by Mike Smith
They were soon totally lost.
*****
“Wait. I need to stop for a minute and catch my breath,” Paul gasped.
Jon looked at him worriedly, for his face had gone an ashen white, and beads of sweat were clearly visible on his forehead. With a nod of his head the two came to a halt. “That was quick thinking about Sofia,” Jon congratulated him.
Paul sighed, sinking to the ground, with his head leaning back against the wall. “It’s true Jon. Every word. I am sorry, truly I am. I didn’t mean for it to happen, it just did.”
His legs suddenly unable to support his weight any further, Jon was forced to sit on the floor opposite, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. “But I don’t understand. Why?”
“She came to me that night, distraught, after finding you with that other woman. I was asleep when she came to my apartment. I didn’t know what she was going on about at first, after that I just couldn’t believe it. I tried consoling her, we were sitting on my bed, she was in my arms, the next thing I know we are kissing and—”
“I don’t want the details,” Jon interrupted angrily. “Of all the people that I know, I trusted you the most.”
“I’m sorry. If it makes you feel any better, at least I can save you the trouble of deciding how to deal with this.” Paul raised a bloodied hand from his side. “One of the guards must have got off a lucky shot.”
Jon looked in horror at the hand, before quickly moving closer. It was hard to see with the dark suit, but on gently peeling back the jacket, he could clearly see the blood-soaked white shirt underneath. “You just need to hold on a little longer, Gunny and his marines are only a few hundred meters away,” he said.
“They could be a hundred light-years away for all the difference it will make,” Paul sighed. “I cannot keep up with you.”
“Sure you can,” Jon disagreed. “I’ll help.”
Paul just shook his head, raising his other hand to point in the direction that they had come from. It was not clear at first with the dark burgundy carpet, but when Jon looked closer he could clearly see the trail of blood that had been left in their wake.
“You need to go,” Paul insisted. “You can move faster without me. Signal Gunny and the marines. They can come back for me.”
The two of them exchanged a long glance, both of them recognising the lie for what it was, as even if Jon found the marines in time, the guards could easily follow the trail of blood and would almost certainly kill Paul long before Jon could get back with any reinforcements. However, what other option did they have?
“I’ll go and get Gunny,” Jon agreed reluctantly, not looking him in the eye.
Paul nodded in thanks. “Leave me the pistol? If they find me, I might be able to hold them off for a short while.”
Jon nodded, pressing the barrel of the gun into Paul’s left hand, his right still firmly pressed against the jacket over his injury, trying to stem the flow of blood.
“Jon,” Paul called out before he could leave. “It was great knowing you. I wouldn’t have changed a thing, I was proud to fight at your side.”
Jon’s lips upturned in a grin, recognising the words he had spoken only a short while earlier. “You take care, I’ll be back soon,” he promised, disappearing down the corridor.
Paul waited several minutes to ensure that Jon was well out of range, before lifting the pistol, shoving the barrel under his chin. He had no plans to wait and see what Atherton would do to him, if they ever found him alive.
His finger tightening around the trigger.
*****
Paul would probably have been surprised at Jon’s next actions, or perhaps not, knowing his inane sense of direction. As, far from heading in the direction of the nearest exit, he took a hard right at the next intersection, followed by another right at the next, heading back in the direction that they had already come. He soon recognised the faint trail of blood, following it, retracing the route that they had already taken. It was therefore with no surprise that he rounded another corridor, coming face-to-face with the group they had just escaped from.
“Radec, you continually amaze me at how easily you are caught. I assume that Captain Harrington is also still close by?” Atherton called out, once again at the head of the group.
“No surprise Atherton,” Jon insisted, ignoring his question about Paul. “As I have been looking for you. You and I still have some unfinished business.”
“I didn’t realise that you were so desperate for that money?” Atherton laughed.
“No, this has nothing to do with money, but everything to do with a Captain James Harrison and a promise that I made to him before his death. You see, I promised him I would find those who took his family. I promised him that I would find them, and kill them. I recognised you instantly from the transmission, although at least this time you kept your clothes on.”
An expression of surprise crossed Atherton’s face, before it darkened in anger. “Well, what can I say except that corporate banking is dull, but at least I get the occasional perk. I am very disappointed in the Captain, as he was explicitly told what would happen to his family if he mentioned it to anyone else. Oh, well, his loss. Or theirs, should I say?”
“You know I could almost forgive you for what you did to his wife. Almost,” Jon added in a grim tone of voice, taking a step forward towards them, where they stood still several meters away. “But threatening his daughter? That crosses a line you cannot step back from. Now where are they?”
“I don’t think you’re in any position to go making demands, as at this very moment you seem to be quite alone and unarmed. Did you perhaps leave your precious sword at home? What about your mighty fleet?”
“They are close enough, and will come when I call.”
“Oh please,” Atherton waved dismissively. “We own this planet, literally. Nothing happens here without us knowing about it. The troops that you have stationed outside will soon be as dead as you. Kill—” he began, but was interrupted as the corridor lights began to flicker and fail, one by one. “What the hell?” he cursed, when everything suddenly went dark.
The lights could not have been out for more than a second—barely a few heartbeats, the time it took to blink—then Jon was standing in front of Atherton, the two men barely a foot apart.
Jon’s hand shot out, catching the other man around the throat in an iron grip, his eyes an inky-black, devoid of all life. “The sword?” Jon sneered. “It’s mostly for show.” With that he kicked Atherton hard in the belly, releasing his grip around his throat at the same time as the other man crumpled to the floor, leaving him standing alone in the corridor, facing the half a dozen troops Atherton had brought with him.
The group were stunned, staring uncomprehendingly at him, failing to notice the pistol he now had in his hand. The same pistol he had snatched from Atherton’s side while the other man had been doubled up in pain. Raising the weapon, snapping off the safety in the same movement and drawing a bead on the first guard, Jon depressed the trigger. His aim was already shifting to the next.
*****
Pushing himself up off the floor with one hand, the other instinctively going to his throat, Atherton looked up with something akin to disbelief as Radec proceeded to empty the rest of the clip from his pistol into his men. Even when the pistol ran dry he did not hesitate, simply discarding it, snatching a combat knife from one man’s vest, before promptly driving it into the man’s throat.
For over a decade Atherton had been chief enforcer for Senator Malthus. He had personally recruited and trained many of the men who at this very moment were being cut down like chaff by Radec. He took a moment to marvel at the man. No wonder every attempt on the life of Marcus Aurelius had failed. If one man could cause such carnage, Atherton shuddered to think what the Praetorian Guard had been like. Fortunately, at least they had Harkov to thank for doing away with most of them.
Staggering to his feet, Atherton was determined the last Praetorian was going to di
e here, and now. Unfortunately Radec had already relieved him of his pistol, twice, so he drew a knife, approaching him from behind, as Radec was still grappling with the last of his men. Taking advantage of his distraction, Atherton thrust the blade into the man’s back.
*****
Not expecting anybody to approach him from behind, Jon only became aware of the danger at the last moment, twisting to escape from the blade. Even then he was only partially successful, the sharp knife cutting through the cheap suit, leaving a thin trail of blood across his back. Even that caused Jon to clench his teeth at the sudden burning sensation, breaking his concentration. The momentary lapse was almost fatal, as it gave the man he was grappling with a moment’s respite, enough time for him to draw his pistol, point it in Jon’s direction and depress the trigger.
Jon’s forearm came up to block the man’s arm, spoiling his aim slightly and sending the stream of bullets wide. Even then they just missed his head by inches, and by the time it took him to clear his head from the noise, Atherton was already back on him, arm snaking out around his throat, blocking his airway.
With Jon now immobilised, the remaining guard took a step back, corrected the aim of his pistol, pointing it squarely at Jon’s torso, and pulled the trigger.
Click.
The gun had run dry when the guard had last tried to shoot him. Thanking the Great Maker for his lucky reprieve, Jon desperately kicked out with his foot, as the guard was frantically trying to slide in a new clip. Fortunately his boot found the mark, striking the guard under the chin, sending him flying backwards. The guard’s head slammed into the wall with a sickening crunch, and he slid down the wall to the floor, and was still. Jon had no idea if he was dead or stunned, and right now cared little, for his vision was already starting to go black from the lack of oxygen.
Atherton still had a vice-like grip around his throat.
Unable to get any leverage to throw him off his back, Jon desperately tried to elbow the man in the stomach. Unfortunately the thick tactical armour protected him from the worse of the blow, and Atherton’s grip did not slacken in the slightest. Getting desperate, he scrabbled to try and pull the arm away from his throat, desperate to get some air, but it was futile. He could not get a grip.
With his sight starting to fade, he could start to feel the strength ebb and flow out of him as he frantically groped to find something, anything that he could use to get Atherton off him. In the end, just as he was about to lose consciousness, his hand wrapped around the hilt of something he could use—a knife.
Remembering that Atherton was wearing some sort of tactical armour that protected his torso and chest, Jon instead used the final ounce of his strength to thrust the blade in a downwards direction, straight into Atherton’s thigh.
He could clearly hear the scream of pain behind him, and Atherton’s grip loosened ever so slightly, but still the man hung on determinedly, recognising that he almost had him. Emboldened by his first strike, Jon pulled the knife from Atherton’s thigh, before stabbing it straight back into his leg for a second time.
This time it was too much for Atherton, who released his grip, staggering back, his hands going to his bloody leg, trying to stem the flow of blood.
Taking a few deep breaths to restore much needed oxygen to his lungs, Jon turned around to face Atherton, the blooded knife still trapped tightly in his grasp. “Where is Harrison’s family?” he demanded. “Tell me.”
“Damn you,” Atherton cursed him. “I’m not telling you anything.”
“I was hoping that you would say that,” Jon said, crouching low with the knife, before suddenly pistoning forward with the blade held out before him like a spear.
Atherton caught the edge of the knife with his own, twisting the blade up and away from his body. But still the impact of the two of them colliding was jarring, sending both hammering into the side of the wall. Atherton managed to recover first, swinging his knife around in a wide arc, hoping to embed it into Jon’s throat, but was stopped inches from its intended target by Jon’s forearm.
The point of the knife hovered centimetres from Jon’s throat.
“Why can’t you just die already?” Atherton hissed at him, putting all of his strength behind the knife, slowly but inexorably moving it closer to Jon’s throat.
“You first,” Jon replied, suddenly dropping to his knees. With all of Atherton’s weight behind the thrust, the man suddenly found himself off balance. When Jon loosened his grip, it caused the man to overbalance and topple forward. With a backwards sweep of his arm, Jon buried his own knife into Atherton’s side, in the small gap left between the plates of his tactical armour.
Atherton cried out in pain, the wound causing his arm to spasm, sending his own knife spinning away across the floor. “I don’t care what you offer, I’m not going to say anything. You can just go ahead and kill me,” he said.
“As you wish,” Jon agreed, taking a firm grip on the collar of the man’s tactical armour, pulling him towards the end of the corridor and one of the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, leaving a wide smear of red blood along the length of the carpet.
At this Atherton started to struggle frantically, his hands and feet flailing in the air, but he could find no purchase. “What the hell are you doing? Where are you taking me? Put me down.”
Reaching the end of the corridor, Jon hauled Atherton to his feet and looked him in the eye. “I promised Harrison that I would find those responsible and kill them, but you know what? I’ve changed my mind. I’m not going to kill you, as that would be too quick. Instead I think I’ll follow your advice and put you down. After all it’s a long way down and it will give you time to contemplate your actions.”
“What the hell—?”
Whatever else he was going to say was cut-off, as Jon tossed him violently backwards—through the plate glass window. The momentum of the throw, combined with his weight, was enough to shatter the glass and, with a final horrified look of comprehension on his face, Atherton disappeared through the gap. Even from that high up, Jon could clearly hear his screams all the way down.
“Instead I’ll leave it up to gravity,” he said, turning to once again following the trail of blood—but this time to find Paul.
*****
Looking up, Gunny observed Captain Frasier’s hurried return. “Still no word?” he asked with growing concern.
“No nothing yet,” Frasier confirmed. “We’ve gone ahead and cut power to the building, but it is likely they will have a backup power source. Something is wrong. They should’ve returned by now, or at least signalled us that we should move in. What happens if we’ve missed their signal?”
“I’m certain that we haven’t missed anything. How should I put this? The Commander has a certain flair with these sort of things.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” Gunny scratched his cheek, trying to think how to explain. However, his explanation was cut short by the sound of exploding glass high above them.
The two men watched wordlessly as, with a desperate cry, a body was flung out of the window. It seemed to hang motionless in the air for a moment, as if attempting to fly, before it hurtled down the thirty-odd floors to the ground. That strange Doppler shift effect caused his screams of fear and terror to fade in and out, before finally he hit the ground. Or would have, had a small, single-person transport pod not been parked where it was. The body of the man—as they could now clearly see it was a man—crashed through the roof of the pod, and was then still.
“Well that’s something you don’t see every day,” Gunny quipped. ‘That’s our signal.” Turning back to the company of marines, who were currently taking cover behind surrounding buildings, he called out. “Okay marines, move out.”
“This is going to be a cakewalk,” Gunny pronounced confidently. Then, when still a dozen meters away from the building, the darkened glass façade collapsed outwards, revealing over a dozen guards, all heavily armed with a mixture of pulse rifles and assault weapon
ry. Suddenly they opened fire, their heavy weapons spitting out volley after volley of gunfire, causing the marines to dive for cover. They had barely hit the ground before further sounds of breaking glass could be heard all around them. Gunny looked up in shock to observe windows being smashed out on the second and third floor of the surrounding buildings, and gun barrels being poked out of the windows. They opened fire moments later, joining the already heavy gunfire from the front, once again causing the marines to try and take shelter under whatever cover that they could find.
“Those bastards,” Gunny ranted, sheltering his considerable bulk behind another personal transport that was parked along the side of the street.
“Looks like we didn’t have the element of surprise on our side,” Frasier observed, snapping off a shot.
“Screw the element of surprise,” Gunny cursed. “Those bastards stole my idea for this ambush from Eden Prime. The least they could do is to come up with their own, original idea and stop stealing them from others.” Gunny cursed again as now they were outgunned, the enemy had the high ground and they were surrounded. “Can this day get any worse?” he asked rhetorically, forgetting the first rule of the battlefield that if it could, it would.
“Incoming,” a marine screamed as a massive bolt of pulse cannon fire passed feet above the barricade that he had been sheltering behind. Gunny looked up from behind the vehicle that he was hiding behind and swore loudly.
“Problem Gunny?” Frasier inquired, too busy trying to pick-off any targets of opportunity to hazard a glance.
“Yeah you could say that,” Gunny replied, pointing in the direction of the building. “They’ve got a tank.”
Frasier turned around, open-mouthed, as the tank came into view, hovering a few feet from the ground. The thrusters that kept it in the air glowed brightly as it pulled out from the underground garage. Its wide-barrelled pulse cannon opening fire once again, this time at the small personal transport that the two were hiding behind.
“That could be a problem.”
*****