by Steve Rzasa
“Ryke!” Jesse whipped off a blast with his scrambler. The energy burst skittered just short of Ryke’s shoulder and hit the teen’s upper torso. He flailed about for a second before crumpling against a chair.
Then Jesse realized that Fred was still shooting—but not at Chidi. He was firing at two other men of Hispanic descent who might be twins and a blond woman positioned toward one side of the main stage. Jesse had a moment to see one of the twins fiddle with the lock on an emergency exit when the woman and the other twin opened fire with a pair of Brodsky Boar-12 assault rifles.
Blast. He should’ve guessed that somebody with Lydia’s connections would have multiple bodyguards in place. Jesse turned his scrambler toward the twin and the woman only to duck back down as bullets ricocheted off the table he was using as cover. A howl of pain drew his attention away. He looked up to see Ryke topple over a holo-emitter in a spray of blood. Jesse squelched the surge of joy he felt at the sight.
He pulled his scrambler back up and—blazes. A tendril of smoke curled up from the deep bullet hole that had gouged its way into the weapon’s innards. Jesse tried the charge gauge and wasn’t surprised to see that the scrambler was dead.
Not a problem. Jesse slipped his KM3 from a jacket pocket.
The rifle fire slackened. Jesse gritted his teeth and lunged from his hiding place. That moment froze as his training kicked in—he saw the twin’s bronze skin and dark eyes, the blonde’s flowing hair, saw the twin fussing over his rifle, heard the muffled warning from the blonde as she saw Jesse—and then pulled the trigger.
The crash of his pistol firing sped time back up. He put two shots into the woman’s chest. A third shot missed and a fourth grazed the twin’s arm. Jesse saw the woman flail a second before he slammed painfully into the floor.
Before he could plan his next move, the whine of a scrambler cut through the air. Then there was silence. Jesse pushed himself up on one elbow. The patrons had made their exit. “Fred?”
The young constable’s flushed face appeared over a table, between the shattered bits of holo-emitters and something that was probably a broken drink container. “Sir! Are you all right?”
“I am. Where’s Ryke?”
“I’m on the blasted floor!” Ryke’s voice was laced with pain.
“Fred, check on him. I’ve got these two.” Jesse eased to his feet. He advanced on the blond woman and the Hispanic twin. The woman was dead, no doubt about it. Her blank eyes stared through Jesse. Another dead Christian.
The twin was not dead, only stunned by Fred’s final scrambler burst. Jesse kicked the assault rifle away from his hands.
The other twin was gone. So were Chidi and Lydia. They must have slipped out the back door.
“What are you doing?” A rotund, balding man with a bulbous nose picked his way between the empty tables. His bright orange outfit was stained with sweat. “I demand compensation for this damage!”
Jesse responded in Kesek standard form. He seized the man’s collar and hauled him up. No easy feat, considering the man’s weight. “Are you the owner?”
“Y-yes.”
“Where does that door go?”
“Access tunnel. Leads out to one of the minor hangar bays. It branches off several times.”
Jesse didn’t like that answer. “How many exits?”
“Five. Maybe six. They’re—they’re in the Port Amata maintenance databases, I think.”
Jesse looked past him. Fred was at Ryke’s side. The flickering lights in the Cave Troll cast an eerie glow over them. The chief inspector gritted his teeth as the younger constable ran a med-scanner over the gunshot wound to his left side. “Bullet grazed him, sir. Not too bad. Just bloody,” Fred reported.
The monitoring robot rattled over. A loose tread clanked. “Do you require assistance?”
Ryke growled. He jabbed his pistol and fired. The robot’s head burst apart in a shower of sparks and metal. The broken remnants scattered across the floor.
The owner swallowed his rage. Jesse turned him hard around. Gave him a shake or two. “Don’t let anyone in here, vac-head. Understand?”
The owner’s head bobbed like the robot’s.
Jesse shrugged off his jacket. He checked the pouch on his belt. The delver was still there. A smaller, brown pouch rode next to it, alongside a handful of ammunition magazines. “Fred. When the cops get here, seal the entire quadrant of shops off. Call to the police headquarters here. Do it yourself, hear me? Get police down to every one of the exits!”
Fred nodded. “Okay. Yessir.”
Jesse looked to the door. Blazes. He didn’t want to do this on his own.
“Detective Inspector Bahn!” Ryke didn’t sound any less formidable as he lay prone on the floor. Fred busied himself digging through a med-kit for the proper first aid. “This is my investigation! You stand down. I will pursue—”
“Save it, Ryke.” Jesse took a last look at the door. “You can file my report for me if I die.”
Jesse cracked the door open. Nothing. No shots fired. But he wasn’t about to risk a look.
He could hear Ryke shouting expletives at him. Jesse ignored him and dug into the leather pouch next to his delver case. His fingers closed around a tiny, smooth object that felt like a stone. He pulled out a silver and black ovoid both as long and as thick as his thumb. Jesse squeezed a light green patch on one curved side.
It beeped. A set of diaphanous wings popped from either side. Two pairs of glassy eyes emerged from one end. Hair-thin legs extruded from the bottom.
Jesse set the device, now squirming, into the palm of his hand. He lifted it gently toward the door opening. “Activate. Go get ’em.”
The artificial insect surveillance device—artisect, in Kesek parlance—hopped up off Jesse’s hand and buzzed into the air. It zipped through the gap in the door with only a barely audible hum to mark its passage. Jesse yanked his delver from its pouch and pressed a control.
The screen flicked on. Jesse could see the angular rock, most of it carved smooth by laser tools. The image was warped and brilliant green—night vision. Someone had killed the lights and the artisect adjusted.
Jesse watched as the artisect went about ten meters toward the first turn. No sign of anyone yet. He pressed a command on the delver screen and the artisect hovered to a halt at the corner. Jesse took a deep breath before he eased into the corridor.
It was not totally dark. Scattered yellow lights flickered where they hung from the ceiling. They cast odd, sinuous shadows from slender pipes, bundles of wires, and ventilator boxes. Jesse had a beacon tucked into his belt but didn’t want that. He might as well paint a target on his forehead.
He checked on the delver. The artisect waited patiently. Jesse urged it around the corner.
Aced. There he was. The other twin from the Cave Troll. This one was still very much conscious and in possession of his assault rifle.
No scrambler this time. Jesse wondered briefly why in blazes these so-called followers of Christ displayed such a penchant for gunplay. Then he looked down at the KM3 in his own hand. Blast.
The artisect hummed further down the corridor. In flight it displayed no glow. Jesse sighed in relief when the spy bug zoomed right by the twin and he paid the device no attention—that much he could see on his delver screen. Now for the next step.
Jesse eased up to the corner, remaining out of the twin’s line of sight. He thumbed a command on his delver screen.
A grating, obnoxious buzz cut through the air.
The twin whirled around. His assault rifle tracked toward the noise, but it stopped. Jesse watched on his delver as the twin stared right past the artisect.
His next command made the artisect emit a brilliant flash of red light.
The twin fired, his shots echoing loudly in the tunnel. The projectile ricocheted off the rock walls. Sparks glittered and the twin swore loudly. His shots had come back at him.
But now he was glancing left and right. He must have lost sight of the art
isect.
Jesse sent one last command. He braced himself at the corner and edged silently around.
The artisect let off a long, keening wail accompanied by non-rhythmic flashes. The twin opened fire again. He shouted something Jesse couldn’t hear.
Jesse ran for him.
He closed the distance in a matter of seconds, his own thumping boot steps shielded by the gunfire. The twin didn’t suspect anything until Jesse was within an arm’s reach. Then he turned. His eyes went wide.
Jesse slammed into him. The collision knocked the assault rifle aside. They careened off the right side of the tunnel. Something sharp tore through Jesse’s right sleeve and cut into his skin. Blazes, that hurt!
They rolled to the floor. The twin pushed Jesse away. They got to their feet and faced each other.
“Infidel.” It was eerie looking into a face identical to the man Fred had stunned back in the Cave Troll.
“Surrender. You’re under Kesek arrest,” Jesse said. “I don’t want to kill you.”
The man dropped into a fighting stance. “God demands my sacrifice.”
Jesse shook his head. “He won’t get it this time.”
The twin winced. He slapped at his neck but missed the silver glitter of the artisect as it fled from his reach. Abruptly the twin’s eyes rolled up into his head and he fell limply to the floor.
Jesse exhaled. He was glad the artisect came equipped with a tranquilizer. “Sorry.”
“Hector!” A deep voice echoed down the corridor. “Where are you?”
Chidi.
Jesse sprinted down the curving tunnel to an intersection. He queried his delver for schematics but the database was empty. Perfect. All Jesse knew was that the voice was coming from the left branch and the right branch went to the hangar bays. So Chidi was heading the wrong way. For now.
Jesse sent the artisect around the corner—and gasped as it burst into a shower of sparks and smoldering bits. The gunshot faded from his ears. He’d forgotten to shut off the artisect’s lights. And Chidi was apparently a good shot.
Jesse hefted his pistol. So much for sneaking up on Chidi.
“Thaddeus Chidi!” Jesse hunched down as he yelled. “Stand down and submit to—”
He lunged around the corner, firing as he went. As he’d hoped, Chidi was expecting a full warning of some kind. Jesse’s shots stuck exposed support beams, sparked off rocks, and managed to hit Chidi. The dark-skinned man let out an anguished cry as he backed into a beam. He dropped his gun.
The helmeted woman—Lydia?—crouched behind him where the tunnel widened. There was some sort of exit to the small chamber beyond her, visible in the yellow lights. But she made no move to escape.
Jesse advanced down the hall. He had two shots left in his magazine. At this range, there’d be no time to change out. He edged past Chidi and into the small chamber, putting himself between Chidi and the woman. He used his boot to shove the gun aside. “Don’t you move either, Lydia.”
The helmet swung sharply toward him.
In that instant, Jesse didn’t see Chidi move. He didn’t see the dull grey cylinder until Chidi held it aloft. An explosive. Jesse’s gun swiveled. “Drop it! Drop it now!”
Chidi’s eyes were glazed with pain—and something else. Blood oozed from two bullet holes in his abdomen. “For the vengeance of the saints!”
He squeezed the cylinder.
Everything happened simultaneously. Lydia collided with Jesse. He felt his body leave the ground. A brilliant flash nearly blinded him. Sound buffeted his ears. The shockwave pushed the air from his lungs.
Agony in his skull. Then darkness.
It was warm. The air, the rock floor, the blood. It was all warm.
Then it was cold. Jesse shivered. His eyes were closed. Or was he blind? His head swam with pain.
Someone held him in their arms. Familiar. He was in bed, in Maryland. The warm summer breeze was coming through the window. And Cassandra held him. He tried to speak, but it sounded like a misaligned thruster. Harsh.
“Shhh.” The voice was muffled. “Don’t talk. Rest. You were hit hard by the shockwave.”
Shockwave. Explosion. The tunnel. Chidi.
Lydia.
Jesse’s eyes flew open. He saw his own grimy reflection in the dark visor before him. Bloody scratches and dirt, all over his face. He tried moving his arms. They worked, with minimal pain, except for the jagged cut on his right arm. Left leg, operational. Right leg—
He cried out.
“I think it’s broken.” Lydia’s voice was smooth, even through the helmet’s distortion.
“Yeah. I agree.” Jesse didn’t try to move it again. He looked around. The ceiling and walls had collapsed around them. But a trio of support beams had held, their metal surfaces shining in the light of the beacon Lydia held. “Chidi?”
“Dead, I assume. He thought the blast would be enough to kill us all. But he must have miscalculated.”
“You don’t sound—” Jesse grimaced against the pain. “Very distraught.”
“He was arrogant and foolish. He wanted martyrdom, not mercy.”
Check that. She sounded bitter.
Jesse sighed. What a mess. His gun was nowhere in sight. His delver—yep, crushed. The bashed pieces sat under a pair of rocks. At least he had his badge. “So, I’d better arrest you.”
Lydia laughed. Familiar. Jesse thought of Maryland. “You may, if you’d like. I would think you’d rather wait until someone rescues us.”
“Probably a good idea.” Jesse craned his neck. “Is the air leaking?”
“No, we’re deep enough under Port Amata, I think it will suffice.” Lydia’s helmeted head turned toward him. “Jesse, look, they will save us soon. You must listen.”
His heart nearly stopped. How many times had his suspects called him by his first name?
Never.
“Don’t call me that.” Jesse felt suddenly weary. So weary. Bone-tired of all this chasing, this hunting. His fuel cells were drained. “I’m bound by the Charter of Religious Tolerance to bring you in.” Even as he said it, he heard the insincerity.
“You are bound by much more than the charter.” Lydia removed her helmet.
Jesse thought he was going into shock as the light hit her face. He felt his eyes go wide. His arms and hands went numb. His mind refused to think. Nothing would respond.
He stared at the same cheerful face that had been the last thing he’d seen every night before the lights had dimmed. The same smile that made him feel invincible.
Some things had changed. The brown eyes held more sadness and the auburn curls were mostly gone. A more severe, short cut had taken their place. When he finally whispered he felt like he was drawing his first real breath in years.
“Cassandra.”
His wife’s smile grew. A tear slid down her cheek. “Jesse. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you back there. After all this time, you came for me.”
It twisted Jesse’s mind. His Cassandra—was Lydia? Not possible. Not in this galaxy. “But…I don’t—”
Cassandra placed a finger on his lips. He closed his eyes at the warmth. If he held any doubts, if he saw her as some apparition, he let those thoughts go. No one else but his wife would know that this was one of the most intimate gestures they shared.
“Do you remember what I said on that night when we—both of us—confessed our faith to God?” Her voice, free of the helmet, was a smooth, soft sound. But it was tinged with sorrow.
Jesse nodded.
“I said I would never turn my back on the Lord and never be silent.” She removed her finger from his lips. Jesse wished they could have stayed that way forever. He’d almost forgotten about the pain in his leg. “You did not make such a vow.”
Jesse trembled. He opened his eyes. Her face glowed like that of an angel in the beacon’s light, smudged as it was with grime. “I—I couldn’t. My family would have been in danger. And I couldn’t have left Kesek! They would have hunted me down, with
more prejudice than others because…” He didn’t want to say the rest.
“Because you were one of them.” There was no rancor in Cassandra’s statement.
Jesse fought back tears. All the self-repression collapsed like the passageway around them. “I believe! Blast it, Cassandra, I believe but I’ve never been as strong as you! From the moment I confessed, I wanted to do something for God. But Kesek was always in the way.”
This wasn’t fair. He’d finally found his beloved wife—and caught up with his greatest capture. And they were the same woman.
“How long have you been doing this?” Jesse asked.
“You mean, Lydia?” Cassandra laughed. “Since a few weeks after I left. I couldn’t hide my love for Christ, Jesse, but I would never have endangered you—the only man I will ever love. I had to leave, and you had to not know why.”
Jesse couldn’t stand it. He leaned his head forward against her arm and cried. It felt so good not to keep the mask in place anymore.
Cassandra held him. “I wanted to deliver the Gospel to as many people as I could. They want it so badly, Jesse. If you could only see it! But I made a mistake in my fervor—I joined with the wrong believers.”
Jesse lifted his head. Stars, he must look a mess. He rubbed a hand across his face. It came away with dirt and blood. “They seem a bit gun-crazy for Christians, Cassandra.”
Her face went rigid. There was an expression he remembered, too: anger. “They think God is weak and needs us to fight for him. They think our role is to hide the Good News and kill all who would try to take that away from us. But that is not our place. We should be messengers, not soldiers.” She looked away. Her fingers traced the glittering crystal in the rocks. “I knew it would end this way. Not as I wanted. Not as He wanted.”
Jesse tried again to move his leg but was rewarded with a stabbing pain. He moaned. Cassandra turned back to him. “Just testing,” Jesse said. He managed a smile.
“What do we do now?” Cassandra rubbed his arm.
Oh, how he didn’t want to think of that. “We hope we can get out of here without Kesek’s help. Then I’ve got to get you away from here.”
To his surprise, Cassandra shook her head. “No. Jesse, you must listen—”