by Jim Rudnick
He saw from the rear on stage, a brace of EliteGuards had appeared and were dragging the Lady St. August toward the back of the stage area. The rear admiral was trying to herd a group that included some heads of state and the Farm warden toward the rear of the stage too. He saw a Duchy lieutenant he recognized manhandling the Duke off the side of the stage as the center part and rear areas were full of milling heads of state.
Knowing help would come from the rear, Tanner moved slowly toward the center of the stage and was impeded by Nizami, the huge Eran, who tried to move off the stage by just stepping down from the four four-foot height. It wasn’t until Nizami fell that he realized the giant was in distress, having been needled by a convict. How had a convict gotten a Needler? he thought.
He moved two steps closer to the stage center and focused on the convict in front of the stage that held a Needler, albeit a small one, as he traced its ray across anyone on the stage he could reach. Other convicts were grabbing citizens, and Tanner knew the fracas was bad if the two crowds were at each other’s throats. Still others over on the far side of the stage were also tracing more Needler beams on heads of state, who went down en masse.
Needlers, he thought, where had they gotten arms?
Tanner knew there would be answers that would have to be given later, but at this point, he had a job to do, so he drew aim at the convict holding the needler on the giant. The Colt spoke once and the convict went down. As he did, Tanner got a clear look at the man he had just taken down and shockingly realized it was Nusayr, the Royal who was a convict here and Tibah's brother, and he was almost paralyzed with that thought. He was down and not moving—so move on, his Navy training told him.
The sound of the first gunshot, instead of chilling the furor at the front of the stage, seemed to stir things up even more. More heads of state were now jumping off the stage to try to find some hiding spots perhaps among the crowds of people and convicts. He heard the report of his XO's Colt too and realized the whole front of the stage was deadly for anyone still on stage.
Tanner moved back away from the stage's front edge as hands of convicts right up at the edge of the stage were trying to grab him. He moved back as he noted the giant Eran was being used by the convicts to jump up on the stage. From where he was, he suddenly felt a Needler ray touch his legs, and he went down too, crying out loudly.
The pain was strong as his calves and thigh muscles cramped up, and for almost twenty seconds, he was out of control of his body, thankful that it had been only a glancing touch. Falling on his right side allowed him to try to lie on his Colt so that the few hands that bothered with him couldn't find it. He was kicked a few times by someone who didn't know how to kick, yet the jolt to his kidneys was like a stabbing pain.
He heard more Colts through his pain, and he slowly edged up onto his hip to look again at the stage and the convict assault. More convicts had Needlers, and he could see some of them training the ray on a downed body and holding it there to ensure a kill.
As he moved slowly to right himself, he could suddenly see Tibah right at the front of the stage, but it was not a Tibah that he knew.
She held a Merkel—the hunting carbine that he knew well. While it was hung with pieces of vegetable matter, he saw she was carefully aiming the rifle at someone near the center of the stage. How had she gotten that rifle in here? He realized then that she was about to fire off the gun, and he brought up his Colt to cover her.
"Tibah," he screamed "it's over!" and his aim never wavered.
"For Olbia," she shouted, those violet eyes ablaze with fervor.
As he saw her start to squeeze the trigger, he fired first. Her arms jerked up and the Merkel shot went into the air as she fell onto the grass.
He looked first to his left and saw her target, the Caliph, diving behind one of his Ramat guards, and then back at her, but she lay still on the field.
Above him, his XO leaned down to help him regain his feet, and they both took defensive stances as they looked around for any more adversaries.
More of the Caliph's Ramat guards were suddenly running around the front of the stage, as were the SWAT members too. The security squads had finally appeared and even some prison guards too.
Convicts were being mowed down now with blanket stunner fire, and that alone made hundreds turn away from the stage assault and try to run to the front of the stadium to flee the area. He hoped they were all too late. There was no target sorting—the stunners swept the whole area and hundreds lay gasping on the grass.
He still held his Colt, but he was able to stop the shaking he felt as the adrenaline left his system and he went white.
"Sir … Tanner," Craig said holding his arm, "I had to shoot three of them, Sir, they wanted blood, and our job is to protect the Confederacy, Sir," he said and he gripped Tanner's arm with a steel hold.
Tanner nodded but felt sick, and moved to the edge of the stage to retched up his stomach's contents onto the grass below.
He stayed bent over for a moment thinking that a whole bottle of Black, his favorite Scotch, would be the best thing for him, and then he knew he couldn't look away any longer.
He straightened up and then looked down at all the chaos that was still in front of the stage and located Tibah lying still.
It looked like she'd already been checked by a SWAT team member who had taken a look at her and then moved on to others who were still thrashing or lying stunned—it was body triage, he knew.
She didn't get a second look, Tanner thought. She was gone … and at my hand …
#
Hours later aboard the Marwick, Tanner sat with his XO and stared out the view port to the landing port that was suddenly very, very busy. From where the Marwick sat, he had seen seventeen ships leave in the past half-hour, and he knew that there'd be at least that many more too.
He shook his head.
"Craig, reports in from the SWAT team leader yet?" he said, "or the Andros Provost corps?"
Craig was manning the console and put up a couple of photos onto the view-screen on the far wall.
"Um, Sir, yes. These just came in from the city Provost team, the one that went out to the farm that this Tibah was involved with? Look at these gourds and then look when you turn them over … see those stones there?" he said.
"Appears, Sir, that they were using GMO techniques to turn these 'fancies' into weapon carriers. They work perfectly and can be made to look like real vegetables and for once—a new one to me—they float. Floated all the way down the Rasp River and bumped right into Max Island, where it appears they were harvested for those new small Needlers, and then the convicts just carried them into the stadium. Pretty smart if you ask me, Sir," he said and tried, Tanner thought, to be both respectful yet at the same time willing to offer up an opinion.
Tanner nodded and slid his hand below the desk as a shaking spasm made it jerk back and forth, but he hid it.
"And I suppose that the Needlers came from that weapon shop burglary a few weeks back in Andros? Provost or police confirm that too?" He knew the answer before he even asked the question.
"Affirmative, Captain. As well, there were a few of these 'courgettes' at the farms too—and yes, as you thought, they are big enough when you play with their genes to hold a Merkel carbine too. That was just as smart, and that's what the Countess used to bring them into the stadium too, those big, long, fat vegetables. But why is what bothers me, Sir," he said and Tanner could hear the question that was unasked.
He sighed. He had no idea, really, but he could at least think of a reason why. His hand bounced against his thigh. He forced his hand into a fist and squeezed it as tight as he could, yet the shaking did not stop. Yet he had to go on …
"She and her brother were Olbians first and foremost. That I know as we talked about that at some length, and it was something that she mentioned and was most proud of too. I know that she—and her brother too for that matter—had little respect for the government of the Caliphate and for the Caliph
himself. And as we know now, the only reason she was here was to probably help Nusayr escape. But the opportunity to escape must have paled against the chance to assassinate the Caliph—cousin or not—and that is what they opted for …"
The XO nodded.
"Sir, I did check, but the stadium security cameras, which would have recorded all of the events of today, went off when the power went out, so we have no record of the day for our files. But I've already—in your name, of course—requested copies of all de-briefings from all forces there today. Course, as I understand how heads of state react to such Navy requests, it may take months to get answers from some of them," he said as he pointed out the viewport at another ship that was moving up and off-planet as quickly as possible.
"Sub-station clear?" he said and got a nod from the XO.
"Sir, yes, we quickly took the last Olbian convict into custody and one thing, Sir? When the prison guard broke into the station, that girl, Muri from Hope, that we picked up months back was holding the Olbian in a choke hold—seems she rose to the occasion too! Let the hostage prison guard get the door open too!"
"Noted, XO," Tanner said and then realized he had one more duty today as his hand stopped shaking and he leaned forward.
"Craig, I have—well, I have some news, and I wanted you to know it first," he said and squared himself at the table to speak directly at his number two.
"I want to tell you this before I even do it—and I want you to know that this has been a long time coming, and I'm not asking for an opinion or argument. Just a nod will do nicely," Tanner said and looked directly at his XO.
"Craig, tomorrow, I'm resigning my commission with the RIM Navy. I'm leaving the Marwick, and I wanted you to know that I will recommend that you—and only you—take over the captaincy," he said and let the silence ensue.
Craig looked at him, then out the view-port to the ships that were shrinking in numbers every minute, and then back at his Captain.
"Sir … is there nothing I can say or do to make you reconsider?" he said quietly.
"Not a thing, Craig … I'll be seeing Admiral Higgins tomorrow at his convenience, but I'm gone."
Craig drew little doodles with his forefinger on the table in front of him, and for a moment, they sat silently.
"May I ask if you've plans?" he said quietly.
"Aye, you can ask, but that is private info for now. One more thing too, I'm taking Bram with me—he's resigning too. So as of tomorrow, we'll be gone. I leave it to you to tell the crew—hell, man, you're the XO so the captaincy will be yours by default even … and you can tell them what you want to. No way around it, but I can tell you one thing, Craig—that I've never served with a better Navy man. Ever," he said as he made a full salute to the man across the table.
Craig stood immediately and returned the salute, and without even a heartbeat, he moved around the table to reach down and hug Tanner who stood to return the hug.
Now, he thought, to be able to get through the night after having killed Tibah and get to tomorrow ...
#
He rolled on his bunk and the mind's eye picture of Tibah lying on the grass, dead, would not go away.
He tossed to face the wall and pulled the sheet off his lower half so the cool air would help make the sweats go away, but that didn't work.
He punched the pillow to make it more solid beneath his head, and the sound reminded him of the sound of those bodies hitting the grass, and he flinched.
He had slept for a bit, until that clunk somewhere on the ship made him start awake, and he had almost jumped out of his skin.
He flashed back on pulling the trigger of his Colt—how the recoil had felt and how the bullet had flown and knocked Tibah down.
He felt again the spasms that had swept across his legs as he had been needled by some convict, and the sudden falling to the stage scared him once more.
His calves were knots, and he had to reach down to try to knead away the pain.
He got up and walked off the knots, or tried to, and that only partially worked, yet he paced until the pain was lessened before he slid back onto his bunk.
He knew he had to get up soon, and yet sleep was not possible.
He could see Nusayr as he pointed that Needler at the Caliph … and saw himself raising his Colt to kill the man …
He knew he wouldn't sleep.
He knew he couldn't sleep.
He knew the symptoms of PTSD, and he knew the only cure he knew worked.
With a sigh, he got up, went over to the desktop, poured a stiff drink into a plas-glass, and chugged it down.
He had another, and the pain in his legs lessened … and he went back to lie down … and try to sleep … but knew the medicine was just over there …
#
Tanner stood in the anteroom of the administration building's Navy offices and waited. He'd waited already almost an hour to get in to see Rear Admiral Higgins, but he had been told it'd be a wait. Near him, Bram sat and waited too, but they’d arranged that he would go in after Tanner.
He had had only a few shots of Scotch so far … the night had been tough. But the drinks had helped numb him to the events of yesterday.
He imagined that the cleanup of yesterday's huge events would take up most of the next few weeks, if not months, but he had no time for that right now. He was wearing his best, pressed dress grays and had ensured that his shoes, Sam Browne belt, and the rank insignias and badges were spit-polished and shining. He wanted to look his best today of all days. And he had not been able to sleep at all last night either. So he knew he looked like hell.
As a buzzer sounded and the admiral’s aide nodded, he went across the room and into the admiral's office to stand directly in front of his desk at attention.
Behind the desk, the admiral was busy with a tablet, stabbing at buttons and cursing under his breath. On the desk were files and papers, and the computer console on the side desk was beeping at him, but he appeared not to have time to get to that alarm. He finally looked up at the captain in front of him.
"Scott, if this is about my 'briefs as soon as possible' order of a couple of hours ago, you have to know that we need all the intel we can amass to try to make sense out of this. Oh … and yes, my apologies as I understand that you were—um—instrumental in taking out the Olbians—the Count and his sister too. Good on you," he added and then cocked his head.
"And while today is pretty unusual, Captain, it's not a reason for the dress grays—is it?" he said.
Tanner tried to keep his leg from quivering but the cuff shook. He knew the admiral could see it, but he didn't care.
"Sir," Tanner said quietly, "as the ranking RIM Navy officer here on Halberd, it falls to you to accept my resignation of my commission, Sir. I hereby resign my captaincy with the RIM Navy, Sir" he said as he reached forward and placed the twin silver eagles onto the admiral's desk.
He said nothing more and stared directly in front of him well above the head of the seated admiral, that cuff still flapping.
The admiral sat still, reached forward to take the two eagles into his hand, and then shook his head.
"Tanner, look at me, son. Look … yes," he said as Tanner met his gaze, "you did your duty yesterday. You protected the heads of state and guests to the best of your ability. You do not need to resign over something like that—it was the best trained response from you that anyone could have asked for—this is not the way to handle this, Tanner." He smiled at the man in front of him, rose, and held out the twin eagles.
That cuff still fluttered.
"Take these back and we can forget about all of this, Captain."
Tanner did not do any such thing.
"Sir, I will tender my brief later today. I will be off the Marwick within the hour. And I wish you—and the RIM Navy—all the best, Sir—color me gone, Sir" he said as he flashed a last salute to the admiral, wheeled on his heel, and left the office, nodding to Bram as he went by to go out across the tarmac to the Marwick and pick up his
gear.
He would have to find somewhere to vomit, he knew, as he went back to the Marwick.
Inside the admiral’s office, a stream of curses was heard … and the yelling about his aide getting an EYES ONLY with Admiral McQueen back on Juno STAT too.
#
On Deck Eighteen on the Sterling, Tanner was settling in with his gear all around him in a state of clutter. He'd been over to the Marwick and had found his gear all nicely and neatly packed up by his steward and had taken the time to personally thank the man and to also sneak in a glowing recommendation on the man's performance report as his logins still worked. That had made him grin, and he wondered what might happen if he asked for ten cases of Scotch to be moved over to the Sterling. His leg bounced somewhat and the pain in his right calf was still like the stabbing blade of a knife.
Amazing, he thought, what the application of medicine like Scotch could do to pains and flashbacks. Amazing.
He had already made sure that Bram was settled in down on Deck Seventeen, that neither of them had any duty shifts between Halberd and Neres, and that they were to leave Halberd by lunchtime.
He had also taken the time to write down his complete brief on the events of yesterday at the stadium, and he had pointedly tried to be as honest as possible too. He had only one flashback when he had to speak about Tibah, but that was to be expected, and the double had helped somewhat.
He pointed out that he had met Nusayr only the one time but that he knew and liked Tibah—and that yes, they had even gone to an Avengers game once.
But he also pointed out that at no time had she shown any kind of malice to the prison or the system either. She did say, and he noted that from memory, that the Caliph had been no friend of Olbia, and that Olbia had been railroaded into even becoming a part of the nine-realm Caliphate. He also noted she had said her brother, and in fact the whole Council of Nine, had been denied any kind of justice, and both the charges and the sentence were spurious in nature.