Libor: Katana Krieger #2

by Bill Robinson

  "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" He screams, the pan having intersected a couple small targets between his legs with a lot of momentum. I end up sprawled on the tile floor, no need to tell you whether my left arm enjoyed the exit from the cupboard, I give it an acknowledgment by way of a sizable grunt. Then I roll onto my feet, arm's length from where my assailant has fallen onto his knees.

  The pan is still in my hand, and I swing it back toward his head, which is now level with my stomach, full twist of my hips behind it. The heavy iron hits, creating a crunching sound that makes me cringe despite his evil intent. No sound comes from his mouth this time, his eyes go blank, and he simply falls forward, his head bouncing off the edge of the aluminum where I had been hiding. He comes to rest at my feet, a tangled mess, blood coming from his nose, though that's not where I hit him.

  His weapon skitters across the tile, and I skitter after it, dropping the frying pan as I go. Between the ah, the grunt, and the sound of iron pan on ceramic tile, there's no doubt that Rat heard enough to be hard on my heels.

  I grab the gun, make a quick check to ensure there's a round in the chamber, more in the clip, and the safety is off. It's a Smith and Wesson, and it's good to go.

  Takes me three steps to get back to the counter, I kneel behind it, my right arm steady on the cool aluminum top, the nine mil facing toward the approaching rodent. My left arm is limited by the cast, it's down by my side, unable to help.

  Rat steps into view. It's dark near the buffet, but there's light out in the street. Rat appears as a black eclipse across the hazy room before me.

  "Stop! Drop your weapon." My Captain's voice ought to work here too, especially if he's really ex-Marine.

  He doesn't reply, and I can see his weapon start to rise as he works to find me.

  "Don't!" My command doesn't work, he's got me located now, and the pistol in his hand comes up faster. I have no choice.

  There are two muzzle flashes, almost simultaneous, but in opposite directions. His bullet whizzes by my head, close, but no damage done, ricochets off the back wall and out into the dining area. Ahead of me, there's a spray ejecting from Rat's chest, must be blood but there's no color in the dim light, just black and white and grey.

  I do my best not to move for 20 seconds or so, watching the body on the floor in front of me, and the one next to me. Neither moves.

  Quickly, but not quietly, I stand and move around the end of the counter, stepping toward Rat. The gun in my right hand stays at the ready.

  A foot from his body my bare feet encounter liquid, warm, wet, sticky. I still can't see its color, but there's only one it could be. I put my right foot out, my toes grabbing his fallen firearm, and I flick it toward the tables to my right.

  The giant breath that's been holding in my lungs for seems like a couple hours finally releases, part of trying to gather myself together. What I should do next should be obvious, but it's floating in a cloud out of sight.

  Fortunately, there's commotion in the street, two Marines in full battle armor dart past the entrance, two rifle muzzles, probably with hidden Marines attached, slide around the edges of the restaurant entrance, their owners hidden behind the walls providing cover. Shortly, there are four rifle muzzles, two on each side. If I had any brains, I'd yell something, but I'm too entranced watching them and too miffed that they took so long to get here.

  Suddenly, two more armored Marines are in the middle of the street, assault weapons facing essentially right at me, though I'm sure they can't see me given the bright lights out there and the much dimmer space I'm occupying. Then from each side, one of the Marines hits the ground and slips under the gate.

  "Boys," I yell, assuming that they are boys, "You're a little late."

  "Identify yourself." It's the computer enhanced voice of battle armor, sounds like it's one of the two in the street, but my directional sensors may be acting up.

  "Krieger. Captain. Union Navy. Two bad guys down, we need medical help now."

  "Bryant! West!" I assume he's yelling at the two in with me. "Stand down. Doc, you're on." The two Marines stand up, their rifles pointed mostly my way, but partly down. Well trained and properly suspicious.

  A woman in standard dress with a large backpack appears, slides under the gate with some difficulty. She's walking toward me when the lights go on, and I hear the door behind me open. I take a quick look, it's a middle aged man, peeking out to see what's going on. Probably the owner or manager. He's got some unexpected cleaning to do, going to need some bleach.

  I look back, and in the bright LED light check out the scene beneath me. The medic is a couple steps away, but there's no reason for her to be here. The pool of blood, red now in the harsh light, is too large. My round went into Rat's chest and stayed there. He's face down in the blood, his back unmarked.

  She stops at his body anyhow, reaches down to check for a non-existent pulse, stands slowly and looks at me.

  "There's another behind the counter." She moves quickly that way, disappears briefly behind the aluminum as she reaches down, and reappears seconds later. No words, but apparently I wield a deadly fry pan as well.

  There are four Marines in the buffet by the time she finishes and reports, not sure how she knows which one to talk to, but as long as he knows, that should be enough.

  "Major, they're both dead. We need the coroner."

  "Already on his way." It's one of the two to my left, but I can't tell which one. Then the closest one clips his weapon to his armor, reaches up, unlatches his helmet and removes it. Close cropped black hair, a hard square face with grey eyes that some silly novelist might call "steely." Actually, I think there's a smile in them, and something comforting as he turns them on me.

  "Captain, I'm Major Page, are you okay?"

  I don't even dignify that with a response. Instead I give him my best "you've got to be kidding me" look. He walks over and takes the pistol from my hand. Six foot two. The Major, not the pistol.

  "I'll take that as a maybe. You up for giving a statement?" I continue to stare into those eyes, my look unaltered.

  "I'll take that as a yes." He turns his head toward the man behind him. "Bryant!"

  "Yes, sir!"

  "Get your team in here, do the forensics. I'll get the Captain's statement. Make sure to interview the civilian who just ducked behind that door."

  "Yes, sir." Bryant takes his helmet and gloves off, signals for the others to do the same. "West, you and Randle both get your kits, on the double." A couple yes sergeants ring out, and they hustle toward the street.

  The Major has moved to my right side, I didn't notice.

  "Captain, why don't we grab one of the tables in the back."

  "Aye. It's Katana, please."

  He sticks a still armored hand out in the direction he'd like me to go, and I walk that way, not without noticing the trail of bloody footprints I'm creating with every step. I pick a table where I can sit with my back against the wall, and plunk my butt down in the plastic chair, suddenly tired, more tired than I can remember ever being.

  Major Page stops long enough on his way over to steal a bottle of water from the cooler, open the top and set it in front of me. Then he sits in the chair opposite. I wonder briefly if the plastic can stand the weight of him and all the armor.

  "I have my recorder on, why don't you start at the beginning."

  I look at him, still not sure what I think of him, not in a good mood. My arm is yelling at me, the hair is sticky with ketchup, my feet covered with blood, my nerves are, well, not shot, but shaky.

  "I was born in Boulder Memorial Hospital on December 13, 2455. I spent the next five years..."

  He puts his now human hand on mine. I stop talking.

  "Take a minute, go when you're ready."

  I drink about half the water in a series of small gulps, spilling a little down my chin. He goes and gets me a napkin to clean up.

  "Katana, we can do this in the morning if you'd prefer, but I'm sure you know it's better to do inte
rviews when the memories are fresh."

  "Aye." I take another swig of the water, followed by a big breath, then a bigger exhale.

  "I met Admiral Benson at the Bar S for dinner at his request."

  "Did you tell anyone you were coming?"

  I think for a second. "No."

  He pulls out his pad, makes a note. Betting it says, who did the Admiral tell? I don't tell him everything my butt and I know about the extent of the security breaches around here, partly because there's no proof, and partly because I don't want to be here until Thursday.

  "Go on."

  I tell him about seeing Rat and his buddy, about being suspicious as I walked out. I don't let on about which part of my anatomy sounded the alarm. I take him through the story, with an interruption every 10 words or so. He knows his business, no question about that, his questions are right on, clear, concise.

  Benson and six more Marines show up half way through the story, he says nothing, just pulls up a chair and listens in as I describe the assault of the domestic goddess followed by the death of a Rat. I find myself sort of annoyed that he's here with me and the Major, not sure why.

  He interrupted only once, and that to say the words, "Frying pan?"

  I admit that I'm not very good in the kitchen, or wasn't before, until I figured out a new, better use for one.

  It's almost midnight by the time the story and the questions are over. As some famous person once said, I think I'm the tiredest person on earth.

  "Anything else you think I ought to know?" He's honestly asking, and I'm dishonestly going to answer.

  "No, I think you've been very thorough."

  Page looks at Benson, who non-verbally suggests the Major leave us.

  "Then if you'll excuse me Captain, I'll go check on my team."

  "Katana."

  "Yes, sir." Major may sound better than Captain, but in the world of ranks, Marine Major = Navy Lt. Commander. He'd have to be a Colonel to be my equal, and a General to rank me. He slips off toward where the two bodies are still unmoving and unmoved. Possibly as uncomfortable with first naming me as I am when Benson tries it on me.

  "Katana," Benson starts in, "My fault, I should have provided security."

  "No sir, if we're not safe walking around our highest security facility, there's something wrong above both our pay grades."

  "Agreed." He turns to the Marines trailing him. "Corporal Marshall. Corporal Eller."

  Two ramrod straight corporals answer in unison. "Yes, sir!"

  "She's all yours."

  "Yes, sir!"

  I'm not sure what that means. "Sir?"

  "Captain, if you're not aware of the relationship between barn doors, horses, and bad things, you might want to search it. Otherwise, take these two as my apology."

  "Thank you sir." I don't tell him I've used that exact theory recently myself.

  "No, truly my fault we're here." He pauses a second, then goes back to being my boss. "We're not changing the schedule, I'm thinking that the sooner we get you back into deep space, the better."

  "Aye, sir, I couldn't agree more."

  He gets up, signals me to remain seated. "Make sure the Major has everything he needs before you go."

  "Aye, sir."

  There might be a double entendre from the boss in there, though I might just be imaging it. Don't ask him, and he grabs his four Marines and heads out, not even a parting salute. The Major is back in less than 30 seconds.

  "Sir, you are free to go."

  I give him a smile, not really one of my better wry ones, but it's after midnight and it's been a long day.

  "Thank you, Major. Do you have a first name?"

  "Carl, sir."

  "Carl, I'd like an update on what you find, please, after you get everything finished."

  "Yes, sir, it would be my pleasure." A double entendre from a Marine too? Again, not sure. I finish my water, my hands still a little unsteady, then push the plastic chair backwards, and manage to stand up without looking stupid.

  "Thank you, Major, you know where to find me." A quick salute from me, a solid return from him, and I head for the now fully open gate, my twin corporals trying to keep up.

  We march in silence around to the transport gate, push the button for the train. It's already here with us, the door opens and we step inside. I pick a pole and grab a hold, my bare feet unhappy on the velcro flooring, quickly there's a corporal in front of me, and a corporal to the rear of me. The train detaches from the station and slows, our weight departing with every foot we travel. Finally, the train comes to rest, and we return to weightlessness, floating back into the military portion of the station.

  We get over to the travel tubes without incident, let the air take us up to the BOQ floors, though I exit a floor before my quarters. That does not excite my corporals.

  "Sir, we were ordered to take you home."

  "I always take the long way home, Corporal. Please follow me."

  The bar is getting ready to close, it's past last call, but I'm thinking I'll be okay. Amy, my favorite bartender, is still there being the ultimate stereotype: cute, blonde, low cut leather, white towel in one hand wiping out the inside of a dirty drink glass. Should call everyone "buddy," but doesn't.

  "Katana, you're up late."

  "Aye, I found these two Corporals, and we're headed upstairs to my place. Can I get an iced tea before I go?" My bodyguards aren't laughing.

  "One Long Island to go." She smiles. "Nothing for your friends?"

  I turn to them.

  "Gentlemen, can I buy you a drink?"

  "No, sir." It's Marshall, he must be the senior.

  "Two bottles of water, Amy, if you please. Put it all on my tab, and throw in five for yourself."

  "Roger that." That's Navy talk, not bartender talk, but I think it makes her cuter to the guys who sit at her bar.

  Two minutes later we're headed upstairs, five minutes later they're searching my quarters, me floating with my back to the door. Once they're convinced we're alone, they float my way.

  "We'll be just outside the door, sir."

  "Thank you, Corporals, if you need anything, please fell free."

  "I think that's our line, sir."

  I give them their water bottles and a nicer salute than I gave Benson, then send them off to guard me. I triple check the lock, silly given the Marines outside are far better security than a little piece of metal, then flop, if that's possible in zero gee, onto the couch.

  The rum was half way gone by the time we got here, and it's completely gone in two swallows after arrival. Even with the alcohol, my left arm is throbbing, my head is spinning, and the hair is a mess. I float over to bathroom, take off all my clothes as gently as possible, and hop into the shower. Ten minutes later, and still somewhat wet, I turn off the lights, and slide into the sleeping bag.

  Despite being the tiredest person in the entire universe, sleep escapes me. My night is spent lying in the dark, staring into space.

  Chapter 3

  I'm out of my bag at 0600 and, after two aspirin, a brief workout, and a briefer shower, the Corporals and I are on board Yorktown at 0700 to grab a new pad, the life support systems in my cabin set on max, drying the hair in a manmade windstorm. I took the memory card out of my old, destroyed pad this morning before we left, and it appears to be undamaged, but I won't know for sure until the new pad runs it's diagnostics.

  While it runs, I give in to the pain in my arm and make an emergency stop at Sick Call.

  The clerks slide me to the front of the line, I suspect due to my Marine escort, aided by my grumpy face. In floats the same doctor I saw last time, who gives me the same tsk and the same complaints, before re-installing the same cast after re-running the same tests. He gives me a bigger bottle of bigger aspirin and sends me on my way, reminding me to take it easy for a month and come back to have the cast removed.

  I manage to get to the conference room on time despite my desire to play hooky, grab a tube of water and down a coupl
e of the horse pill sized aspirin before heading to my usual seat in the back. My Corporals take off to get some rest, probably comparing notes on the mental issues of their charge. There were two Marines in full battle armor with maximum weapons suites standing outside the conference room door. I'm probably pretty safe.

  A small rectangular box, red velvet exterior, is waiting for me on the table. I know what's inside, it means the Admiral was up early too. He's here, all the other stars that have been keeping us company here as well. I nod my thanks when he looks my way.