by J. F. Holmes
“Very well. You, Sir, are relieved of duty and under arrest. We shall put you on trial, and you’ll likely die in the penal facility on Mars. Please remain where you are until you’re placed under arrest.”
Diego terminated the communication and called the station security officer.
“Major Hausen, please arrest Doctor Grimar at once. Dr. Stephenson is now in charge of the biological research division. Please call me once you have him in custody and his laboratory secured.” Major Hausen nodded and disconnected without a word. Diego stood and moved across the office, clasping his hands behind his back, and stared out the window.
***
Quish’na peered out the windows of his apartment into the gathering gloom of the evening. The street itself was empty, but the smell of smoke and the sounds of gunfire, sirens, and occasional yelling could be heard through the walls. He let the curtain drop back into place, nervously checked that the front door was locked, then moved the few steps to the small kitchen and regarded the human priest, Michael. He was sitting in a chair that was much too large, even for him, with a glass of water in front of him. He was idly thumbing through a magazine that had been lying on the table, humming softly and tapping his foot to an unheard beat.
Quish’na said suddenly, “What did you say to him?”
The priest looked up. “To who?”
“Herd Leader Ki’Taran. Right before he died. What did you say?”
“Oh. Yes. Sorry.” He smiled sadly. “It was a prayer.”
“What for?” Quish’na moved to the chair across from the man and sat down.
“What do you mean? Why did I pray for him?” The priest answered, “It’s to help prepare his soul for the transition to passing into eternal life.”
Quish’na considered this. “But he’s wasn’t human. How can you pray for someone not of your species?”
Michael smiled. “We’re all God’s children. We all have souls, and we’re all sinners in need of salvation. It doesn’t matter if you’re from Earth with red hair, or from Karan with a shell and fur. We’re all the same in his eyes. Imperfect, but loved.”
Quish’na looked down at his thick hands and fingers, then at the slender hands of the human across from him, and asked, “But what did you say? And what did he say to you? He didn’t speak much English. How do you know he understood?”
Michael closed the magazine and looked at Quish’na. “We’d been speaking of faith on and off for several days. His English wasn’t nearly as fluent as yours, but he understood us without the translators. It was a prayer for him to find peace as he transitioned.” He looked down at his hands. “He wasn’t of the faith, so I couldn’t offer him the final communion, but I did the best I could. He was a good man.”
“What did he say?”
“He said, ‘Thank you’.”
Quish’na nodded and sat quietly for a moment, then said, “Some time, I’d like to know more about all of this.”
Michael nodded. “Sure. As soon as all this blows over, I’d be happy to sit down and talk.”
There came a hammering at the front door. Michael looked at Quish’na as they stood rapidly. “Expecting someone?” Quish’na shook his head. “No, I’m…” The door clicked open, and they heard people enter the hall. There was a moment of silence, then a voice called.
“Quish’na? It’s Thomas. We know you’re here. We’re coming in.” The two traded a glance, then Quish’na shrugged and whispered, “They know we’re here. Might as well.” He raised his voice. “Kitchen.” Multiple footsteps approached the door of the kitchen.
Thomas appeared in the doorway. He looked tired, and his clothing was dirty. He had a rifle slung over his shoulder. He paused and saw the glass of water on the counter. “Hey, water! Do you mind?” Without waiting, he moved toward the table, took the glass of water, and began drinking it eagerly. In the kitchen door, two more human men and a Karan appeared.
Quish’na recognized the men immediately. The man who’d called himself George had been in the ramen shop with Thomas, and the other had been the bearded man in the bar. He didn’t recognize the Karan, but noted that he had armor attachment points on his shell that poked out through his robes. The two men nodded at him. Quish’na noted that they were all armed.
Thomas set the glass down and sighed. “Man, that’s good. It’s been a long day.” He turned to Quish’na. “So, I expect you have questions. I’ll answer them, but we have to get out of here first. The Provincial Police are on their way here as we speak.”
Quish’na’s jaw fell open. “Why? We didn’t do anything!”
George spoke up, “Well, technically, you were part of a plot to assassinate the governor-general.” Quish’na opened and closed his mouth. The man raised his hand. “I know, you didn’t actually do anything. None of us did. We don’t know who set the bomb off, except it wasn’t us.” He looked at Quish’na. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about your boss. He seemed like a good guy.”
Quish’na looked steadily at the man for a moment, wondering if he was being told the truth.
The Karan spoke rapidly in English, with a heavy accent, “We need to go.”
Thomas nodded and jerked his head at the door. “Let’s go, kid.” He looked at the priest, who was sitting very still. “You too, Padre. We’ll figure out what to do with you later.” He gestured at the door.
Quish’na looked at Father Michael, who shrugged and stood. Quish’na stood his ground. “Do we have a choice?”
Thomas just grinned at him. “No. Not really.”
The humans exchanged a glance, and the Karan suddenly said, in their native tongue, “Youngling, the human police are not interested in due process right now. They’re looking for a scapegoat. It can’t be you. You don’t have to trust them, but trust me. Now, let’s go.” Quish’na looked at Michael, shrugged, and followed the Karan out the door.
ELEVEN – REBELLION
Diego glared at the communicator screen and said in a cold, harsh tone, “Dead? What do you mean, dead?” The man on the screen swallowed hard.
“Yes, Sir. By the time we managed to get to him, he’d gotten into the lab and barricaded himself in. He did a data purge on the viral research databases and, as we breached the door, he detonated a charge that vented the lab complex into space. Dr. Grimar was killed, and all the viral cultures were destroyed. The lab computers were destroyed in the explosion, as well.”
Diego said, through gritted teeth, “How long before you can replicate the work?”
The man spluttered nervously. “Well, it won’t be too long, since most of the research assistants were involved in the genetic sequencing…” Diego cut him off with a hard glare.
“How. Long?”
The man swallowed nervously again. “Six months, maybe more. Dr. Grimar was the expert. Without him…well. I’m sorry, Sir. No faster. We just don’t have the expertise.” Diego reached out and snapped off the communicator screen, hanging up on the frightened man, and drummed his fingers on the desk. His intercom chimed, and he angrily pushed the button.
“Yes?”
“Sir. Colonel Antigua is on the line. She says it’s urgent.”
“Put her through.”
Colonel Antigua’s face appeared on the viewscreen. Her face was taut with tension. “Governor, we may have a serious problem. The elevator car isn’t responding to routine communications.”
Diego stared at the screen for a moment before asking, “What exactly does that mean?”
“It means we can’t get ahold of the car operators, nor access the car’s remote overrides.”
Diego raised his voice, “Colonel, I know what ‘not responding to communications’ means! I meant what the hell happened to the hundred and thirty policemen that were in it?” he asked, his voice rising to a scream. He took a breath and forced himself to calm down. “I need to know what the status of those men is, Colonel. The stability of this colony depends on it.”
The colonel nodded grimly. “Yes, Sir. In another couple hou
rs, it’ll be low enough for a flitter to get up there and take a look. Until then, it’s still too high. As soon as I know, you’ll know.” Her image disappeared.
Immediately, the comm chimed again. He snapped at it, “Yes?”
Captain Dhal’s face appeared. He said bluntly, “Sir. We’ve lost Precinct Four.”
Diego rubbed his temple, feeling a headache beginning. “What does that mean, Captain?”
“It means, Sir, that the precinct building is empty. The officers assigned there are gone. When we lost contact, we sent a patrol to check on them. The patrol found it empty, save for a few bodies, with evidence of a firefight inside the building.”
Diego grimaced. “Hostages?”
The chief nodded. “Maybe. Maybe they were overrun and wiped out, but I’d think we’d have found more bodies. They might have bugged out, too. Either way, the building is empty, and the armory’s been cleaned out.”
Diego’s stomach sank. “What did we lose?”
The police captain shrugged. “Small arms, mostly. Rifles and pistols, a few needlers. I’m not worried about that, though. The most worrisome are the crew-served bolters.”
“Why? Why the concern about those?”
The police chief looked grim. “Because our flitters don’t have armor. A crew-served bolter will light one up like a Christmas tree. Until we locate those bolters, I’m going to have to restrict flitter use to essential missions only, for the time being—ammo to the Elevator Base and research facilities, and casualty evacuation.” He paused. “Governor, it might be time to consider relocating some of the families of colonial officials to the station. A lot of them are in the Elevator Base facility anyway. ”
Diego nodded slowly. “As you think safe, send them up, but wait until we find out what happened on the car coming down. Just in case.”
The police chief nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
The acting governor snapped the comm off and stood from the desk. He moved to the picture window and stared down at the city. Sections of power were out throughout the city, leaving large squares of blackness, and he could see the dim orange of fires burning. Here and there, the red and blue flashing of emergency lights were visible. He watched for a moment more, then there was a tap on the door.
He turned and said in a calm voice, “Come in.” His aide, Noki, entered.
He sounded apologetic. “I apologize for the interruption, Sir. Karan Special Emissary Misha’a is on the line and is demanding a conference call.”
Diego raised an eyebrow. “Demanding?”
His aide nodded. “Yes, Sir. Her words, not mine. She’s directly representing the empress, she says.”
Diego’s eyes narrowed and his lips tightened. “Very well. Put her through.” Noki bowed and silently withdrew. He moved to his desk and sat behind it, straightened his suit, and folded his hands. The comm panel buzzed, and he tapped the control.
On the screen, a Karan female Diego hadn’t met appeared. Her fur was meticulously groomed, and her shell had a deep shine. Her clothing was exquisitely tailored, and she wore the Imperial identification medallion, signifying that she was a direct representative of the government and the empress.
He inclined his head slightly. “Madame Emissary. What can I do for you?”
She looked at him coldly and began to speak. “Acting Governor-General Castillo. My government wishes me to inform you that the United Nations Scientific Research Colonial Administration on Karan is in direct violation of the UN-Karan Colonial Establishment Treaty, Provisions Six, Seven and Nine, Subsection Twelve.”
She paused for a moment, and then continued, her expression hard, “Specifically, these are the provisions that require the UN Colonial Administration to protect Karan citizens under UN law while within the colonial boundaries, the section ensuring due process under law, and the section requiring the Colonial Administration to prevent damage to Karan cultural sites and artifacts within the colonial boundaries. Per the treaty, we are hereby notifying you of our intent to enact Section Fourteen of the Karan Citizen Protection Clause. Are you familiar with this clause?”
Diego could feel the fury building in his gut, but managed to contain it. “No, Madame Emissary. If you would be so kind as to refresh my memory…”
She cut him off. “Section Fourteen is the section that authorizes the Karan Government to use whatever military or civil force is necessary to protect our citizens, should the colony’s civil governance systems fail. Here are the relevant provisions for your review.”
An attachment with the Treaty popped up at the bottom of the screen, with the relevant sections highlighted.
Misha’a regarded him stonily. “Based on our assessment, you have lost control of your colony and its citizens. Per the treaty, you have twelve hours to regain control of your citizens, or make appropriate provisions to evacuate Karan citizens from the colonial boundaries. Do you have any questions?”
Diego leaned forward slightly and put on his best neutral expression, one born out of many years of practice. “Madame Emissary, I do apologize. There are some civil disturbances, to be sure, but to imply that we’ve lost control…that’s simply not the case.”
She snapped back, “Governor, you don’t have control of your ports, power generation stations, nor your colonial borders. You cannot maintain order in the streets, and as of thirty minutes ago, you had lost control of two precinct police stations. Your men are barricaded in the research facilities, the Elevator Base, and the Governor’s Mansion. There are running firefights all over the city. You do not control your colony.”
The door to the office opened and Colonel Antigua slid in silently, followed by Captain Dhal. They stood and listened as Diego responded politely and smoothly, “Madam, that simply isn’t true. There are more than enough police to get the colonists under control. We’re using gentle methods, and they take time. We’ll make every effort to protect the Karan living within the walls. Our police have been collecting and bringing them in to protect them. It would be deeply…troubling…if anything were to happen to them.”
The Karan’s eyes narrowed. “I do hope I didn’t just hear a threat, Governor-General. My command of English idioms is poor as yet, so that must be the explanation.” She paused. “You have twenty-four hours to regain control before we move to provide military assistance to Karan citizens within the boundaries of the colony. Do not hesitate to contact us, should you elect to ask for assistance. We will be watching.” The connection terminated, and the gold-on-black symbol of the UN hung in the air where her image had been, before fading.
Diego ground his teeth, trying to control the fury rising inside him. He looked up at his two officers and said, through clenched teeth, “Send a message to Commodore Holmes. We need to talk.”
TWELVE – HAIL MARY
Finally there was light ahead of them, faintly illuminating the long, dark tunnel the small group of humans and Karan had been moving down, illuminated only by a few flashlights. A few more steps, and they stepped out of the small tunnel hewn into the rock, and into a wide cavern.
Quish’na looked around. At the far end, there were two tunnels on either side of the cavern, and a pair of tracks ran between them. It dawned on him that these were the old, pre-first contact tunnels, probably from the First Empire city that predated the human colony by several thousand years. Inside the large cavern, they could see a communication setup with multiple screens, and several humans sitting at them with headsets on, whispering intently. On the far side of the communication equipment there were about a dozen humans clad in dark combat armor that looked handmade, and two Karan warriors in full armor. There were also six men clad in the pristine white armor of the UN police. The diverse group was busy loading magazines, checking weapons, and preparing equipment. They talked quietly amongst themselves, with the sounds of weapons snapping and equipment moving filling the cavern. There were several large bundles of rifles and boxes of ammunition lying nearby.
Near the comm equipment, two humans, a ma
n and a woman, stood with their backs to the entry tunnel. Hearing them enter, they turned. Quish’na recognized one of them; it was the man with the beard from the bar.
The man didn’t acknowledge him, just motioned the group toward the others, and said, “Ok, people. Ten minutes. On me for the final briefing.” The group quieted down and turned to face him. He activated a holoscreen, and a diagram of the space elevator appeared.
“Ok. You all know the plan, but here’s a review for the latecomers. Team One,” he indicated the men in UN police armor, “you’ll be gaining access to the Elevator Base and the security control room, in the guise of a patrol with orders to ensure that the elevator control codes are changed because they’ve been compromised. Once inside, you’ll deactivate the scanners on the cargo platforms, then exfiltrate, taking as many sympathizers out of the facility with you as you can.” A small room blinked at the base of the elevator. “Team Two. You’ll be concealed in the cargo loader that will pass through the deactivated security system, and be loaded in under the pretext of evacuating essential equipment.” He stopped momentarily, regarding the small team. “Your cargo container will have enough internal life support for twelve hours. The trip up will only take six, so you should have plenty of time.”
A man in front raised his hand. “What happens if they find us on the way up? What do we do then?”
The man with the beard grinned evilly. “Well, Sanders, that depends. If you can get out of your sealed container, you might fight, take the elevator, and ride up with leg room. If you can’t, they’ll probably space you. Now, if you don’t have any more stupid questions, can I continue? Thank you.
“Once on the station, your top priority is to seize the two corvettes currently docked, which are the UNSP Vigilant and Monitor. Now, we have friends on the station who will help with that, but they need those guns. Once we get control of the corvettes, with the help of our friends on the station we’ll get the other two, by whatever means necessary. The Observer, which is in orbit, and the Beholder, out near the gate. Of those two, the Observer is the priority. We must seize those corvettes on the station, and seize them fast. They can’t be allowed to launch, or this game is over.” He paused and looked around. “Questions?” There was a grim silence. He looked at his watch, then spoke again, “Five minutes. Padre?”