by Rick Partlow
She took another step closer, her nose nearly touching the surface of the cell wall. “Listen to me, Riordan…President O’Keefe doesn’t want you. He knows that going public about you would just make things worse.” It was a lie, of course---she knew that O’Keefe was about to go public later that very morning---but Riordan couldn’t know that yet. “This is bigger than your coup. You’ve been used: Antonov is playing you, with Fourcade’s help, to try to finish what he started in the war. Believe me when I say, Riordan, I would be happy to put a bullet in your head. You’re a fucking traitor as far as I’m concerned. But I follow orders and I have been ordered to give you the chance to cooperate. So make your choice, die here with me or live and give up your coup in exchange for keeping everything you have.”
Riordan frowned as he stared back at her, trying to determine if she was telling the truth. He looked back at Fourcade, doubt in his eyes. “Kevin, tell me this isn’t…”
“Enough of this shit” Antonov finally spat, visibly losing patience. He turned to Fourcade and nodded. Riordan’s face showed sudden alarm and he tried to bring around his handgun, but Fourcade had already raised a small stunner and before Riordan could react, he fired.
Shannon lurched forward instinctively but came up against the impenetrable polymer barrier, her cheek pressed against it as she watched the electrical charge course through Riordan’s body. The thick-muscled executive jerked and twitched spasmodically, his face contorted into a mask of helpless agony until Fourcade released the trigger and Riordan’s eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed against the wall, sliding down to slump on the floor unconscious.
Shannon took a step back from the wall and watched as Antonov leaned over and picked up the detonator and handgun from where Riordan had dropped them. Seeing him up close and in person for the first time, Shannon noticed a psychotic intelligence glowing in his eyes, like an ancient demon staring out from behind a face carved in stone. The Russian paused as he sneered at Riordan’s motionless form, spitting aside at the man.
“That’s much better, don’t you think?” he said in mildly accented English, smiling broadly at Shannon. “I only wish I could kill the mudak.” Asshole, she knew that meant.
“Why didn’t you?” she asked him, trying to sound more calm and confident than she felt, watching intently as he casually tossed the remote detonator up and down in his palm.
“Because I may yet have need of the fool,” Antonov admitted freely, “and I am a man who likes to keep his options open, my dear.”
“What options do you have, General Antonov?” she asked him, waving a hand around them. “Whether you or Riordan is in charge down here, the only way out of here alive is with me.”
“You know, Colonel Stark,” Antonov mused almost whimsically, “I believe you are correct.”
Shannon felt a prickle of fear run up her spine and even before she heard the hiss of a door opening, she was on the move, pushing away from the cell and bolting for the doorway where Tom and the others waited. Some remote part of her mind realized that she had dropped her helmet, but most of her attention was on the main entrance to the chamber, opposite the one they’d blown through. That door had opened and armored biomech troopers were pouring through it, two by two…there didn’t seem to be an end to them.
Shannon opened her mouth to tell Crossman and the others to run when her vision suddenly went white and she felt her muscles jerking out of her control; she could feel herself falling, feel the floor striking her shoulder but she couldn’t make her mind work to figure out why it was happening. Her muscles ceased spasming after what seemed like an eternity, and her vision cleared enough for her to see a blurred, skewed double image of the biomech troopers advancing through the room, their weapons firing with a sound that reverberated through her head like a jackhammer.
Her brain was still filled with a dense fog, but she was fairly sure she saw a figure in grey stealth armor dart through the blasted-open doorway, trying to reach her…and going down face first as a burst of gunfire sliced into him. The man slid across the ground, leaving a trail of blood, stopping only a meter from Shannon. Just before blackness swallowed her, she saw through the helmet’s visor Tom Crossman’s face, his eyes closed, mouth twisted in agony. Then she slipped into unconsciousness in a bitter haze of failure.
Chapter Thirty-Two
First Lieutenant Drew Franks, Republic Space Fleet Intelligence, eyed the walls of his office distastefully, feeling like a caged animal. His Academy graduation photo hung beside his desk, a hologram of a strong-jawed, fair-haired young man only a couple years younger, but with an optimism and enthusiasm in his freckled face and green eyes that he no longer felt. After he’d graduated, he’d pushed hard for a slot in Intelligence---hell, everyone wanted Intelligence, after the war. He’d envisioned himself running a covert operations team or infiltrating terrorist cells…
Instead, he’d wound up working as the go-to errand boy for Colonel McKay. Not that he disliked working for the Colonel: the man was a legend, and he was a great boss. He expected competence and efficiency, but he wasn’t a martinet or a stick-up-the-ass regulation-quoter. He and Major Stark were both incredible. But he hadn’t joined Fleet Intelligence to be a glorified secretary and it was even worse now, with everything that was going on.
And as McKay’s aide, he knew exactly what was going on. The Colonel was out there fighting the Protectorate halfway across the galaxy, while Major Stark was rooting out a nest of treasonous corporate executives and maybe going after Antonov himself. Meanwhile, he was stuck here in an office in Fleet Headquarters and the only excitement he could look forward to was if Antonov blew up this space station the way he’d blown up the old Fleet HQ station during the war.
A tone from his ‘link interrupted his thoughts.
“Colonel McKay’s office,” he answered, “Lieutenant Franks speaking.”
“Lt. Franks,” the voice in his ear was familiar, “it’s Captain Portevent from Communications. We have a priority call incoming from the Decatur…I’m sending the file over to your office now. She said that Major Stark needs to hear this immediately.”
“Thanks, Captain,” he told her, checking his desk terminal and seeing the encrypted message file pop onto his display. “Got it.”
Franks hit the control to activate the office’s security interlocks, then inputted Major Stark’s identity code and played the message.
A hologram of Captain Minishimi coalesced above the desk---Franks was shocked at how pale and drawn she looked but even more concerned about the horror in her eyes.
“Major Stark,” the Captain said, speaking with a quick urgency to her tone, “two of the Eysselink drive Protectorate ramships emerged from the wormhole just minutes ago, then headed insystem at 200 gravities of acceleration. They’re headed straight for Earth and there’s no way we can intercept them in time. Major, by the time they reach Earth, they’re going to be travelling at almost twenty percent of lightspeed…I don’t know what their target is, but I’m afraid they’re going to kamikaze, and if they hit anywhere near a population center, they’ll kill millions.
“They’ll have to shut down their Eysselink fields once they get into Earth’s gravity well, but by then it won’t be possible to stop them. Even if you hit them with a Shipbuster, their plasma field would hit the planet at twenty percent lightspeed and cause a huge wave of radiation. The only way to stop them is put an Eysselink drive field in their way and shunt them away from their course, and you have less than three hours to do it.”
Captain Minishimi took in a deep breath and winced as she did it. “We’re on alert and we can move insystem right now if you order it. Please respond with your orders as soon as you can.” She shook her head. “Good luck, Major.”
“Oh shit,” Franks muttered as he shut down the recording. Three fucking hours…
Trying to hurry without fumbling, Franks brought up the secure communications line on his display and then hesitated…Major Stark had left orders not to
contact her while the operation was under way. He quickly looked up the commo ID for the lander supporting her operation and punched in the number.
“Charlie Gulf Niner Niner,” Franks transmitted, “this is Sierra Hotel Bravo.” His eyes flicked to the contact codes on the display. “Sierra Hotel Bravo authenticates ‘Georgetown Alibi.’ Do you copy? Over.”
“This is Charlie Gulf Niner Niner,” the answer came immediately, a male voice that Franks had heard before. “Go. Over.”
“I have a priority one message for Charlie Gulf One,” Franks told the man. “I repeat, this is priority one, very urgent. Over.”
“Charlie Gulf One is not available,” the man told him. “We’ve received a report from Charlie Gulf Ten that there are biomechs on site and the operation may take longer than estimated.” There was a pause before the man went on, reluctantly. “It’s been too long, Sierra Hotel Bravo. I’m worried. Please advise. Over.”
Franks’ eyes glazed over. Please advise? He thought in disbelief. I’m a fucking First Lieutenant!
“Wait one, Charlie Gulf Niner Niner,” he said, breaking the connection.
The ramships…those were the priority. That’s what Major Stark would say. Three fucking hours…
“Oh shit!” he exclaimed as he suddenly remembered something else. “The President!”
As he tried to do half a dozen things at once, part of his mind gibbered Just five minutes ago I was complaining about being bored…
* * *
Daniel O’Keefe paced restlessly in the antechamber just steps away from the Senate floor, waiting impatiently as introductions were made. He glanced at the monitors on the wall and saw the hundreds assembled in the audience to hear his speech. The full senate was in attendance, including Valerie, along with several high-ranking military officers---though not General Kage, he noted---and a few executives of the multicorps. They waited, some impatient, some curious to hear his speech. They knew he was to speak about the failed Colonial Guard mutiny, but none had any idea of what else he intended to cover.
“Sir,” Charlie Klesko stepped through the door into the antechamber, still looking a bit uncomfortable in his renewed role as a Presidential protection agent. “They’re ready.”
O’Keefe shot the man a grateful smile. “Thanks, Charlie,” he said. “Don’t worry…you won’t be babysitting me too much longer.”
“Sir,” Klesko said with grave sincerity, “it’s an honor and a privilege to work for you in whatever capacity you deem necessary.”
O’Keefe clapped the protection agent on the shoulder as he passed him, then he was on the speaker’s platform of the Republic Senate. He had toured the building this one was based on, the United States House of Representatives in Washington, D.C., and he reflected for a moment that this chamber somehow lacked the feel of history and gravity that the older building possessed. It had a feel of novelty to it, a feel of impermanence that he couldn’t shake.
There was a light smattering of polite applause but most of the hundreds gathered were subdued and expectant as he stepped to the podium. O’Keefe tried to focus on one face or a small group, in order to make his words seem more personal, but he found to his surprise that he couldn’t do it. The faces merged together in a haze of thoughts that he couldn’t suppress.
Just have to do this the hard way, he thought grimly.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice amplified and also transmitted to each person’s ‘link. He suppressed his usual speaker’s smile: it would seem disingenuous and puerile under the circumstances. “Thank you for joining me here on such short notice. I know you’re all concerned and curious as to why I’ve called this special session of the Senate, so I’ll get right to the point. I spoke at the press conference in Houston about the foiled attempt by some reactionary elements in the Colonial Guard to stage a mutiny and how the assassination of my son-in-law was connected with this. Well, as I am sure you can guess, there is more to that story than I’ve been able to share so far.
“The attempted mutiny was only a small part of a larger plot that is still ongoing. What I am about to tell you is going to be hard to believe, but I will be presenting evidence to back it up, both to the Senate and the press. Elements in the Multicorps Executive Council, organized by a lobbyist named Kevin Fourcade, have been conspiring to engineer a coup against the Republic government.” There was stunned murmuring at that…though not as much as if he’d gone ahead and mentioned Brendan Riordan’s name, as he’d seriously considered. But he still held out hope of turning the Executive Director and he needed to be able to promise him something resembling his old life back in order to do that.
“We are still gathering intelligence…we don’t know how far up the chain this conspiracy goes, but we have definitive proof that Fourcade was planning to distract us with the Colonial Guard mutiny, then stage an apparent attack by Sergei Antonov’s Protectorate that would lead to my assassination and replacement by Vice President Dominguez, who they hoped would be more receptive to their demands.”
Now there was a huge uproar and some people rose from their seats, shouting questions and demands at him---a major violation of Senate rules, but it was an unusual circumstance and he waved away the sergeant-at-arms when the woman stood to try to restore decorum. Instead, he motioned to his chief of staff to raise the volume, and when he spoke again it cut through the chaos.
“Vice President Dominguez couldn’t be here this morning,” he went on. In truth, Dominguez was nowhere to be found: he’d slipped his protection detail and his biological sensors were inactive. “However, we have no evidence that he is involved in this in any way.” No evidence that would hold up in court, anyway.
“As I said, this threat is ongoing, and there were those who believed I shouldn’t make it public as of yet, but I was elected on the promise of making the Republic government more transparent to the people. There are some campaign promises I haven’t been able to keep---I don’t have to tell any of you about the state of our economy---but this one I can and will. Time will tell whether I’ve made the right decision in doing so, but I have to believe in the strength and courage of the citizens of the Republic.”
The crowd had quieted at his words and he took the opportunity to take a deep breath and gather his thoughts…but before he could speak again, Charlie Klesko was sprinting up the steps of the podium toward him, his eyes fierce and focused. On instinct, Daniel O’Keefe touched the control to mute his microphone.
“Sir,” he hissed tightly, grasping O’Keefe’s arm, “we have to get you to safety. There are two Protectorate ships inbound using Eysselink drives. They’re probably unmanned and they’re heading for Earth at relativistic speeds: anywhere they hit will cease to exist to a radius of about ten kilometers. They’ll be here in just over two hours and we’ll need every minute of that to get you clear of the city.”
“Jesus Christ!” O’Keefe hissed in disbelief. His mind tried to shut down but he flogged it into action. Two hours…there was no way to evacuate the whole city in that amount of time, not even close. There were emergency shelters, but would they be enough? And could he fly out of Capital City and leave its citizens to the threat of death? He grabbed Klesko by the shoulder and looked him in the eye. “Charlie, get my daughter and granddaughter out of the city.”
“Sir!” Klesko exclaimed, a protest forming on his lips.
“Charlie, just do it,” O’Keefe said firmly. “That’s an order. Get her out of here now.”
“Yes, sir,” Klesko ground out through his teeth, then ran down the steps into the audience.
O’Keefe looked back up at the crowd, hearing their restless rumble. He saw the Majority Leader of the Senate rise from his seat and start to walk toward the podium, her arms swinging authoritatively. He hit the control to turn his audio pickup back on.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, speaking slowly, trying to give Klesko time to get Valerie out of the audience, “I’ve just been given disturbing information.” He raised a hand to
halt Senator Chorney’s advance, motioning for the Majority Leader to stay where she was. “There are two unidentified Eysselink drive spaceships heading towards Earth from the area of the asteroid belt where we believe the Protectorate wormhole is located. They are accelerating toward us at 200 gravities and are showing no sign of slowing down.”
He let his gaze travel across the crowd, saw Klesko hustling Valerie out of a side exit to the chamber. People were rising in their seats hesitantly, alarmed but unsure what to do. “These two ships are probably unmanned, and they’re travelling at near 20 percent of the speed of light. They will arrive in two hours, and if they impact on any populated area, millions of people could die. Capital City is a logical target for these ships, though we don’t know as of yet where they are intended to hit. There is no possibility of evacuating this city, much less every city that might be a target.” He looked directly into the nearest news camera pickup. “I would encourage all citizens to move in an orderly and safe fashion to the nearest emergency shelter, and I am hereby ordering all Republic Service Corps personnel to report to the shelters to support those who seek refuge there. If anyone here wishes to use their personal resources to evacuate ahead of the threat, I will not condemn their actions, but I intend to stay in Capital City and share the fate of its citizens. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to coordinate our defense against this threat.”
Without further pronouncement, O’Keefe turned and left the podium, grabbing his chief of staff by the shoulder as he passed her. He’d promoted Svetlana Zakharova to the position after Glen’s death, not so much because she was supremely qualified for it but mostly because he trusted her more than anyone else in his administration.
“I need a ready room set up here, now,” he told her urgently, motioning back towards the antechamber where he’d waited for the speech to begin. “I want a line to Fleet Headquarters in there now and get me General Rietveld and Fleet Captain Di Ndinge from the audience. I need to know what we can do about this.”