The Mandate of Heaven

by Mike Smith

“Why? What’s the rush, we’ve only just arrived?”

  “Major Garrett is here.”

  “And that’s a problem, why?” she asked perplexed.

  “Because he’s sworn, on more than one occasion, that if he ever lays eyes on the Colonel again, in this lifetime or the next, he’s going to kill him.”

  “Can somebody please tell me what it is that Alex has done that has resulted in, and I feel fairly confident when I say this, most of the galaxy wishing him dead. Violently,” she demanded incredulously.

  “It’s a long story—”

  “I’ve got plenty of time, although Alex definitely has far less, so you might want to give me the abbreviated version.”

  “Fine. Colonel Grey—”

  But whatever else Sanderson was going to say was cut off by a shout that ricocheted across the room. “You bastard! You’ve got a lot of nerve to ever show your face here again.”

  “Too late,” Sanderson sighed, eyes closed resignedly. “On the bright side,” he carried on nevertheless, “If Major Garrett murders the Colonel that frees me from my obligation to him.”

  “Not if I have anything to say about it,” Jessica disagreed. “He promised to protect me until I returned home and he can hardly do that if he’s dead, can he? So get out of my way. I’m going to put a stop to this foolishness.” With that she pushed passed a stunned Sanderson, in the direction of the bar and the source of the expletive.

  Unfortunately, progress was slow going as she had to weave her way through an ever-tightening group of onlookers, all trying to catch a glimpse of the unfolding spectacle. Therefore, she didn’t arrive in time to witness the first blow, but she had a ringside seat for the subsequent ones.

  Alex was already on his knees, hands tightly clutched around his waist, gasping for breath. Towering over him was a massive figure, who stood head and shoulders above the surrounding crowd. This was doubly impressive as Jessica had come to notice that this didn’t seem to be an average crowd, from the impressive display of biceps, triceps, and deltoids that were on prominent display, along with an equally extraordinary collection of tattoos, several of which bore a striking similarity to the one which she’d observed on Sanderson.

  She was still too far away to hear what the man, Garrett, was saying to him, but whatever it was, Alex shook his head, determinedly. The result was instantaneous, as Garrett clenched his hand into a fist, swinging wildly, catching Alex under the chin. The force of the blow lifted him off his feet and sent him sprawling onto his back. Jessica could see a streak of red blood, running from his mouth.

  Wondering how to stop this before it went further, somebody collided into her from behind and she was relieved to see Sanderson, with Templeton, Baracoa and Murdoch, trailing close behind.

  “Stop them,” she ordered, turning to face the four of them. The looks that she received back in response were incredulous.

  “Not me,” Templeton refuted, holding up his hands in a defensive gesture. “I enjoy my good looks and don’t want my face to be rearranged getting between that pair. They’re going to kill each other but, more importantly, they’ll kill anyone that gets between the two of them.”

  A shout from behind had her whirling back round, to observe that Garrett, far from ceasing the assault was now straddled over the prostrate form of Alex, raining down blow after blow onto his face. The man seemed possessed, a crazed look in his eyes, spittle dripping from his mouth, with each blow that he rained down, he screamed, “Murderer. My wife. My son. My Family. You killed them all.”

  Shouting obscenities, the man seemed to become even more enraged when Alex didn’t attempt to fight back. He simply lay there, with grim acceptance, wordlessly taking blow after blow.

  Meanwhile Jessica was become increasingly frantic, as nobody seemed willing to intervene and put a stop to this, all just watching mutely. Therefore, without any help, she decided she would have to do it herself. Reaching into the pocket of her cloak, hand wrapping around the pistol she started to withdraw it—

  When for the second time in as many hours, Sanderson’s grip encompassed hers, holding her hand and the weapon tightly in his grasp. Looking up in shock at him, Sanderson simply shook his head. “This is none of your business, you’re not to get involved. This is between the two of them.”

  “Are you mad?” she exclaimed in disbelief. “You said that you're his friend, and you’re simply going to stand aside and watch as the man kills him?”

  “You heard what Garrett said. Have you not considered the possibility that the Colonel wants this? That he even deserves this? There is no need for us to intervene, as the Colonel doesn’t need our help. I’ve know the Colonel for almost ten years and I’ve seen him fight; he could end this at any time. But this is what he wants, this is his punishment for the crimes he committed in the past.”

  “What crimes deserve this?” Jessica spat disbelievingly.

  “The worst kind, the deaths of not one or two, but hundreds. Almost everybody in this room has lost somebody from the result of his actions. For what did he think was going to happen when he challenged the Gods?”

  Jessica never got the chance to find out. For another crack echoed throughout the still room, but this time it wasn’t the result of Garrett’s fist colliding with Alex’s face, but the sound of the door being kicked open. She looked up to see who had entered, but was dazzled by the light emanating from the open portal. It was blinding in its intensity and she couldn’t make out anything, not until it dimmed slightly as a dark shadow stepped from the light, quickly followed by two more. It was only then that she realised that the light was coming from two intensely bright torches, affixed to the barrels of compact submachine guns.

  The collective intake of breath, along with a sudden charge around the room, made the hairs on the back of her neck stand upon end. She realised that this wasn’t a welcome interruption. This was reinforced when Sanderson took a small step forward, nudging her behind him and she found herself surrounded on all sides by Sanderson, Templeton, Baracoa and Murdoch.

  “Who are they?” she whispered.

  “Public Security. Paramilitary. They report directly to High-Lord Stanton,” Sanderson explained. “They probably heard the rumour that the Colonel was back on Capella. Congratulations Lady Hadley, looks like your fiancé has finally got round to rescuing you. Right after they confirm the identity of the Colonel, then execute him for treason and incitement to rebellion.”

  Jessica was stunned, completely at a loss for words.

  *****

  “I am Prefect Enrico Caruso of Internal Public Security, and I am in charge of this municipality,” the man at the head of the trio announced loudly, glancing around the room with obvious disdain. “I am looking for a man. He is an agitator, a terrorist and a wanted criminal. By proclamation from High Lord Stanton himself, anybody caught offering this man food, shelter or safe harbour will be condemned along with him. Offer him up to me, however, and I promise that you will be richly rewarded.”

  The only response to this declaration was a profound silence. Like a bottomless well, it seemed to swallow all light and sound. Leaving nothing but a void in its wake.

  “Very well. Up. Get off him,” Caruso ordered, glancing down at Garrett.

  With a hate filled glance in their direction, Garrett stumbled to his feet, taking a step back from the prostrate form of Alex, still lying dazed on the floor.

  “Up,” Caruso ordered again, but this time his gaze remained fixed on Alex.

  “Not damn likely,” Alex wheezed. “I think he broke a couple of my ribs.”

  The grunt of pain, as Caruso brutally kicked him in the chest, was enough to make everyone wince, sending Alex into another paroxysm of coughing.

  “I’m going to count to three—” Caruso announced threateningly.

  “Well, I can count to at least five,” Alex choked back. “Perhaps you got sent down from school early on account of all your bullying?” The scream from Alex’s lips reverberated around the room,
as Caruso stamped down on his hand with the heel of his boot.

  “There are two ways we can go about this; either you can submit to my retina scan while you’re still alive or we can take a DNA sample from your corpse. Either way I will confirm your identity.”

  “Is there a third option? I’m quite susceptible to bribery. Right about now I’d give you my life story in exchange for an analgesic.”

  “I’m not an unreasonable man,” Caruso said, withdrawing a silver plated revolver from a holster at his waist. “Therefore I’ll offer you up to five chances, for you to change your mind.” He proceeded to open the breech and dumped five bullets onto the floor, leaving one in the cylinder, then spinning it. “Last chance to give me your name.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “There goes your first chance,” Caruso shrugged. Pointing the revolver at the back of Alex’s head and pulling the trigger.

  Click.

  *****

  Jessica flinched at the sound, easily overheard in the deathly quiet room. Nobody moved a muscle, scarcely anyone seemed to draw breath, as if the slightest movement might prompt Caruso to once again pull the trigger.

  “Do something,” Jessica pleaded, wincing as a few seconds later another click echoed throughout the room, as for the second time the firing pin found an empty chamber. Her whole body wracked with tremors as she realised that at any second a gunshot could echo, and Alex would never take another breath.

  Forever.

  “I thought that you wanted to go home?” Sanderson whispered back softly. “Surely this is the most expeditious way? All you need to do is to denounce him and everything will be over. You can be in the arms of High-Lord Stanton within the hour.”

  The words seemed to twist inside of her, the voice no longer belonging to Sanderson but her own insidious thoughts. For hadn’t she considered the very same action countless times before? He’d kidnapped her by the High-Lords. Sneaked into her home, into her very bedroom and stolen her from her family. The Prefect was right, Alex was a thief, a criminal, her own father wouldn’t hesitate to pass a death sentence for his crimes.

  “No!”

  It was only when the crowd of onlookers all turned in her direction, did she realise that she had cried the word out loud, not just in her thoughts, but her heart. For while Alex was a thief, a criminal, he had not prospered from his actions; all he did was for the benefit of others, even her. For she harboured no doubt that if he hadn’t come that night, then she would now be very much dead. She had been living under a misapprehension, that somehow Alex owed her for taking her away, when it was actually very much the other way around—she owed him, her life.

  “Stop him, or I will,” she said, turning to look Sanderson squarely in the eye.

  Sanderson hesitated for a moment, obviously taken aback by such a forceful declaration from her, momentarily releasing his hold on her. She didn’t wait for his decision, stepping out from behind him and forging headlong into the crowd. But her earlier proclamation seemed to have opened some sort of floodgates, as if she alone had voiced out loud the shared thoughts of the room. For the crowd was surging forwards along with her, towards the small group in the middle. Still the next words shouted out stopped Jessica, and all the others, dead in their tracks.

  “Men, shoot the next person that moves. Then shoot the two people standing either side of him or her.”

  The loud clicks of the submachine guns being cocked and the safeties being switched off, was almost as menacing as the sight of the two weapons being raised to face the swelling crowd.

  “Let’s speed this up a little, shall we?” Caruso prompted. “It seems that the crowd is getting restless.”

  Click. Click. Click.

  “You know you’re really one lucky son-of-a-bitch.” Caruso shook his head in amazement.

  “Actually you had it right the first time,” Alex replied, looking up past Caruso, as if he could see death hovering at the periphery of the room. “I’m a complete bastard.”

  Crack.

  *****

  It seemed to Jessica that the shot must also have hit her.

  For the very instant she heard the sound, a gaping hole opened up in the pit of her stomach and she would have fallen, had it not been for the tight crush of the crowd, all around her. She screwed her eyes up tight, refusing to witness the scene, knowing that it would be imprinted on her mind for years to come. Still, when a loud cheer went up from the crowd, she opened them again, just as quickly. For instead of the scene that she had imagined, she saw Caruso spin round, a shocked and dazed expression on his face. Garrett’s fist, that only moments before had been pummelling Alex, careered off Caruso’s jaw. The revolver went flying from his hands, spinning across the hardwood floor, disappearing into the feet of the crowd. He seemed to hover there for a moment, seemingly suspended in time, before he went crashing to the floor. An audible thump reverberated around the room as the back of his head collided with the ground, then he was still.

  She cared very little, if he was dead or alive.

  Relief flooded through her when she observed Alex, alive and well, stagger to his feet. A startled oath from the centre of the room, suddenly reminded her that Caruso hadn’t been alone. But obviously Alex hadn’t forgotten, because when the guard whirled round to face the threat from behind, Alex caught his weapon with both hands. Wrenching it free from the man’s grip, he brought the butt of the weapon straight up, beneath the jaw of the guard. With another crack, the man went down like a pile of bricks.

  The second guard, quickly calculating the odds with the two men behind him, one now armed with a machine pistol and a hostile crowd in front, hesitated. Just long enough for Sanderson to extricate himself from the crowd and relieve him of his weapon.

  “A nice piece this,” Sanderson exclaimed approvingly. Ejecting the magazine, he peered inside the clip, before pushing it back into the weapon, sliding the telescoping bolt backwards and forwards, nodding approvingly at the smooth action. “I don’t have this particular model. I’ll have to keep this for my collection.”

  “I’m glad that it meets with your approval, Sergeant-Major,” Alex said dryly, lowering his own weapon. “I’m grateful for your earlier assistance, by the way. You know, when you came to my rescue, while I had a gun pointed at the back of my head and all.”

  “You had everything well in hand,” Sanderson replied dismissively.

  “And as for you,” Alex spun round, taking a step towards Garrett with a wild look in his eyes. “Would you like to tell me why it took you so long to make up your damn mind?”

  “I couldn’t come to a decision,” Garrett shrugged unconcernedly. “Whether the Prefect should kill you, or I. In the end I decided that I had the stronger claim to shooting you.”

  “Well thanks, anyway,” Alex sighed, rolling his eyes. “With friends like you two, it gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling, whenever I think of my enemies.”

  “What are we going to do with these men?” Jessica interrupted, before another round of arguments could kick-off.

  “We’ll dump them outside, along with the rest of the trash,” Alex replied indifferently. “It’s probably time to leave anyway, before somebody comes looking for them.”

  “It’s too late for that,” Caruso groaned, flinching when two submachine guns were suddenly shoved in his face. “You didn’t think that I came here alone, did you? I brought an entire company with me. Furthermore, they know exactly what’s going on in here, as they’ve been listening in the entire time.” With that he withdrew an earpiece from his earlobe, before tossing it onto the ground, at their feet. “I warned you, now they’ll kill every last one—”

  He was abruptly cut off when Alex hammered the hilt of the machine pistol into the side of Caruso’s head, knocking him to the floor, unconscious.

  “Yes, we’ve already heard that speech once today, we don’t need an encore,” Alex muttered.

  “What do we do now?” Sanderson asked worriedly. “They’ve had more than enough
time to surround the building.”

  “Perhaps we shouldn’t make the same mistake twice,” Jessica suggested with a sigh, stepping on the earpiece, grinding it under the sole of her boot. “As it’s not a good plan, if you announce it to all, beforehand.”

  “Good plan,” Alex nodded approvingly. “We’ll go with that one.”

  “What plan? I only suggested—” Jessica spluttered, when yet again a sharp crack, echoed throughout the room, closely followed by a second. Before she could finish, two grey projectiles flew through the broken windows, one coming to land at her feet. “What the hell?” she muttered, unthinkingly reaching down to pick it up. Much to the looks of horror from the rest of the group. She dropped it a moment later, when a thick noxious looking gas started to pour from the shell, followed soon after from the second projectile.

  “Gas!” a voice called out from the crowd. Pandemonium swiftly broke out, as the crowd scrambled to back away from the toxic fumes.

  “We need to get out of here,” Alex insisted sharply, pulling her tightly to his side so as not to get separated in the chaos. “Keep your eyes closed and try and take shallow breaths. Your enhanced respiratory system should filter out the worst of the toxins.”

  “Well that’s fine for me,” Jessica retorted. “But what about everybody else?”

  “We’ll have to make for the exits,” he replied grimly. “Better to take our chances out there, than choke to death in here—Sanderson! By the High-Lords what do you think you’re doing?”

  For Sergeant-Major Sanderson, far from getting as far away from the gas as possible, was kneeling over one of the shells, inspecting it curiously, before picking it up, running the projectile under his nostrils, in the way that a connoisseur might sample a freshly unwrapped cigar, prior to lighting it.

  “It’s an M259 smoke grenade,” he said shaking his head despairingly, walking across to the nearest pitcher of beer, he dropped it into the glass. “Bunch of idiots out there can’t tell the difference between the M259 and M295. They’re probably all out there right now, celebrating, thinking we’re casting up our accounts and choking to death.”