The Marine shook his head. “You really don’t.” Then he waved his people forward, weapons drawn.
Malcolm cut the broadcast and switched to the mission comm channel. “We are Code Red. Go.” The deputy was on another floor under Grenier’s guard in order to minimize the chance of both of them being captured or harmed.
He pivoted to the governor. “Sir, I need you to get under your desk. I know it won’t be comfortable, but it’s the safest place.”
“Not particularly flattering either, but all right.” The man grimaced and disappeared beneath the desk.
A muffled explosion echoed outside.
Lt. Shanti: Two targets down. First floor, northeast corridor.
He watched the various cam feeds on a whisper in the far corner of his vision. The intruders were hurrying now, on full alert and weapons free upon realizing they would meet resistance.
Another proximity micro-bomb tripped the instant they reached the second floor. Three bodies flew through the air; those escaping it met gunfire as they spun to examine their injured colleagues.
An additional team approached from the opposite side of the building. A flashbang tossed down the hall preceded mutual weapons fire.
Malcolm tensed as Shanti took a hit. He wanted to be out there fighting beside his team every step of the way. But the mission was to protect the governor, and someone had to be the last line of defense.
Lt. Shanti: It’s not bad. As long as they don’t take the time to come back and finish the job, I’ll be okay.
Colonel Jenner: Hold tight and quiet.
Pounding footsteps thudded over the rising disorder. He signaled Paredes across the doorway, clear in the night-vision mode of his ocular implant.
Colonel Jenner: Rodriguez and Eaton, I need you to handle the three still on the third floor. We’ve got four combatants approaching Target Alpha.
Lt. Eaton: Roger.
The cam they’d positioned above the door showed the intruders’ progress. Malcolm counted down with his fingers, then tossed a grenade into the hallway and flattened himself against the wall.
The room shook as the grenade detonated, sending dust rushing down the hallway. But so close to their target, the two Marines the grenade didn’t take out simply stepped over their comrades and prepared to enter.
“Governor Jayce, we know you’re in there. We’re not here to harm you. You’ve been summoned to Earth to answer questions regarding your recent statements. We—”
Malcolm exploded out the door and to the right, Paredes to the left. He barreled into the Marine and they both landed on the floor. He swatted the man’s Daemon away, sending it clattering down the hall.
The next instant the man was trying to gouge his eye out; he struggled to pull the man’s arm away, then the other as well when it came up brandishing a short blade.
He slowly twisted the hand around until the blade pointed in its wielder’s direction. “Don’t make me kill you, Marine. Surrender now and no more of your people will be harmed.”
“Fuck you, traitor.” The man wrested his other hand free and punched Malcolm in the throat.
His hold on the man’s blade hand loosened as he tried and failed to draw in air. He surged forward and forced the blade into the man’s neck, holding it there as the man flailed beneath him.
Finally he fell off the body and sank down the wall. In the back of his mind he processed the information coming in: Paredes had knocked his target out and now had him in restraints. Eaton and Rodriguez had killed one and disabled two. None had reached Grenier and the deputy governor.
He gasped in ragged breaths; each one felt like it was shredding his esophagus with tiny splintered shards.
“Sir, are you all right?”
He nodded at Paredes and pushed himself up off the floor. “Yes—” his voice croaked out “—I’m fine. Check on the governor.”
Colonel Jenner: Status on the deputy governor?
Major Grenier: Safe and sound, if a bit distressed.
Colonel Jenner: Good work. Take all prisoners to the Conference Room on the 2nd floor, then we need to sweep the building.
When he was finally able to draw in a clean breath, he straightened his shoulders and returned to the governor’s office, where he found Paredes checking the man over for injuries.
The governor stared up at him. “Is it over?”
“We need to secure the premises, but I believe we’ve neutralized the threat, yes, sir.” He gave the governor a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “I imagine you’re anxious to inform the prime minister her attempt to oust you failed, but we should confirm the battle overhead has gone our way first.”
EAS Stalwart II
Focusing on seeing the engagement through and defeating the adversary while the Churchill inexorably fell into the planet’s atmosphere and eventually vanished was one of the more difficult things Miriam had done in a month full of very difficult things.
But she did it, because even without the dreadnought’s firepower they were winning, and she didn’t dare let the momentum falter.
Relentless attacks by her fighters were in the process of destroying a rather gutsy frigate when she received a most astonishing message from Richard.
She dropped her chin to her chest to disguise her reaction, as for a minute she could not keep the emotions off her face. Shock, elation, a zealous touch of rage and a lingering dismay.
It was game-changing news, but it would have to keep until the battle was done.
When her ships disabled the second to last cruiser under Fullerton’s command, the remaining ships vanished rather than surrender.
She let them go.
Next she turned to Major Halmi. “I need comprehensive damage and casualty reports from all vessels. We’ll have pilots adrift out there. Make sure rescue operations have all the locator beacons—”
A gravelly voice crackled over her comm. “Any chance we could hitch a ride?”
She laughed in relief. “I believe we can spare the room.” Not for twenty-one thousand people, but they’d find the room for the survivors throughout the fleet.
“In that case, permission to come aboard, Admiral Solovy?”
“Permission granted, Admiral Rychen.”
She went down to meet him on the flight deck. He and the crew trailing him looked banged up, but nothing showers and a few medwraps wouldn’t fix.
She returned his salute with a sly smile—a rare enough event that he eyed her suspiciously.
“Admiral Solovy, are you wearing a shit-eating grin because we won here today, or is there something else I should know?”
“There’s something else you should know.”
“And that would be?”
“We’ve got her. Pamela Winslow’s days in power are going to be far shorter than she intended.”
23
ROMANE
IDCC Headquarters
* * *
“Fantastic!”
Caleb’s attention swung to Mia at the exclamation, but her voice dropped to a hush as she queried whoever she was talking to, denying him further hints as to the reason for it.
He’d spent much of the time since the riots here at IDCC Headquarters—wanting to protect Mia, wanting to protect them all, wanting to avenge the deaths and near-misses which had occurred. Wanting to be anywhere but the ship.
He hadn’t talked to Alex in hours, and she’d been almost totally uncommunicative in the hours before then. She was presumably on the Siyane. In the Siyane. Was the Siyane. If there remained a difference.
He needed to run from the unwelcome thoughts, so he stepped closer to Mia in hopes of eavesdropping.
“Harper, did you get the info—right, Morgan told you. I don’t know why I bother. Can we move on the location quickly? They could scatter at any moment. Terrific. Oh, hang on, more details are incoming.”
There was a notable pause.
“It’s WHO?”
Caleb strode into the IDCC armory to find Harper and her team suit
ing up and checking over their gear.
She looked sideways at him while she latched a daisy chain of grenades to her belt. “I won’t even attempt to argue. But at least put on a tactical vest, and try to follow orders.”
He nodded agreement and headed to the armor cabinet, where he found a vest that fit on the second try. He was donning it when Harper cleared her throat.
“Everyone, this is Caleb Marano. Allegedly former Senecan Federation intelligence, though I’m not sure I buy it. I’ve seen his work firsthand, and trust me when I tell you he can dispose of enemy combatants with far more finesse and efficiency than any of you ever dreamed of. Hopefully he’ll toe the line, but if he’s moving, take my advice and don’t get in his way.”
He shrugged and pulled his overshirt back on over the vest. “I’m just here to help. You’re in charge.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I am.” Then she climbed up on a bench in the center of the room. “Weapons check.”
The roll call came in. “Gear check.” Same.
“Pello, with me for heavy weapons. Everyone else, meet at the transport in five.”
He caught up with her as she headed down the rear hallway. “What sort of heavy weapons are you taking?”
She glanced over her shoulder with cool, cautious eyes. “Marano, I meant what I said in there. I respect your skills and your determination, and I’m frankly a little relieved to have them at my disposal on this mission. However, I don’t recall those skills involving the use of heavy weapons—I suspect you’re more of an up close and personal kind of guy.
“So get to the transport and let me do my job. In return, I promise I’ll let you do…some of yours.”
His steps slowed; he dropped back and let her disappear around the corner. He might have smarted at the dressing down, but she was right. If heavy weapons worked to clear the place, then fine, but if not he’d be in the hallways and shadowy corners taking care of the enemy himself.
He shifted direction and headed for the transport.
Romane
Harper paced rapidly across the front of the transport cabin as they lifted off. “The building has two main entrances and one service entrance. We’re going to trap the service entrance, split into two teams and simultaneously breach both main entrances. Commander Lekkas and Mr. Naissan will be providing aerial support, and Romane Tactical is setting up a perimeter in the event someone slips the net.
“We don’t have good intel on the number of people inside, but the building is listed as unoccupied so we can assume they’re all OTS. They would have run off any squatters when they took it over. Therefore, we—”
Caleb, tell Harper to back off. I’m going to take care of these bastards.
He jerked—visibly, something he generally tried not to do. He’d been deep in mission prep mode and, in a very rare occurrence these last days, not thinking about Alex. Now she was in his head.
What are you talking about?
The safe house is near the Exia Spaceport. I’m on my way and will beat you there. You don’t need to risk your life, nor does the RRF squad. I’ll eliminate the safe house.
And by ‘I,’ you mean you in the body of the Siyane.
Of course.
Alex, it’s still you. I have to believe it’s still you when you’re in the ship. And you’re not a cold-blooded killer. Don’t do this.
They killed Abigail. They tried to kill Mia, Devon, all of us. They deserve it.
They do, but not by your hand. Let us handle it.
He immediately cringed. If she remained Alex in any real way, it had been the wrong thing to say.
No need. They will all be dead before you get there.
Alex, please.
But she was gone, had shut him out.
He let out a long, weighty breath. It felt like the end, like the tolling of the dirge.
He buried the emotions which flared as much as he could, telling himself it was only for the duration of the mission. But a dark, hollow heaviness settled over him as he stood and went up to Harper. “We have a complication.”
The message arrived via pulse on Jude’s most secure personal comm channel.
The IDCC has acquired intel on the location of the safe house. Relocation may be advisable.
His mother had her spies in the Noesis and everywhere else, but he wasn’t without his own resources. The news was disappointing, but not particularly surprising.
His intention had been to remain here until Romane authorities decreased the security alert level and fewer police patrolled the streets and spaceports, but in truth he had stayed too long by half. The message merely confirmed it.
He would have to take his chances among the public. If worse came to worst, once he was a couple of blocks away from the safe house he could give his name and profess ignorance of anything problematic. The Romane government may not care for his mother, but it had to respect her authority.
He glanced around with feigned casualness at the other people in the upstairs room, which had become the unofficial command and triage center. They included most of the operational leadership of the Romane cell of OTS—those who hadn’t been out on the streets and gotten caught in the dragnet arrests.
They had spent the day working feverishly to secure the release of as many of those arrested as possible, to catalogue the dead and to plan for the future.
Good soldiers, giving their all in the hope of a better, freer tomorrow for humanity.
But there would be no such tomorrow if Jude were captured tonight.
He waited until no one was looking in his direction, then slipped out the door and hurried downstairs toward the rear exit.
24
SIYANE
Romane
* * *
The night air felt like a living organism all its own.
So close to the ground the atmosphere was saturated with molecules, and they were being pushed and pulled and transmuted by ships and shuttles and structures of metal radiating energy, churning power and sending it out in waves through the air. Flying through it felt invasive, savage.
Alex, stop. Turn around and go back to the hangar.
Her target lay at 27°, 4.6 kilometers distant. Though only six stories high, the structure occupied a block and was separated from other buildings by thoroughfares. This would minimize collateral damage.
The guilty pay, the innocent live. The reckoning of the universe at work. She was simply the messenger.
These people killed Abigail. Don’t you want vengeance, Valkyrie?
No. I said it after her murder, and now I will say it again: I want to mourn.
The environment ahead and beneath her—streets, airlanes, people—screamed back at her, noisy and raucous, but objectively she recognized it was far calmer than before. The fires had been quelled, the physical violence restrained.
Still, the city was on edge, waiting for the next blow.
Then I will take your vengeance for you.
I can disconnect you. Send you back to your body and fly the ship to the hangar myself.
You can, but you won’t. After what happened at the Amaranthe portal you fear the effect such a jarring act will have on my neural cohesion. You won’t disconnect me while I’m this deep in your processes, in the quantum clusters of the ship, conscious and aware. Besides, I don’t need to be inhabiting the ship to fire its weapon.
Could you honestly fire on these individuals from the cockpit chair, in your fragile, tangible, human body?
I’ve fired on enemies before.
Enemies who were actively trying to harm you. Caleb is correct, I believe. Could you initiate the slaughter yourself if you were wholly and only you?
She paused, felt the air bounce around her in agitation.
It doesn’t matter.
The OTS safe house came in range. The streets framing it were quiet, most of its windows dark. Just an ordinary building.
Before Valkyrie managed to seed more doubts, she fired.
The distance f
rom laser weapon to target was markedly shorter than anything she’d previously experienced. Crossed in a blink of time, the collision of energy with façade created enough force to send her perception ricocheting away. Destruction in pure form, and not solely elemental.
Real. Physical. Primal.
Her mind recoiled, but she tried to focus on the molecules of fire created—oxygen, carbon dioxide, nitrogen oxidizing into flame, photons escaping, ionized gases transforming to plasma. She watched them leap and dance across the sky.
Then she created more.
A flicker moved in the space where a window hung an instant earlier. A face, stark with terror, screaming for help.
But she’d already fired again, already delivered the kilojoules which now caused the building to begin to crumble.
The face vanished in a rising plume of carbon, metal oxides and amorphous silica. Smoke. It didn’t reach her, but she choked on it nonetheless.
She fled down the quantum pathways and opened her eyes with a gasp. “Take over—” But Valkyrie had done so hundreds of microseconds earlier.
The face would have belonged to a terrorist. A callous murderer of innocents. It might have been the pizda sranuyu Jude Winslow himself.
It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.
Why did it have to look so…human? She stared out the viewport at the destruction she had wrought. Surreal, evanescent, not real. So real.
It doesn’t matter.
Human. Murderer.
Him, the face, not me. It doesn’t—
‘Alex, you should try to calm down. You’re hyperventilating.’
Was she? The tightness in her chest was surely as much mental as corporeal, right?
‘It’s done and cannot be undone. Allow me to return us to the hangar.’
She tried to inhale through her nose. “No. Set down. Nearby, but…but out of the way.”
‘Set down? Why?’
“I can’t—can’t breathe in here. I need air. I need…ground beneath my feet.”
If I’m a killer now, I need to feel the blood on my hands.
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