by Piers Platt
“The ship’s in there,” she reported. “Boarding ramp near the bow, with an armed guard watching it. Beauceron, can you get me a forklift?” A set of work coveralls began to take shape on her Forge’s tray.
“Why?” Beauceron asked.
“So Vence and I can drive in there and pretend to be lost,” Paisen said.
Beauceron hurried back over to the roadway. Waving his badge, he flagged down the next forklift that drove past. Paisen pulled the coveralls on, ditching the suit jacket she had stolen from the Senate Guard.
“No offense, but I’m not letting the two of you go in there without us,” Atalia said, reaching for the set of coveralls on Vence’s tray.
Paisen shrugged. “Suit yourself. Vence, bring Beauceron in as soon as we take the guard down.”
“Roger,” Vence said.
The forklift, with Beauceron hanging on to the side, pulled up a second later.
“I’ll get it back, right?” the operator was asking.
“Of course,” Beauceron said. “We just need it for a minute.”
The operator stepped down reluctantly, and offered the seat to Paisen. Atalia squeezed in next to her.
“Be careful,” Beauceron told Atalia.
“Yeah. Let’s go,” she told Paisen, who noted the younger woman had suddenly blushed.
Paisen took a second to figure out the vehicle’s controls, then started the forklift up and headed for the bay. Atalia tucked her pistol into one of the pockets on her coveralls.
“Are you and Beauceron a thing?” Paisen asked.
“What?” Atalia asked, surprised.
“You just seem pretty close,” Paisen said, arching an eyebrow. “You had the door open between rooms in your hotel, and now he’s all worried about you.”
Atalia’s blush deepened. “We’re just partners,” she said.
“Mm-hm,” Paisen said. “Well, good for him.”
“Drop it,” Atalia said, annoyed. Paisen smiled.
They turned the corner into the bay a moment later, and the squat shuttle appeared before them – a white-grey body with short, curving wings and a large bank of engines at the rear. The guard at the base of the ship’s ramp stiffened, and his hand dropped to his holstered pistol. Paisen kept one hand on the wheel, and picked up a digital clipboard hanging from the forklift’s console with her other hand. She drove straight for the guard. He held up his hand as they approached.
“I need you to turn around and leave,” he said.
Paisen stopped the forklift a few feet away, and held up the clipboard. “This is twelve-oh-three, right? I’ve got a work order for this bay. Supposed to be unloading a dozen pallets.”
“No, that can’t be right,” the man said, frowning.
“Look, it says it right here,” Paisen told him, and she moved the clipboard closer to him, simultaneously revealing the pistol behind it. She fired two rounds, hitting him in the chest, and he dropped like a stone.
Atalia reached the ramp a split second after Paisen, and the two women bounded up it, pistols at the ready. At the top of the ramp, the ship’s corridor divided.
“I’ll go left,” Atalia said. Paisen nodded, and moved to her right.
Around the corner, the corridor ended abruptly at a sealed hatchway. Paisen took her grenade out of a cargo pocket, and then tapped the hatch release with her pistol. The door slid open, revealing three crew members gathered around a mess table, eating. They looked up at her in surprise. Paisen lobbed the grenade, and it clattered across the table, knocking over someone’s drink. Paisen tapped the release switch again, letting the door close between them. She waited, listening to muffled cries of alarm on the inside, and then a distinct CRUMP told her the grenade had detonated. She opened the hatch again, and found the three men sprawled across the floor, unconscious. Paisen tagged each with a stun dart for good measure, then continued through the lounge, emerging in the corridor on the far side.
Atalia appeared to her left.
“All clear this side,” the detective reported. “Sleeping quarters, didn’t see anyone.”
“Three crew disabled behind me,” Paisen said. “Let’s head aft.”
A message from Vence appeared in her heads-up display.
>>>Friendlies coming in.
>>>Crew quarters clear, Paisen replied. Sweep forward to the cockpit area.
>>>Acknowledged.
Atalia tapped the next hatch, and it opened onto a bank of machinery, which they quickly determined to be life support equipment – no sign of the high energy device. The last hatch was also closed; Paisen put her hand on Atalia’s shoulder before the detective could open it.
Atalia turned to look at Paisen, who held a finger to her lips. “I heard something,” she mouthed. Paisen set her ear against the hatch – the noise had disappeared, but as she increased the sensitivity on her auditory implants, she picked up a soft shuffle, like clothing moving, and then an audible click.
“Someone in there, armed,” Paisen whispered in Atalia’s ear. “Give me covering fire.”
Atalia nodded, stepping to the side of the hatch and lining her pistol up on the edge of the door. Paisen flattened herself on the other side of the hatch, then slapped the door switch. The hatch slid open, and immediately a fusillade of bullets erupted from inside the room. Atalia fired back, and Paisen could hear the stun darts ricocheting off something metal inside. The firing inside the room stopped – Paisen took a deep breath and dove through the door, rolling and then coming up into a kneeling position, gun pointed forward.
She was a few feet away from a large piece of machinery – the high energy device, she realized, with a start – but the shooter had taken cover on the far side of the device, and Paisen could not see him. Then she saw a pistol rise up over the device and fire blindly toward the door. It ducked back down before she could take aim on it.
Don’t think he knows I’m inside with him.
At her command, her internal computer drew up a rendering of the cargo bay, locating her, the high energy device, and the unseen guard on a 3D schematic of the room. Paisen shifted her aim, pointing her pistol at the ceiling, and the projected path of her pistol’s rounds appeared on the diagram, reaching up to the ceiling, and then showing the estimated ricochet angle. Paisen shifted the angle of the pistol up and to the left slightly, lining up the unseen guard. Then she fired three rounds.
She stood quickly, and hurried around the device. The guard had three stun rounds embedded in his scalp. “He’s down,” Paisen told Atalia. “Vence, report.”
“Cockpit and forward section clear,” Vence said. “No crew found.”
“Ship’s clear. Move to the engine room,” Paisen ordered.
Atalia stooped over and handcuffed the unconscious guard, taking his pistol away. “This is it, huh?” she asked, indicating the high energy device.
“This is it,” Paisen agreed. She slid her hand quickly over the machine, finding the main power cable, and tracing it down to the floor, where it disappeared into the deck plating. She took her Forge off, and pulled it open. By the time Beauceron and Vence arrived, the Forge had finished building a power screwdriver. Paisen grabbed it and began removing the screws along the deck plate. Vence crouched down to help.
“Hurry,” Beauceron told her.
“I am,” Paisen said, with a grunt. The last screw came out, and she and Vence lifted the deck plate clear. The power cable had been spliced into one of the ship’s main power lines.
“Damn it,” Paisen said. “I was hoping we could just unplug it from the battery.”
“What do you need?” Atalia asked, lugging a toolbox over from one of the ship’s work benches.
“Bolt cutters, shears – something to cut through the wire,” Paisen said.
Atalia flipped the box’s lid open, and dumped it out unceremoniously onto the deck. “Here,” she said, handing Paisen a set of wire cutters.
“That’ll do,” Paisen said. She cut at the power cable, separating it strand by strand.
39
“He’s done it,” Lonergan breathed.
Rath looked over at the old man seated in the command chair next to him. The bridge of the Rampart Guardian was utterly still, as the crew watched the drama unfold on the television feed. Rath could see the yearning on Lonergan’s face – the years of vigilance and preparation, all beginning to pay off.
“You’ve done it,” Rath told him. “It was your plan.”
“Congratulations,” Jaymy said, smiling. But Rath could hear the nerves in her voice. She’s still not sure what I’ve gotten us into. Neither am I.
“It’s not over yet,” Lonergan said, chiding himself as much as Rath and Jaymy. He checked the console in front of him, verifying that the Rampart Guardian was in high orbit over Tarkis, and in communication with the drone they had deployed.
A warning notification flashed on one of the bridge crew’s stations. The tech leaned over, frowning.
“What is it?” Lonergan asked.
“Multiple approach signatures,” the tech said, still confused. “I think the sensors must be acting up.”
“Interstellar Police, looking for us?” Rath wondered.
“I’m not sure,” the tech said. He typed on his keyboard, and the feed of Ricken in the Senate shrunk to one side of the viewscreen, with an exterior view of Tarkis appearing beside it. With a flickering shimmer, several ships appeared on-screen, decelerating out of faster-than-light drive.
“What the hell …?” Lonergan said. But the ships kept coming, hundreds of them. An entire fleet appeared in the space of thirty seconds, a motley collection of military transports and converted spaceliners.
“It’s the Jokuans,” Rath said, with sudden conviction.
His enhanced hearing picked up a sound: the staccato percussion of automatic fire. Rath clutched at his hip, but he had left his auto-pistol in his cabin.
“I need a weapon!” he said, cold dread gripping him. “We’re under attack.”
“What?” Lonergan asked, incredulous, but the door to the bridge was already sliding open, and Rath saw two stun grenades roll into the room.
He pushed Jaymy to the floor instinctively. “Get down!”
The grenades detonated, and Rath’s cybernetic implants minimized their effect – he could still see and hear. Half a dozen intruders were sweeping into the room, weapons at the ready, and Rath rolled to his right, ducking under a control console. He let the nearest attacker pass his position, and then kicked out hard, flipping the man onto his back. Rath subdued him with a jab to the temple, and then unclipped the man’s auto-rifle and checked that it was armed. Taking a deep breath, he stood up, leveling the rifle toward the door.
The intruders swung their weapons toward him, but Rath held his fire.
They’ve got Jaymy.
She sat, half-conscious, propped in a command chair. One of the men held a pistol to her head. “Drop it,” he ordered, from behind a tactical face mask. Rath complied.
I recognize that voice. He sighed.
“Major Ikeda,” Rath said.
The man removed his mask, a triumphant smile on his face. “Good guess,” Ikeda said. “It’s Colonel Ikeda, now. And my team and I haven’t forgotten about the time you betrayed us back on Jokuan, 621. We spent nearly a year as prisoners of the insurgents, thanks to you.”
“You stowed away aboard the ship while we were meeting General Yo-Tsai,” Rath said, flatly. “That’s why he was stalling for time.”
Ikeda nodded. “It’s been an uncomfortable few days, but well worth the wait.”
Two of Ikeda’s men pulled Lonergan off the floor, and pushed the dazed old man back into his command chair, then did the same for Jaymy.
“What about the crew?” one of Ikeda’s men asked.
“Kill them,” Ikeda said.
Rath winced as a series of shots rang out – he turned to look away from the carnage. On the viewscreen, movement caught his eye: the Jokuan fleet was approaching Tarkis, but a single large ship had detached from the main body, and was headed toward the Rampart Guardian.
“Prepare for a ship-to-ship dock,” Ikeda said, when the firing stopped. One of his team members took a seat at the bridge command station, surveying the controls.
“What now?” Rath asked.
“Now we wait for General Yo-Tsai,” Ikeda told him.
* * *
“… and in a moment, each of you will stand at this podium and renounce your office,” Ricken told the assembled senators.
“The hell we will,” one shouted angrily. “You’ll have to kill me first.”
“If you don’t step down willingly,” Ricken assured him, “you’ll have no Federacy left to govern. Over each planet in the Federacy, we have emplaced a drone satellite with the capability to launch high energy darts into targets of our choosing. The drones have enough firepower to destroy entire cities. I believe a small demonstration is in order.”
Ricken pointed to a viewscreen set up to one side of the chamber. “Tune that to a news station,” he ordered, and one of the Senate orderlies hurried to comply. A view of the Senate chamber, and Ricken at the podium, appeared. “Television news producers: switch your feed to an external view of the mega-city on Tarkis’ southwestern hemisphere. We’ll wait while you comply.”
Ricken waited, and after a short while, the picture on the news changed, showing the upper atmosphere above a city. Ricken eyed the camera still trained on him. “My friends, when you’re ready.”
* * *
“Launch the demonstration dart,” Ikeda ordered Rath, seeing Ricken’s announcement on the TV feed.
“Fuck you,” Rath told Ikeda. He sat in one of the bridge’s command chairs, between Jaymy and Lonergan, under the watchful gaze of Ikeda’s guards.
Lonergan was still recovering his wits from the stun grenade. “Whatever you have planned,” he said, echoing Rath, “we’ll not be a party to it.”
Ikeda lifted an eyebrow, and then looked to the soldier closest to Lonergan. The man reached his rifle up, and brought the butt-stock down on Lonergan’s forearm, where it lay across the chair’s arm-rest. Rath heard a sickening crack, and Lonergan bellowed in pain. Jaymy shrieked in alarm.
“Kill me if you must,” Lonergan swore, cradling his broken arm to his chest. “It won’t do you any good.”
The guard raised his rifle again, but Ikeda waved him off. Instead, he crouched down in front of Jaymy, unsheathing a dagger from his tactical vest. Her eyes widened, focusing on the blade.
“I wonder,” Ikeda said, “which one of you will break first. Will it be you, young lady? Or will the sight of you in agony cause your boyfriend to give us what we want, in order to save you?”
Jaymy spat at him. “Try me, asshole,” she told him.
“Very well,” Ikeda said, wiping saliva from his cheek.
“Ikeda, no,” Rath said, sighing.
“Rath, don’t—” Jaymy protested, but he was already removing a small metal key from a chain around his neck.
“Lonergan has the other key around his neck. The launch code is five-five-eight-four,” Rath said, defeated.
“Thank you,” Ikeda said, grabbing the chain. He yanked the second chain from inside Lonergan’s shirt, and then handed both of them to one of his men.
“Fire when ready.”
* * *
In the Senate chamber, the silence stretched uncomfortably, as they watched the screen for any sign of the weapon. Below the podium, Egline glanced at Ricken, a frown of worry flickering across her face. Then a bright flash appeared on the screen, and a moment later, the camera shook from the shockwave.
“If that had detonated within the city, instead of above it, you can imagine the damage it would have caused,” Ricken said. “That drone carries hundreds more darts, and an exact copy of that weapon system now sits above each planet in the Federacy. My men and I control all of those drones. I don’t wish to use them, but I will, if my conditions aren’t met, fully and without hesitation.”
“First: the Interstellar Police will not attempt to disable the drones, or approach any of my ships. Any interference by the Interstellar Police at all will be met with a swift reprisal. In addition, IP will in no way hinder or prevent new elections from taking place.” He looked into the camera, as if talking directly to the police. “I know this goes against your training and every instinct you have, but you must believe me: the galaxy will be better off, and indeed will thank you, for remaining impartial in this matter. This is between the people and their government.”
Ricken held up two fingers. “Second: all sitting senators will resign their offices effective immediately. You’ll be free to go once you do so, but you may not run for office in the new elections, or ever again.”
Senator Tsokel stood up. “Do you really believe a government forced upon its people by a terrorist can be seen as legitimate?” he asked. “This body is not without its flaws, but installing yourself as the leader of the Federacy based on some sham elections is not the answer, Ricken.”
“I’m not installing anything,” Ricken told him. “Call me a terrorist if you like, but the elections are real, and you won’t find my name anywhere on the ballot. It’s entirely up to the people who they wish to elect. I intend to disappear completely once the democratic process has done its job. I have no wish to govern. Merely to restore order.”
Tsokel sat down, frowning. Beside him, Lask nudged the old senator. “If he wasn’t about to have me fired,” Lask whispered, “I might even admire the man.”
Tsokel shook his head. “This is insanity, C. J. We can’t allow it.”
“I don’t believe we have a choice in the matter,” Lask observed drily. “And it might be insane, but part of me wonders if this isn’t just what our Federacy needs.”
* * *
General Yo-Tsai strode onto the bridge and clasped hands with Colonel Ikeda.