by M. R. Forbes
“It’s time to go, Lieutenant,” Coli said.
“Sir, we need to examine the storage room. If the weapons are missing-”
“I said, it’s time to go, Lieutenant. The dropship is here; your mission is complete. Countering the dust-off puts our people at further risk, and we have casualties.”
She didn’t argue. How could she? “Aye, sir.”
“Platoon, rendezvous at station Delta for dust-off,” Coli announced.
Abbey fell in behind the Sergeant, following him out of the compound and back to the pickup point. She felt her stomach lurch at the sight of the four soldiers in dark bags. Then she looked down at the computer in her hand. Marines had died so that she could retrieve it.
It was her responsibility to make those deaths stand for something.
4
Vice Admiral Emil Cortez stared out of the shuttle’s viewport, trying to force his eyes to function better than they actually did so that he could see past the glare of Sol Three to the star dock orbiting the planet Feru. His assistant, Petty Officer Smyra, had suggested that he might be able to catch a glimpse of the Fire and the Brimstone at rest out there, ahead of the other dignitaries and stakeholders that had been gathered for the demonstration of the starships.
The newest designs out of Eagan Heavyworks, he had heard the two ships were going to be the weapons that finally offered an effective counter to the Outworlder’s Shrikes, providing the Republic with the tool they needed to end the conflict and return peace to the edge of the settled universe after nearly thirty years of tensions.
Then again, he had heard those kinds of claims before.
He gave up on trying to get a look at the ships ahead of time. The glare was hurting his eyes, and he would have his chance to see them soon enough. Instead, he settled back into his seat, picking up the drink that had been left beside him and putting it to his lips. It was a yellow, milky concoction. The server had called it ‘blik’ and claimed it was a Plixian delicacy. He was always open to trying new things.
“Admiral Cortez,” Petty Officer Smyra said, returning from the front of the shuttle, where she had been conversing with the pilots. “You have an update from the Charis.”
Cortez paused before tasting the drink. The Charis was near the Outworld border, running standard patrol, and due to remain there for six more weeks. What would they need from him?
He reached into the chest pocket of his jacket, retrieving a small silver disk from it. He held it in his palm while a projection appeared ahead of him.
“Sir,” Captain Issiasi said, raising a tentacled appendage to salute him. “My apologies for the potential disruption, but my intelligence team has recently uncovered scattered disterium emissions that suggest a ship may have traveled through our jurisdiction from the Outworlds, and our mission directives were to contact you immediately in that event. Dating of the emissions is still in progress, but our early estimates put the incursion at one dot three EW. As always, I am your humble servant. Issiasi, out.”
The projection faded. Cortez looked up at Smyra, who had raised her eyebrows in response to the missive.
“By-the-book, isn’t he, Admiral?” she said.
Cortez smiled. “That’s why the Rudin make good officers,” he replied. “And Issiasi is a ‘she.’” There were no outwardly visible signs of gender on the squidlike species, and the clicking tones their beaks made didn’t provide many variations in vocalization patterns, so he wasn’t surprised Smyra had guessed incorrectly.
“How can you tell, sir?” she asked.
“I’ve read her personnel file. I take it you haven’t dealt with the Rudin much before?”
“No, sir. There weren’t any at the Sol Academy.”
“Their physiology requires a lot of modifications to our equipment,” Cortez said. “It’s a work in progress.”
“Yes, sir.”
It was the double-edged sword of being the more advanced species, he supposed. After all, it was humans who had been the first to develop faster than light technologies. Humans who had discovered the worlds of the Curlatin, the Gant, the Plixel, and the Rudin, among others. Humans who had started the Republic and built an empire that now spanned thousands of light years. He had read texts on some of Earth’s more distant history. That they had managed to come so far as a species after nearly destroying themselves could only be accounted as a miracle.
“In any case, it isn’t uncommon for smugglers to slip through our patrols. If the residual emissions are too small to date accurately, it’s doubtful we have anything to be concerned about. I’ll inform Issiasi of the same after the demonstration.”
“Yes, sir.”
Petty Officer Smyra saluted him, and then returned to her seat across the aisle. Admiral Cortez picked up his drink again, taking a small sip. It reminded him of blueberries and spices, with the kick of a nice vodka.
“Smyra,” he said, “can you please have the server provide the details for this? It is fantastic.”
“Yes, sir,” Smyra replied.
Cortez looked out the viewport again. The shuttle was nearing the Heavywork’s ring station. He could see dozens of other small ships already docked at the spokes that dotted the loop. Had any of the Republic’s top military and civilian protectorate leaders not been invited to the demonstration?
And what kind of demonstration would it be? Director Mars Eagan, the CEO of the company that bore her father’s name, had been tight-lipped about exactly what they were showing. Not that it was a surprise. Generations had passed without a design that could overcome the Outworld Shrike, and pressure had been mounting. While each iteration of military starship fared better and better, the Heavywork’s stock had been plummeting, and newer companies like Tritium Heavy Industry had been eating them for lunch. The Apocalypse starfighter was the current cream of the small craft crop. In fact, the Admiral had seen to it that the Republic placed an order for two hundred of them just last week.
In other words, it was on the Heavyworks to impress him. Were they up to the task?
5
Ursin Gall smiled as he entered Grand Concourse A, the largest open space on Ring Station Feru, using his position at the main entrance to look down over the entire assembly of corporate snobs and military buffoons with a sense of satisfaction.
It wasn’t a justified sense just yet, but it would be soon.
“Lovely party,” the woman standing beside him said. She was a striking figure, her form long and narrow, her hair a deep, exotic blue. She wore a long dress that danced along the floor and opened at her wrists, draping her like an ancient Earth goddess .
Ursin could taste the sarcasm in her voice.
“Isn’t it just?” he replied, taking it all in. They had burned a lot of good favor to get here for the event. Now they had to make it all worthwhile. “Do you see her?”
Her head shifted as she scanned the room. There were at least five hundred people gathered on the open floor of the concourse, surrounding tables of food and drink and raising a hum of sound as they made small talk with one another.
“No,” she said. “She must still be in her office.”
Ursin gazed out of the tall viewport at the side of the room, the rounded transparency covering the entire side of the one hundred meter wide ring. The design was a throwback to days long past when stations like this required centrifugal force to provide artificial gravity. It had been built long after those days were over; a retro-futuristic design meant to impress VIPs more than anything else.
“The demonstration starts in an hour,” he said. “How do we know she isn’t over there?” He pointed out to the star dock in the distance.
“Oh, Ursin,” the woman said. “I don’t think the Director has ever stepped foot on the star dock before. They turn the gravity off over there from time to time, you know.”
“It beats the hell out of lifting heavy equipment,” he said. “You memorized the schematics. Where do we need to go?”
She reached out her hand, t
aking his, as an older man joined them on the promenade. He was wearing a Republic Navy uniform, the hardware across his chest suggesting he had been around a while and had more likely than not been responsible for the deaths of a number of Outworlders. Ursin felt his eye twitch at the sight of him, and he had to squeeze his wife’s hand tighter to get it under control.
“I don’t believe I know you,” the man said, approaching him and putting out his hand. “Admiral Emil Cortez, Republic Navy.”
“Jason Smith,” Ursin replied, forcing his voice into Earth Standard. It made him feel like he was speaking through his lips, instead of with them. “CEO of Hyperion Drive Systems.” He took the hand and shook it, resisting the urge to crush it. Meanwhile, he could tell the Admiral was considering, trying to decide if he had heard of the company, and it’s president, or not.
“A pleasure,” the Admiral said a few seconds later, pulling his hand away. “This should be some demonstration.”
“Do you know much about what we’re going to see?” Ursin asked. “I heard was that there was some new drive technology involved, and I made sure to get myself on the guest list.”
“You seem to know more about it than I do, Mr. Smith,” Cortez said. “Military contractors don’t like to share anything with us until we show them the coin.”
Ursin faked a laugh. “It’s a competitive environment, for certain. We all have to be sure our secrets remain secure, especially when one good contract with the Republic can provide jobs and income for thousands over generations.”
Cortez shrugged, dismissing the statement. “I suppose.” He looked down at the party below. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Of course,” Ursin said, as the Admiral wandered away.
“He didn’t even acknowledge me,” Trin said.
“Just like a Republic Admiral to put himself so high on his proverbial horse,” Ursin said. “He didn’t want to acknowledge me either, but he couldn’t get past without being a complete asshole. In any case, keep your eyes on the prize. Where to?”
“Follow me,” Trin said, turning them back the way they had come.
They headed away from the concourse, into a corridor that ran along the edge of the ring. It was clean and sterile, with ambient lighting that aided in maintaining circadian rhythms and soft white noise providing a sense of place.
“If she’s still in her office, we need to update to Operation B,” Ursin said.
“I’ve already informed the team,” Trin replied. “They’re standing by.”
“What about command?”
“Dak will loop them in.”
“Good. I don’t want any mistakes. We’ve already given up too much to get here.”
“I know. No mistakes.”
They continued through the corridors, turning left to take one of the spokes leading to the ring’s central spire. It was the command and control center of the facility, a long, narrow structure that sat in the middle of the ring like the center of a gyroscope. It was where the Heavyworks employees were coordinating all of the incoming shuttles.
And where Director Mars Eagan would be preparing for her big moment.
“Ursin, wait,” Trin said, pausing halfway down the corridor.
The ring was where the Heavyworks employees lived, and composed mainly of apartments and recreational facilities. She had stopped him outside of one of the apartments, a nondescript hatch with the number displayed on the front. “321-9A.”
He moved in close to her while she looked over his shoulder, finding the camera there. He smiled, reaching up and stroking her long blue hair, putting his hand behind her ear. He located the scrambling device behind it, tapping it to turn it on as he stared into her eyes.
“Clear,” she whispered. Then she put her hand on the door, having produced a small disc from beneath the drapery of her sleeves. She tucked her other hand inside the front of the gown, and a moment later the door slid open.
The apartment was unoccupied. Most of them were at the moment. All of the Heavywork’s employees were either prepping for the demonstration or waiting on Concourse B to witness it. They entered quickly, not wasting any time shrugging out of their formal attire and revealing the gear underneath. Two black, fitted softsuits, with tightpacks holding their equipment close to their bodies and making it easy to hide. Ursin opened one of them, pulling out a small monocle that he pressed to his left eye, the magnetic contact holding against the small implant beneath his skin. Trin copied the motion before opening two more tightpacks to reveal a pair of nerve sticks. They had wanted to bring guns, but while security on the ring was light, it wasn’t quite that light.
“How far to the checkpoint?” Ursin asked, removing his own nerve sticks.
“Three hundred meters,” Trin replied.
“How long until they notice their feed is fragged?”
“Best guess? Another seven seconds.”
“Then why are we still standing here?”
Trin smiled, the way she always did when they were running together. Five years. Ever since that job on Manitou. He could still remember it like it was yesterday. She was the best fragging assassin he had ever seen.
The hatch slid open, and she darted through it, leaving him behind.
That reminded him of Manitou, too.
6
They didn’t slow as they reached the security checkpoint, making it before any of the guards there had managed to check the feed from corridor 9A and catching the paid detail flat-footed and lazy.
Trin was a blur of motion, using the softsuit to vault the last ten meters to the checkpoint, where a surprised guard was trying to get to his feet and react to the incoming storm. She caught him hard on the temple with a nerve stick, sounding a sharp crack as it smacked his flesh and knocked him cold. She barely slowed, moving through the sensor grid and landing on the other side, reaching out and grabbing the guard there and pulling her in, bringing a knee up into her ribs before pushing her back and slapping her with a nerve stick as well.
Ursin trailed behind, slowing up as he reached the grid. It hadn’t activated at her passing. Their contraband was manufactured to be invisible to the system.
“Did they hit the alarm?” he asked.
“Negative,” she replied. “We’re still ghosts.”
“Help me get them propped up. Leave it to mercs to fall asleep on the job.”
She smiled, grabbing the female guard below her shoulders and moving her back to her seat. Ursin couldn’t make the other guard stand again, but he leaned him against the wall and out of sight. Then he produced a small device from his suit, putting it up against the guard’s eye.
It made a soft humming noise as it reached behind the eye and efficiently cut it out.
“Trin,” he said, tossing the device to his wife. She caught it and placed it in front of the scanner against the wall. The hatch guarding the access tunnel to the spire slid open.
“I could have cracked it,” she said, slightly disgusted by the eye.
“Too slow,” he replied.
They dashed along the corridor. It was completely transparent, giving him the feeling he was running across empty space. It might have been a fun experience if he weren’t in the middle of a job.
They reached the other side, using the eye again to get into the spire. Once more the corridors were quiet, with most of the workers assembling in the ring to watch the demo, or already on the star dock to help organize it.
“This way,” Trin said, leading him toward the center of the spire. There were cameras here, too, but the jammer behind her ear was overriding them as they neared, causing them to blink off and then on and hiding their approach.
They reached the center column, where a series of lifts were available to carry them to other levels of the spire.
“You’re certain she’s here?” Ursin asked again.
“Lestan is monitoring the feeds. If she wasn’t already at the party, she has to be in the spire.”
Ursin wondered if he had been wrong to l
et her take the transmitter. It was safer for only one of them to carry it, but if they got caught…
He threw that thought away. They weren’t going to get caught. Not by these people. They had no idea what was coming.
“Which way?” Ursin asked.
Trin held up her hand to beg patience, turning slowly, her eyes half-closed. She was listening.
“Down,” she said, darting away before he could react, heading toward the lifts.
He trailed behind her, catching up when she paused at the clear tube, pressing a patch against the sealed transparency. They both turned away as it flared and sparked, shorting the safety lock and allowing them to slide the clear wall aside.
Trin leaned in, looking down before facing him, a big smile on her face. “Thirty floors,” she said.
Ursin looked up. The flat platform that was the actual lift was still high above their heads and not moving. She was suggesting they jump.
“You could have called the lift,” he said.
“Too slow,” she replied.
He breathed in, and then took her hand, jumping into the tube with her.
They dropped, keeping their bodies flat and straight. The fall took only seconds, and as they neared the lower level they reached out, putting their gloved hands to the glass sides. The rounded ends of their fingers began to elongate, shifting into sharp points that dug into the material, catching them and slowing their descent.
They nearly slid too far, reaching the lower floor still in motion. Ursin cursed, digging in harder and using his strength to get a firmer hold. He grabbed Trin’s wrist, holding tight to her as he finally came to a stop.
She scaled his back, reaching the hatch attached to the tube and placing another patch against it. She put her hands over it to disguise the flare and then shoved the door aside and entered. Ursin climbed in behind her, waiting for her to direct him.
She pointed to the left, at the same time an older woman in a formal suit turned the corner, flanked on either side by a pair of bodyguards. They all made eye contact at the same time, transmitting their intentions in the briefest of moments before Ursin found himself running beside Trin, heading directly for the group.