functioning InfoHub connection. A quick glance confirms that Hwa’s using the orbiting comms satellites. That’s really not secure, so whatever’s in the bursts of encrypted data she’s sending, it’s not good news.

  Chapter 51

  Natalia

  Natalia can’t believe she’s blushing.

  Who the nova is this? What have you done with the real me, Yion?

  They’re lying in bed. They’ve been here since the police left, suddenly recalled halfway through searching the house next door. She and Yion have no idea what happened. And of course it would have been risky to go out into the street straight away.

  Yeah. So let’s go back to bed. Oh, Goddess! Yes!

  It’s their first time. But it had been building, building in the background, she realizes now, like one of the electrical thunderstorms gathering over the foothills. And when it had broken, with that first kiss, it’d carried her away in the flood.

  Never happened before like that, she thinks. Didn’t think it could.

  He’d called her name at those final moments, and she’d just dissolved. She’s not quite returned from that yet; she feels more liquid than solid. Doesn’t want to go back. Doesn’t want to even move, as if merely moving would destroy the moment.

  Her own head is trying to end it.

  Because, face it, girl, what more have you got that he’d want? It’s Yion Bey. Bey. One of the Names Among the Damned Stars.

  All that touchy hands and I love you when you’re both going to die and it doesn’t matter.

  All that need to show you’re alive afterwards.

  Won’t last. Can’t last.

  She feels the hard shell trying to grow back and protect her. Needs it back, because this is going to hurt when it comes. When he loses interest. Gonna hurt like hell.

  And then he looks at her, like no one ever has before, and she’s shy and blushing like a virgin, which is ridiculous.

  She wants to pull the sheet up and hide her body, but at the same time, she also wants to throw it aside and melt all over again under his gaze.

  A truck slowly rolls by outside, with a loudhailer announcing food supplies have arrived by train and will be distributed in the Plaza Mayor this afternoon.

  He stirs.

  “It’ll be a trap,” she says quickly. She wants him to stay here. A few more minutes in this perfect place, just them. “They’ll be demanding ID.”

  He nods, slides back in closer to her. “We’ve had to rely on others so far. We can keep going. For a while.”

  “How long do you reckon?”

  He huffs. “Until real hunger hits and it’s a choice between your family eating or some grubby revolutionary who needs food.”

  “What do we do when it gets to that?”

  “Get rid of the police and take over the supplies.”

  “Aguirre said we had to wait.”

  “Zara’s not here.”

  She feels an irrational jealousy at the woman’s name on his lips, a reminder he knows her from before. And another sensation, pleasure, that he appears to be willing to ignore what Zara said they should do.

  She scolds herself.

  Stop thinking like that. Not about me, me, me, girl.

  She actually likes Zara, and Kat. They’re good people, for Names. Aguirre, no less. And she wishes Talan could have stayed. The resistance could use people like her.

  But they all went away on the train, and left her and Yion to do things here in Cabezón. Some of which she agrees are important, and which they should be doing.

  She groans at the thought, covers her face with her hands.

  “What?” He’s laughing at her.

  “We’ve got to get up,” she replies. “Zara said...” she emphasizes the name slightly, pushing, needing to see what his reaction is. “She said we need to record what’s going on. If they’re using the Plaza Mayor, we’ll be able to film it from the library. I guess we need to get in now, before they start.”

  “You’re right,” he sighs. “And then use those hacking tools to send the video to her friend in the Xian delegation. And we need to talk to other cities.”

  He heaves a sigh and lies back with his eyes closed.

  She nudges him. Again. He abruptly throws all the sheets off and props himself up on his elbow, looking her up and down.

  She blushes again, but refuses to cover herself up on principle. Besides, it’s hot, the way he looks at her.

  He leans over her, kisses her forehead.

  “I love you, Natalia.”

  His pad pings at him, covering her embarrassing inability to form words, let alone a response.

  What’s wrong with me?

  “We’re safe. They stopped just as they were searching next door,” he says to his caller. “No idea why. Do we know who got caught?”

  She can’t hear what the other person says, but if it’s a list, it goes on too long.

  Others join the conversation; she can tell from the quiet tone announcing new people. Even though they’re using encrypted channels through the InfoHub, it’s not safe communicating like this, at this length, but everyone clearly feels they’re running out of time.

  He explains to the others the comms apps that Zara has left them, and the apps get copied across as they speak.

  Suddenly remembering she can’t hear the conversation, he switches it to loudspeaker.

  “...spoke to a contact I trust in Lourdios,” a woman is saying. “She says the police are loading people without IDs onto railway trucks. Word is they’re being sent to Xorio.”

  “Xorio? There’s nothing there.”

  “Exactly.”

  There’s a long silence.

  “They’re sending them there, locked in railway trucks,” Yion says. “They’re just going to leave them to die. Blame some official.” His voice is harsh with anger, and no one argues against him.

  “Can’t let them do this,” another one says.

  “No.” Although they haven’t had much of a hierarchy in the resistance, Natalia hears Yion take control with that one word.

  “First things first. Anyone with an ID, get down to the Plaza Mayor and get food. Matxita?”

  He uses a code name, and the woman who spoke about her contact in Lourdios answers.

  “Yes?”

  “Take your friends and make multiple recordings of what happens in the plaza
from as many angles as possible. The top of the library as well as among the crowd. All of them with synchronized timing displayed on the video. Transmit it real-time to the contact in the Xian delegation.”

  “Will do.”

  Yion pauses, bites his lip, takes a breath. “Zuhain?”

  Another code name. A man answers. “Yes?”

  “I’ll need your stores and a couple of helpers. The line gets cut tonight.”

  It’s a shock like a punch in her stomach. Natalia swallows. The ‘stores’ are explosives. Yion intends to blow up the railway line.

  It’s started.

  “It’ll mean...” Someone starts to speak and stops.

  “Yes,” Yion says. “The code is La Coruña, my friends. La Coruña. You have your tasks.”

  It’s the ultimate code word. The uprising has begun. Small, quiet steps now, but once the explosions go off, the resistance in Cabezón will fight with everything they have.

  They can’t delay and wait for others to be ready. They can’t let thousands of innocent people be rounded up and transported to Xorio, to be condemned without trial to starve to death. But in preventing that, they reveal themselves to the government.

  Zara is right. It would be better if everyone rose together.

  They don’t have that luxury. They have to do what they can, here, and hope others around the planet join them.

  Natalia is not stupid. Cabezón is where the Syndacian mercenaries happen to be based—it’ll be where the government’s response falls first, and falls hardest. It’ll be up to the resistance in Cabezón to ensure that the mercenaries are so depleted that they will not be able to continue to repress the rest of Newyan. She has no doubt that the resistance in Cabezón will do their duty, and no doubt what it will cost.

  Natalia starts dressing. A sense of calm has come over her.

  It’s going to get bloody, but whatever happens, she intends to be with Yion for the rest of her life.

  Chapter 52

  Sánchez

  There’s a shocked silence gripping the room; everyone is incredulous, staring at the wall of video images without being able to process what they’re seeing.

  The two feeds from the helicopters have stopped: one camera blown up a second after it showed a runaway forklift truck bearing down on it, the other switched off a minute later. Multiple feeds from the helmet-mounted cams of the Syndacian mercenaries at the Orbaiz railway station are swinging backwards and forwards, reflecting their utter confusion and complete impotence once the stolen helicopter has raced away.

  She’s made us all look like fools!

  “Switch them off,” Sánchez says hoarsely.

  The video feeds are wiped, to be replaced by the symbol of the Bureau of Justice—the goddess Themis, with her sword and scales. It is infinitely familiar to him—he has seen the statue thousands of times, and yet today, the figure seems changed. More alive than the tall, cold statue outside his office. To his eyes, she looks, just at that moment, as if she could be Aguirre herself: the personification of law and order; the one who measures deeds impartially and objectively; the one who carries the sword, symbolizing the power of the law.

  He’s not just another lawyer; he’s a man who started his career with a deep conviction, a near-fanatic belief, that the rule of law should be supreme. He believed in Themis.

  And now...

  Sánchez shivers with a sense of dread, as if he’s facing something truly unstoppable and implacable. He knows how those scales would tilt, if his life were measured in them today.

  “Options?” he snarls. “The remaining Syndacian helicopters near Cabezón?”

  “They’re all the same type, sir. They all travel at the same speed. They would be two hours behind.”

  “Skimmers? Show me what we have.”

  Themis disappears, to be replaced on the screens with a map of Newyan.

  There are a number of skimmers: four squadrons deployed in remote bases. One of his staff feeds in their range and speed, another, the expected track of Aguirre’s stolen helicopter. The skimmers are incredibly fast, but not quite fast enough. If she intends to come to Iruña, she’ll get here before the skimmers can intercept.

  As he absorbs that information, the last voice he wants to hear slices through the quiet of the control room.

  “Incompetents! How fortunate I don’t depend solely on you.”

  Ministro Berges, flanked by her guards, has entered.

  There’s nothing he can say about the debacle at Orbaiz. Instead he asks: “How do you mean?”

  “As a fail-safe, I’ve closed all access to Iruña. Every road, every gate is closed by the only people I find I can trust, the Presidential Guard.”

  Sánchez knows it can be done. Iruña had been built during the turmoil at the end of the last Expansion. The inner city has the configuration of a fortress, with limited means of access. It is entirely possible to keep it isolated from the outside.

  Berges is not finished.

  “Still, we must not be complacent. I refuse to allow this criminal to dictate how and when we must act to prevent her.”

  “Why not just wait until she hands herself in at one of the gateways?”

  “You’re being a fool, Sánchez. This woman is part of a terrorist organization. Haven’t you wondered why she visited Cabezón? It’s obvious! She went there to collect some device. She could have a nuclear bomb, or nerve gas.”

  Sánchez cannot speak, but he dare not look away, either. Berges’ face is mottled. He notices for the first time, she has a twitch at the corner of one eye.

  “We have to stop her now.”

  “How, Ministro?” One of Sánchez’s aides asks.

  Berges straightens her back.

  “The destroyer Biháriz is in orbit,” she says. “Get me a link through to her captain.”

  Sánchez clears his throat. “You have Commander Tiziana and her Executive Officer under arrest, Ministro, for the decision to fire missiles to drive off the ‘pirate’ attack on the Xing Gerchu. That’s why Biháriz is still in orbit.”

  “Well, there will still be someone in command! Get them on the comms. Now!”

  There’s a frantic scrabble, partly because Sánchez is still operating from his house, and signals to the destroyer have to be cleared through his own Bureau and the Bureau of Defense.

  It’s fourteen minutes before the connection is made, and Berges has spent the time pacing like a caged animal, refusing a seat, refusing refreshments, refusing even to speak to anyone. Her mood has clearly not been improved by the delay. Every time she turns, she glares in Sánchez’s direction.

  Finally, the screen fills with the image of the officer left in charge of the Biháriz.

  “Ministro Berges, Lieutenant Abad, at your service,” he says, immediately nervous and hurriedly corrects himself. “I mean, Captain Abad.”

  The senior person on the ship is the captain, however temporary that may be.

  Abad ignores Sánchez, even though, technically, he is the current Ministro of Defense. Sánchez is quite happy with this. He knows exactly where this is going and he has enough on his conscience.

  “Captain, circumstances have conspired against our planetside forces,” Berges says, “and we currently have an escaped and extremely dangerous criminal in a stolen military helicopter, flying towards Iruña. It is fortunate that the Biháriz is in a position to assist us.”

  “Yes, Ministro?” Abad is puzzled. He clearly has no idea what he’s about to be asked to do.

  “Captain Abad, you are ordered to destroy that helicopter with your plasma cannons. The tracking signal from the satellite is being sent to you now.”

  Abad’s eyes bulge.

  “We... I mean—” He gathers himself. “The plasma cannons we have mounted on the Biháriz are intended for space combat. They are hugely powerful, of course, but the accuracy of firing one of our cannons through atmosphere...” His eyes flicker to another screen, and he continues. “Firing an oblique shot through at
mosphere, from high orbit, I cannot guarantee—”

  “I am familiar with your weaponry, Captain, including the dispersal associated with firing them into atmosphere. I am therefore authorizing the use of the entire broadside.”

  Abad’s jaw drops. “But,” his voice has become hoarse, “the extent of destruction...”

  “I am aware of the performance of the weapons. Proceed with your orders.”

  Abad tries again. “Ministro, the TSS Annan is in orbit, barely a few thousand kilometers from us. They will observe—”

  “They will observe that we are in the process of eliminating terrorists, by the means we deem suitable and available for the task, a decision forced on us by the earlier, inefficient attempts at apprehension by officers who failed in their duty. Are you going to similarly fail in your duty?”

  Abad’s mouth snaps shut. His hands move over controls. When he speaks again, his voice is very quiet and precise. “No, Ministro. As per standing orders for home orbit, our weapons are not deployed and gun crews are not at their stations. The Biháriz will execute your orders to fire, when ready, a full broadside at the helicopter’s co-ordinates, as provided by the tracking satellite. That will be in... four hundred and twenty seconds. In that time, the Biháriz will maneuver with all speed to reduce the distance and angle of fire. We could continue maneuvering to improve the targeting—”

  Sánchez understands what he is trying to do. The plasma bolts will continue, even those that strike the helicopter, and expend their full fury on the ground below. An oblique angle will spread the area of destruction over tens of kilometers. Even a straight down broadside, with the destroyer dangerously skimming the planet’s atmosphere, would wreak an area of utter destruction a kilometer wide.

  But Berges cuts the young officer off. “You are ordered to fire as soon as the cannons are ready.”

  Chapter 53

  Zara

  Hwa doesn’t leave it all to the bursts of data she’s transmitting; she talks as well, or rather gives orders.

  “I need the pilot’s pad.”

  Talan has it. She’s switched it off to disable tracking, but Hwa tells me to switch it back on and feed in a series of instructions.