“Come on,” Firenz said to Appatine.
They took up their positions near the door, nonchalant, as if they were simply guests of lower rank. The moment the ambassador entered the public area, responsibility for his personal security would pass from his staff to Firenz and Appatine. Low key was the order of business; few proconsuls enjoyed having body armour and sub-machine guns in amongst the guests at their functions.
“You remember the layout?” She asked.
Appatine nodded. “Every corner, every stair.”
“Good. If anything happens, we’ll need to get them out by whatever route is safe.”
Someone was coughing in a manner that was altogether too regular, and Firenz realised the music had stopped. She turned back to face out into the hall, and saw that the other guests were standing silent, drinks and canapés in hand.
The same man who had beckoned them in was now standing in the centre of the room.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said. “The Honourable Chellis Bel-Osanda, Proconsul of Fengrir, Governess of all the lands and titles therein.”
A smattering of light applause built up as the proconsul descended the curving staircase. Firenz guessed that most of the attendees must have no idea about proper etiquette.
The door behind them clicked, and opened wide.
“His Excellency Ohl Ain, Ambassador of the Lem Bataan Confederation. His Attaché, Doctor Irim Su.”
Again there was the patter of inappropriate applause. Firenz sighed to herself, although she had to admit that she had stood through far more than her fair share of ceremonies such as this. On Fengrir, even the cream of society probably did not get out very much.
Proconsul Bel-Osanda showered the ambassador with munificent greetings, both he and the attaché looked properly ingratiated, and moments later the music had started again.
Then came the dreaded mingling. Firenz added mingling to the top of the list of things she despised about this mission. If anything were to go wrong it would be now, while her clear line of sight to the Lembas was so frequently disrupted.
As if to reward her prescience, the universe chose that moment for the lights to go out. There were a few gasps, one or two glasses were dropped, then came giggles as the guests composed themselves. Firenz tapped Appatine twice on the arm: eyes open.
“Apologies, Ladies and Gentlemen. We will have the power fixed momentarily. Everything will return to normal in just a few minutes.”
But the gunshots disagreed.
Flashes of light came from the entrance lobby, quick bursts of automatic fire. Firenz saw the civic guards illuminated from behind, like puppets in spasms as their strings were jerked harshly by an insane performer. People were already screaming, a table went over with a crash, and the room became a whirlwind of moving bodies.
Firenz shouted to Appatine over the din. “Protect the ambassador!”
• • •
After so many years, Castigon was back in his element at last. He dropped the guards on the door with ease; they had not been paying proper attention. Big mistake.
Walking calmly, he strode through the entrance and straight into the heart of the chaos in the reception hall. People were running, yelling, tripping; they did not matter. To him, they were simply moving cover.
A civic guard ran down the staircase, cork-screwing around the outside of the hall, P16 raised in front of him and sweeping from side to side as he struggled to identify the threat. Castigon pushed a woman aside to shoot the guard twice in the chest, and the man tumbled down the final few steps. More screams, more panic. Should have kept the high ground, Castigon thought, stayed safe behind the marble. Should have identified your target before advancing, you fool.
He saw a rectangle of blue light on the far side of the room: a doorway, with emergency lighting beyond. Dark figures were being bundled through — it would almost certainly be the honoured guests.
He shoulder-barged his way past a male, sending the gasping functionary sprawling on the floor. He began to run at the doorway, raising his pistol, and fired repeatedly. Bullets bit deep into the heavy wood of the closing door, until finally the gun clicked empty.
He got to it just in time, wedging his boot into the gap. With both hands pressed against the door he could not possibly reload, but what good would the weapon do him anyway if he could not reach his target?
Whoever was behind the door was strong, but not strong enough. With a final shove Castigon forced the door open, pushing his opponent backwards. A pistol skittered across the floor of the corridor, and he could not tell if it was his or the other’s. All he knew was that his hands were now empty.
Appatine was filling the gap between them within half a second, and Castigon ducked just before a clenched fist entered the space where his face had been.
The lad seemed much, much bigger up close and personal. And he had been fast. Castigon though was hardly an amateur himself.
He brought his hands up to guard his face and neck, bobbed to the side as Appatine threw another heavy punch. This time the counterpart was ready for a dodge, and changed his angle as Castigon moved away. The knuckles missed, but Appatine’s forearm slammed painfully hard against the side of Castigon’s head. His ear began to throb immediately.
The left fist was already coming in from below, and Castigon shifted his centre of mass deftly over his right foot, blading his body sideways to present a narrower target. He grabbed the back of Appatine’s unguarded neck, and brought his knee up hard as he pulled down with his hands.
Even as Appatine’s nose exploded over Castigon’s knee, his arm — so nearly a weapon — became trapped between both of Castigon’s.
The counterpart went down, and Castigon pulled his opponent’s wrist back against the shoulder joint, pushed all of his weight against the forearm through his left knee, and wrenched. Disappointingly, Appatine’s scream drowned out the double pop of the breaking bones. Ah well.
Castigon kept his weight on, and drew a black push dagger from the sheath around his ankle. Without hesitation he drove it firmly into the counterpart’s back, levering it forwards as the blade sank in. There was another popping sound, and Appatine lay still.
Castigon did not delay in leaping to his feet and trotting down the corridor, hugging the wall as he went. He scooped up the dropped pistol and checked the clip: what do you know, full. It must have belonged to the young counterpart after all.
The corridor took a hard right, and then another, and both corners slowed him down. He hardly fancied being shot through simple carelessness. Then another door. He took a run-up, barged it open; his momentum carried him into the room, and he allowed himself to slide across the floor.
No contact. The bay windows were open, and thin white nets were pushed to the side. The delicate scent of night-blooming flowers was in the air. A sickly glow illuminated the room, light from the local sun bouncing off a fat, rusty orb of a moon that looked as though it had struggled to heave itself above the horizon.
He edged out onto the veranda. On the lawn, headed for an armoured diplomatic vehicle, he saw the ambassador and his attaché. They were surrounded by civic guards, and the Shard was bringing up the rear. He levelled the pistol and fired over their heads.
“Go! GO!”
He could hear Firenz shouting across the gardens, could see her as plain as day in the bright orange light reflected off Fengrir’s bloated moon.
As the guards continued their retreat, shepherding the Lem Bataan away, Firenz held her ground. She took up a defensive stance, kneeling, blading her body and aiming her side-arm at Castigon.
Ah Ider, you always were predictable.
“Close enough,” she barked. “Identify.”
Castigon smiled, not that she would be able to see it at that distance, and held his arms out to the side. He continued to move towards her with slow and measured steps.
“Stay where you are. Who are you?”
Castigon stayed silent.
“Toss the piece.”<
br />
“Get real, Ider.” He moved closer still. So close that he was able to see the recognition register on her face: a beautiful moment.
“You! Murderer! Butcher of Ottomas!”
“If you say so.”
“You won’t get to him,” she said, levelling her sights with his eyes.
“Him who?”
“Ambassador Ain.”
“I don’t even know who that is.”
“You’re not here for him?”
“No, I’m here for you.”
He was faster than she was, as he always had been. While her bullet sailed on towards the veranda windows, destined only to burrow into remarkably expensive wood panelling, his punched a hole through her head. He watched her collapse backwards, her back hitting the ground with a hollow thumping sound, and he felt nothing for her.
So she did remember my face until the day she died. Huh.
— 08 —
Fill the Silence
Behind the mirrored glass of the observation room, Caden stood in silence with Brant and watched intently. He had the feeling that Tirrano, standing tall and imperious over the seated Blank Woman, was now in her element.
“Why were you at Gemen Station?” Tirrano asked. “What was your objective?”
Amarist Naeb did not even appear to register that anyone was talking. Seated in a metal chair, still hooked up to a bag of saline solution, she fidgeted and mouthed silent words as Tirrano asked her questions. Naeb’s eyes darted around and occasionally she smiled faintly, her head bobbing as if in agreement with some question asked from far away.
Eternal and harmony and everywhere and infusion
serendipity and sensation and luminance…
…and calling and celebration and agony
unfamiliar words screamed from all sides
quiet screaming
“Where are the personnel?”
Still Naeb did not respond, but continued her quiet reverie. Tirrano looked back at the dividing window and shrugged at Brant. From the way she moved, and from her facial expression, Caden could see that she was done with the easy questions.
“Who are you working for? Tell me now.”
Naeb made a sound that might have been part of a laugh.
“If you don’t start to co-operate, and answer my questions, I’m going to have to resort to other means.”
waves of faces, white spiral waves
clamour…
Belonging
only flashes
the horrible beauty of it all
Tirrano moved behind Naeb and held her head in both hands. She bent it back and to the side, forcing Naeb to look up at her. “Who has the weapons?”
Naeb gaped blankly at Tirrano for a few seconds, then continued her wordless whisper, her eyes leaving Tirrano’s face and drifting off to gaze at something beyond the walls.
the song, forever the song, oh by the worlds
by all the many worlds
don’t ever let it stop
don’t let it stop
don’t
don’t!
“Answer me!” Tirrano shouted, raising her hand high. She slapped Naeb across the face, hard, leaving a white imprint which turned red quickly. Naeb’s head snapped to one side with the force of the blow, then lolled indifferently. A trickle of bright blood oozed from one nostril. Tirrano raised her hand again.
the song, our song
fading
no oh no please don’t stop please
“I said, answer me!”
“That’s enough!”
Tirrano looked up at the Shard in the doorway, at Brant standing behind him just outside the room. She glared, and Caden read the expression. The interfering Shard, sent to stick his nose in where it was neither wanted nor needed.
“I think we can safely say that you’re not getting anywhere,” he said.
“Not yet. I’m just getting started.”
“No, you’re done. Leave her alone. She’s a patient first, a suspect second. You already said it yourself; she’s blank. Slapping her about is not going to get us anywhere.”
Tirrano turned to look at Naeb, then back to Caden. She looked past him, appealing to Brant. The operator shook his head slightly.
Her eyes burned with resentment. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I usually find it’s best to understand what I’m doing before I leap in,” he said. “I want you to leave.”
She opened her mouth as if to reply, then saw Brant’s face and said nothing. Without a further word, she left the room.
“Get the Doc back in here,” Caden said to Brant.
Brant left, headed for the adjoining medbay, and Caden stared at Naeb. She stared back, her lips now motionless. Her eyes fixed on him, no longer darting around. She smiled, a wide, loose, gaping smile. The smile of an idiot.
“Fill the silence,” she said.
“What?”
She smiled back. And then her eyes flicked off to one side, following something invisible. The wordless recitation began again, and she was away once more in her own world.
“Amarist, tell me what you mean,” he said. But she was gone.
Brant returned with the corpsman who had overseen Naeb’s examination. The woman was clearly nervous, Caden noted. Like Naeb, she did not seem to know where to look. He imagined she was probably ill at ease, coming in to a room where a patient of hers had clearly just been interrogated.
“Doctor,” he said, “can you tell me about her condition?”
“Well, as I said before she’s physically not in bad shape,” the corpsman said. “Under-nourished, but nothing too serious. Her immune system has taken a battering recently, but she cleared screening — no infections. I think her mental state should be the primary concern at this point.”
“You’re telling me. Has she been lucid at all while you’ve been with her?”
“Not once. No, she’s been like this the whole time.”
“The whole time. Any idea why?”
“It’s most likely some form of post-traumatic stress. I have to confess that’s not my area, but she’ll be seen by a specialist soon.”
“What would you say if I told you she just spoke to me?”
“I’d be very sceptical. The way she is right now, if she did say something, I’d caution that it was probably gibberish.”
“I want you to check her for everything you can think of.”
“Of course. Am I looking for anything in particular?”
“No, just anything… not right.”
“Oh, I see. I think. As you wish.”
Caden turned his attention to Brant. “Post-traumatic stress. I think I had best get to that planet as quickly as possible.”
“I agree,” said Brant.
“Please keep Tirrano away from her.”
“That I can do,” he said. “But who’s going to keep her away from me?”
• • •
“Oh, you are having a laugh,” said Santani.
“I’m afraid not Captain,” said Caden. “I need a ship, and we got on so famously earlier that I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d rather travel with.”
Even on the small holo display, Caden could see that Santani was hopping mad and she was making no effort to hide it. He decided to push her a bit further.
“Also, our shuttle is still in your hangar and I really can’t be bothered to come and move it.”
Santani declined to rise to the bait. “The co-ordinates you sent me, they’re in the Deep Shadows. Practically within spitting distance of Riishi. If any of the Viskr defence forces look out the window while they’re taking a dump, they’ll be able to see us.”
“You exaggerate, Captain. It’s nearly three thousand light years away from the homeworld. Anyway, we won’t be going alone.”
“Elaborate.”
“Gladly. I had a word with Admiral Pensh, and he’s agreed to also send Stiletto, Sai, and Dagger.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“I’m very glad you noticed.”
“I am known for the keenness of my observations.”
“Except when it comes to spotting that you’re not wanted.”
“Everybody has their blind spot.”
Santani sighed. She looked to the side and muttered something, and Caden realised that Klade must be in the compartment with her. Him, or some other trusted officer.
“We’re still effecting repairs from your last ride out with us,” she said. “We’ll be combat-ready in six hours.”
“The other ships will be here by then,” Caden said. “I’ll have a mission briefing ready for you when they arrive.”
“I can’t wait.”
Santani closed the channel, and her image disappeared instantly from the holo. Caden leaned back in his chair and looked across the desk.
“I think she likes you.” Brant said.
“I thought you worked in intelligence?”
Brant smiled to himself. Present throughout, sitting in silence, he had been able to see Santani through the translucent display of the holo. Positioned as he was opposite Caden and behind the optical sensor, she had not been able to see him.
“I’ve not had much to do with Captain Santani before,” he said, “but her record speaks for itself. I think you’ve made the right choice.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“She strikes me as the sort who will bitch and moan every step of the way, but she’ll move the many worlds to make sure you do what you need to do and come home safely.”
“Let’s hope she doesn’t need to move anything quite so massive; it was difficult enough when she only had to take me somewhere. Anybody would think she was paying for the fuel.”
• • •
The entire command deck of the Hammer thrummed gently as her reactors shifted through their powering cycles, almost ready to propel her once more through the eternal dark.
“Status?” Santani asked.
Books One to Three Omnibus (Armada Wars) Page 10