The Movement of Pawns (Gravity Book 3)

by Jeremy Kester

  Giving up, he marked the station with a sign that would lead him straight there when he returned and he nearly ran to the entrance.

  Years of training allowed him to make it with some time to spare. He opened the door and a blast of breathable air came hitting him in the face. Instantly, he could feel the oxygen surge through his body. He knelt down to relax when he noticed several small air cylinders that fit like a small mask mounted on the wall.

  He stood ignoring the pain from the oxygen deprivation and left the room entirely. Blood needed oxygen, so he had to retreat. He placed a small device to prevent the locks from reengaging as he left.

  A few minutes later he felt well enough to resume. When he returned he stepped over to the masks before going any further. They were encrypted for use by authorized personnel. Making short work of the encryption, he pulled out two just in case and went back in the room.

  The heat remained unbearable, yet he found it much easier to breathe.

  In a fraction of the original time, Kyle found the station and booted it back up. The display lit and he began to search for the symbol. It was hard to find. Minutes passed before he finally thought he saw something and selected it.

  Immediately an Alliance insignia took over the screen.

  “Alright,” he sighed through the mask. “Now to kick this door open.”

  With a few purposeful entries, the encryption was entered and the system flashed off before resuming on the previous screen as though nothing had been done. The sounds of the room increased in their activity as the systems were being overridden by the old programs.

  DASS Poltava

  Near Alliance Independent Border, Saturn approach

  “Your operative did good work,” Dimmings said to the holographic image of Gabriel Fortner. Dimmings had travelled to the bridge of the DASS Poltava, a smaller communications ship, so that he could monitor the initial assault on Rhea.

  “It was a plan set in place before I was promoted to this post, sir,” Fortner answered blandly. “I simply used the opportunity afforded by the prior work.” Back at the ARDME command center, he was monitoring the progress as well. He found himself nervous, unable to focus. As he saw it, he felt responsible for the events that were pressing forward.

  “We all stand on the shoulders of giants. In either case,” Dimmings continued, “this should be over quickly.”

  The holograph of Fortner disappeared and General Dimmings turned his attention to the images surrounding him. Each ship in the fleet was displayed with statistics on their full complement and current statuses. In many cases, those monitoring the battles on this ship would know that there is an issue on a ship before the crew of that ship did.

  “Position the Washington and the Gallifrey on the north end of sector 1A,” Dimmings instructed Admiral Polanski. “Have the marines from the Washington secure the docks.”

  “Yes, general.”

  “Move the Tripoli to the east. I want them to cover the maintenance end. Send the destroyer class ships to each of the defense towers. Neutralize them before someone figures out how to reengage their systems.”

  Without the need for the Admiral to repeat Dimmings’ directives, the crew immediately began parsing out instructions to each vessel. Immediately, ships began to spread out and move. The pawns were making the right moves. Dimmings smiled as he watched his plans begin to unfurl.

  Rhea

  “What did you do to me!?” Adrianna exclaimed. In her hand was a pistol, its barrel digging into the back of Kyle Weather’s head.

  Kyle stayed silent. He was pinned to his desk. Adrianna had surprised him as he returned to his apartment. With his mission accomplished, he was to wait for reassignment. It would likely be to assassinate resistance leaders.

  There was no explanation that he could offer to Adrianna. He had known of the decision to enlist Adrianna into the operative corps, but the decisions were made by the council without his involvement. There was no communication for her missions or the intentions the Alliance had with her.

  His job was to be an operative and nothing more.

  “I had done nothing,” Kyle stated calmly. His blood pressure was only elevated enough to be more alert as his life was in danger. He was not angry or scared. He remained calm though it took considerable concentration. “You need to look at your training.”

  “I received no training,” she spit, referring to the attack that was made upon her on the asteroid station.

  “They call it training, it means different things to different operatives. It is conditioning in a manner or form. Now can you please remove the pistol from the back of my head?”

  Rather than backing off slowly, Adrianna punched Kyle hard in the kidney. As he buckled to the side as a slight reaction to the sudden jarring of his side, she leapt backwards remaining trained on his position.

  She expected him to fight or run.

  Instead, Kyle righted himself, slowly recovering from the punch. He turned and sat himself down calmly. “It’s taking everything I have not to try and kill you right now,” Kyle remarked. He could feel a sense of anger growing inside of his mind. He suppressed it more.

  “I don’t care about your willingness to work with me or not,” hissed Adrianna. She was looking for a way out at the moment. The thought hadn’t occurred to her and she felt foolish for it. “I want to know what they did to me.”

  “I don’t know. They’ll never tell you. You have to dig yourself.”

  “What?”

  “We as operatives are not told everything. And they’ll never tell you,” he repeated.

  Adrianna looked at him questionably. She lowered the gun just enough to show that she was receptive to his words. “Go on. What do you mean?”

  “Our employers will tell us nothing directly. We are given the objectives and the means to execute those objectives. Most of what you need to know will come from you finding it. Whatever your mission is, what the point of what you’re talking about will lead you to the answer.”

  “I was sent to kill Haden Rachid.”

  Kyle’s eyes widened. “He’s alive?” His entire demeanor shifted becoming more relaxed, and less willing to fight.

  “Not anymore.”

  “Wait, so you’re her?” he said.

  Adrianna nodded cautiously. “What are you talking about?”

  “You were his lover, right? We all knew that he had one. He kept it a secret to avoid the Alliance finding out. But most of us knew anyway.”

  “Don’t you have one? Didn’t any of you?” The pistol lowered.

  “Keep that raised,” Kyle said sarcastically. “You’re telling. You gave me the edge of insight into your weakness. You have to protect that.”

  She raised it back feeling foolish while thinking it strange as to how Kyle was acting. After being the one assigned to recover her, Kyle felt a sense of kinship to the woman. Though he had an absolute allegiance to the Alliance, he could see that Adrianna was worth it. Besides, the lover of his old friend, a friend he cared for dearly, was more important.

  “They knew that?” she asked.

  “I can only guess. They sent him to suicide. They must’ve figured out it was you. Apparently he was thorough enough cleaning you off of the system. When you were training they were testing you. They were watching your queues. They figured out your tells. They must’ve programmed you after they found out he was alive.”

  She had heard of that before but had never seen it. Most of the Alliance actually outlawed similar practices. It was not beyond the Alliance to bend their own rules, she thought to herself. “So how would they know now that I was his lover then?”

  “Not sure. There’d be ways. You’d have to dig for it yourself.

  Curious, she lowered the pistol entirely. “Why are you helping me?”

  “You’re one of us now. Secrets between operatives is fairly docile in our employer’s minds. Thanks be to the gods that they think that way too. Anyway, we operate under distinct, finite directives. Only those
guide us. There is no oath, no honor, no family except between each other. And besides, Haden was a good friend… one of the only friends I ever had.”

  “Where should I go?”

  “Just follow the directives. As you get to move around, things will make sense and you will find out where you think it best to look.”

  “Thank you,” she said more calm than she had been. She still didn’t fully trust Kyle’s explanation, but she was willing to try. “I will leave you now if you will let me.”

  “Just be careful,” Kyle added. She turned and perked up. “They might try to kill you off. I’ve seen it many times if they want to get rid of something that has outlived its usefulness.”

  “I think that I already have.”

  “Well then you might want to hurry back off of this moon.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Our employers have plans for here. The angels will be singing their choruses shortly.”

  Oberon Colony

  Canary Markets

  Olivander Jameson slowly studied the monitors. Each reading appeared to show positive signs of life. He didn’t know why his patient was still unconscious. It didn’t matter though. He was committed to allow this individual to stay as long as it needed to revive them.

  There was a favor to be repaid.

  “Dr Jameson,” the intercom rang. A hologram of a young man lit up in the center of the room. His voice sounded concern. “There’s a problem.”

  Olivander looked up at the image of the young man. “Yes, Bolfer? What’s the issue?”

  “The Alliance has attacked. The moon is reported as fallen. Sector Mayor is calling for all personnel to evacuate.”

  Memory ignited in his mind. Floods of images of the war he lived through as a child chilled him to his core. In a hurried panic, he instructed: “destroy the records. Get all of the valuables from the safe. Leave me half. Take the other half and get yourself home and get back with your family. Keep them and yourself safe.”

  “Yes, Dr Jameson,” Bolfer answered obediently.

  “God’s Speed, Bolfer.”

  “God’s Speed, Doctor.”

  The image disappeared. Olivander studied the monitors. Without his patient waking, he’d not be able to save them. “Damnit,” he snapped aloud. His mind rattled between the choice of leaving his patient to die alone, or trying to barter for his own and his patient’s safety, for their life.

  Out from underneath of a cabinet he pulled a shotgun out. He was a wanted criminal by Alliance standards. He escaped the Alliance after completing his medical education outside of Paris. He had skipped out on the draft refusing to serve a government that still denied the actions that resulted in his mother’s death.

  “They did it! They fucking did it!” he would yell at his father against the urging to simply submit to the Alliance. His father had been a broken man since the death of the most important woman in each of their lives. Olivander’s father blamed himself.

  Nowhere did he think the Alliance killed his wife.

  Olivander was the only witness though. He saw the event. He saw it all take place. He saw his mother struggle to breath. He saw her shake violently, buckling from the weight of her own chest. The memories of those moments haunted him as he watched her, as he held her as she died. Those thoughts followed him to the moment he slid the action on the shotgun. In some manner of heroism, he felt that this time he could save someone, to do what he couldn’t do for his mother.

  Taking hold of a strap attached to the gun, he slung it on his shoulder and resumed his monitoring of his patient. The rest of the office was eerily quiet.

  “Computer, please activate the colonial emergency channel. Reception only. No transmitting.”

  A ding rung through the office as a number of voices suddenly filled the room.

  “-through 1C have been released to Alliance control. Colony security is holding off the attack but have taken heavy losses,” a voice announced as though it were a play-by-play for a sporting event. He listened quietly. “Sectors 2E through 3I have been disabled and are currently under siege. All citizens listening, please activate your emergency evacuation protocols. Anyone with military or weapons experience, please report to your local security officer.”

  Olivander walked over to his patient and pulled up displays of the various body systems.

  “Reports from Rhea indicate over 10 Alliance ships in orbit. All sectors are to be advised to be on alert. Do not engage without security!” the voice over the emergency channel continued to explain. “Attack appears to be focused solely on this colony and Rhea so far. No other independent colonial stations reporting disturbances.”

  Olivander’s office was in sector 5R, often called New Dublin. It was a sector heavily populated by drunks, who often came to be the doctor’s clientele.

  Cautiously, he left the monitors of his patient to check the situation outside. As he passed by the reception area, he noticed that Bolfer had left not taking a single bit of Olivander’s wealth, but rather he packed it up leaving for the doctor to take.

  “Dammit, Bolfer,” he muttered to himself inspecting the bag. He expected Bolfer to at least take the portion of the fortune that he was offered. That family was not of a financial state to care for them in this situation. Even a meager pittance of the money that Dr Jameson kept could’ve held them over with safe passage and food for weeks. Half could have sustained them for years if needed.

  He knew though that Bolfer was not the kind of person to accept anything that resembled a handout. He shook his head. There was no chance that Olivander could spare to chase after Bolfer at this point. He resigned to having the full sum of his money at his disposal.

  He grabbed the sacks and moved them back towards the rest of the medical supplies. Packing most of them up was in his plan as well. If the patient would only wake, he could move them to a more secure area.

  Walking back out to the reception area, he stepped up to the main door. Pressing a button a graphics display illuminated. He gazed at the images displayed before him.

  His office was situated just at the edge of a small social court in the midst of apartments and a small market. He could see people grouping together and moving through the court towards the closest transport center.

  Small groups had raided the market and other businesses around there. He wondered why they needed to take such advantages over the local businesses. Fortunately Dr Jameson’s office was tucked away from the paths being taken.

  Medical supplies fetch good profit.

  Adding a few more security protocols to the door, he moved back to the back offices to continue with his patient.

  The monitors still beeped and chirped as they showed no change in the status. Olivander sighed. “You really need to wake up so that we both can get the hell out of here.”

  There was no answer, not that he expected there to be.

  Moving instead to the bed itself, he looked at the man lying in the bed. He debated more on leaving the man there not noticing the hand moving. Suddenly, the man grabbed Olivander. Olivander tried to retaliate trying to reach for the shotgun slung over his back. The level of skill the man displayed countered everything Olivander tried with ease.

  Finally, a hand gripped around his throat. “WHERE IS SHE?!” Haden Rachid yelled, his grip getting tighter around Olivander’s neck.

  “I-I-don’t know what-“ Olivander choked.

  “Adrianna Feyet! Where is she!? What have you done with me?!”

  “C-can’t breathe,” he said pleading with the man he hoped would recognize him.

  With one hand still around Olivander’s throat, Haden tore off the various patches, lines, and wires attached to his skin. Olivander saw his vision narrow as he lost concentration. He just needed air. Everything on his body screamed in pain for air. Haden did not relent until the doctor passed out. When Haden saw the man he held go limp, he released his grip and let the limp man fall to the ground.

  “You’re going to help me find her.”


  About the Author

  Jeremy lifts weights. He thinks he’s so strong. Psh!

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