by Neil Davies
Ambassador. Yes, that was what he had been during the meeting with the employee of Reagold. He had been the Larnian Priesthood's ambassador. Now he played the part of religious advisor to the Controller. There had always been times when the two threatened conflict with each other but now, in his constantly active, almost chaotic, mind they were at war. The Controller planned an end to hostility with the heretics on Aks while the Priesthood planned for whatever steps were necessary after such a treaty was signed. It seemed, at times, as if the Controller was trying to destroy the uniqueness and self-imposed quarantine of the true Larnian faith on Earth while the Priesthood strove to maintain the truth in whatever way might be necessary. It was proving difficult for him to reconcile the two. And, as if that were not enough, the Controller continued to bait him with the presence of that damned traitor, Lichfield.
He felt helpless, and that fuelled his anger even more. There was nothing he could do until the treaty was signed and they had returned home. He wished he could just drift unknowingly through the approaching ceremony. He wished he could ignore the humiliating travesty that the Controller would undoubtedly call his ‘triumph’ on his return.
"Are you listening Loadra?"
The Controller's voice startled him out of his thoughts and he realised, with some shame, that he had missed several minutes of conversation.
"I'm sorry Controller. My mind was elsewhere." Loadra bowed slightly in apology, a gesture normally reserved for priests of equitable stature.
"Do try and concentrate Loadra," said the Controller, a deliberate trace of exasperation in his voice. "And do you think you could try and make sure that your mind, for what little it may be worth, is here with us during our discussions?"
Martin suppressed a smile. He had never held any great personal affection for priests, even when he followed the faith as blindly as most did on Earth. It amused him to see such a senior member of the clergy put in his place so easily.
Further amusement was abruptly curtailed by the communicator inside his ear.
He glanced quickly at the other two members of the Controller's personal guard standing inside the room and noted, from their brief nods, that they too had received the message.
Senior Stain military officer entering corridor.
The message had gone on to say that the automatic scan initiated on anyone entering the corridor leading to the Controller's quarters indicated that this was General Clark, a long-serving member of the Stain military and the man in charge of the security for the treaty delegates. He was accompanied by three soldiers, all on file as belonging to the Stain military. All four were unarmed, their small arms having been removed by the Stain guards at the entrance to the corridor. It was a strictly observed rule that only the Controller's own men should be armed in this vicinity.
The discussion in the room ceased as the Controller was informed by one of Martin's colleagues of the officer's imminent arrival.
"Let him in," said the Controller, seating himself in the chair behind his desk.
Martin watched cautiously as the door opened and General Clark entered. His three soldiers remained outside the open door, flanked by two of the Controller's guard.
"General Clark, what a pleasant surprise. And how unusual of you to call unannounced in this way," said the Controller. "I trust everything is in order for the ceremony?"
Later, it was difficult for Martin to say what first aroused his suspicion. Perhaps the hesitation in answering? Perhaps the faint sheen of sweat on the General's forehead? The slightly glazed expression? He did know that, in the split second before chaos broke loose, the General reminded him of the religious fanatics he had encountered during his time with the Terramarines. He was moving towards the General before anyone else noticed anything wrong.
General Clark's mouth opened as if to reply to the Controller's question but no sound came out, only a thin dribble of blood from one corner. His chest heaved, his tunic bulged and tore as a hole was punched through his chest from the inside.
Martin ploughed into him just as the explosion of gore erupted, bone shrapnel ricocheting off the walls and the Controller's desk lamp. He just had time to notice the strange ball-like object that emerged from the mess that had been General Clark's chest before he crashed to the floor, momentarily stunning himself.
He was aware of shouting, of panic and anger. The ball was a weapon, he had guessed as much, and, presuming the target was the Controller, his charge on the General had at least diverted it. One of the Controller's advisors lay sprawled across the desk, his head nothing but a bloody pulp where the ball had struck. The ball itself lay in pieces, shattered by gunfire from one of Martin's colleagues moments after it had struck its victim.
There was more shouting now, and faces were turning towards the door.
Martin watched as one of his colleagues, a taciturn young man he knew only as James, blurred behind a mist of blood as a succession of gunshots peppered his chest and stomach. As he fell, leaving the Controller vulnerable, Martin pushed himself to his feet, his instincts taking over.
He was aware of his other colleague rushing towards the Controller to take him out of harm's way.
They're trying to kill the Controller. I won't allow that to happen!
He assessed the situation in a moment, his Terramarine training clicking into place like the well practised routine it was. The soldiers that had arrived with Clark had turned on the Controller's guard. One lay dead on the floor, the other two now had weapons. The sources of those weapons also lay dead in the corridor outside the door.
Martin moved in, surprising the first soldier by the simple directness of his attack.
He grabbed the hand holding the weapon and pushed it aside just as the finger tightened on the trigger. A shower of sparks burned his leg as the bullet embedded itself in the floor. He ran straight into the man, his forehead smashing the soldier's nose, his knee rising and catching him in the groin. He pushed the man backwards towards the other soldier, feeling the thud thud of the bullets entering his human shield. He lashed out with his foot, managing only a slight connection with the firing soldier's knee, but it was enough to stagger him, long enough for Martin to thrust aside the now dead body he had been holding and pull his Terramarine combat knife from his belt.
The 8 inch long, 2 inch wide serrated blade entered the soldier's body at the base of the rib cage. Martin pushed it upwards, jerked it sideways and down, slicing him open in one smooth movement. As the dying man fell to his knees, Martin pulled the serrated edge of the blade across the exposed throat. A cascade of blood tumbled from the wound, staining the carpet as the man fell forward, dead.
Martin stood, knife in hand, and began calming himself, bringing himself out of the rage and violence that had driven him through the last few moments. He watched as his colleague who had wrestled the Controller to the relative safety of the floor, crossed to where the third soldier lay in the corridor and pumped two bullets into the back of his head.
Just making sure.
Martin knelt, wiping the blood from his blade on the tunic of one of the dead soldiers, and then stood again, sheathing the knife once more at his belt.
For the first time since the attack had started he became aware of the alarms screaming through the space station. The rest of the Controller's guard was already arriving, forming a blockade to prevent any further intrusion.
He turned towards the Controller, admiring the way the target of this messy assassination attempt had composed himself so quickly. There was still a trace of shock there, without a doubt, but more notable was the angry, questioning look in the eyes. The question was obvious.
Who was responsible?
Chapter 33
Carina woke with a start at the first crashing alarm.
Where am I? What is this place?
For a moment she was disoriented. Her surroundings were unfamiliar, the smells, the feel of the bedclothes, the items around her, and the sound... what is that awful noise?
Rapidly, the memories returned. The preparations to leave Aks. The Leader's cruiser. The space station Armistice. The treaty. It was due to be signed today. Leader Carlton's ultimate political victory. A favourable treaty with Earth.
What is that noise?
She became aware of other noises, of shouts, the bark of military orders, and then she recognised that continuous, overpowering sound. An alarm. There was a station-wide alarm screaming its warning to everyone. But a warning about what? What was happening?
She climbed out of bed and was standing naked before the room's wardrobe when the door slid open and two of the Aksian soldiers assigned to the Leader rushed in.
She did not flinch, did not make any attempt to hide her nakedness.
"What’s the meaning..."
"I apologise, but this is an emergency Marm."
She knew the soldier who spoke, she had seen him on the journey here several times, and she was surprised at his use of the official term 'Marm'. It had been many years since she had been addressed in such a way. Most of those who spoke to her knew her by her first name. Those who didn't seldom spoke anyway. She was faintly annoyed that his eyes remained firmly on her face. All very proper and courteous, all very hurtful to her pride.
"I’m not dressed." She spoke with a smile, the humour in the situation not lost on her, and immediately wished that she hadn't. Both soldiers' expressions were serious, deadly so, and she realised that she must listen to what they said. When she spoke again her voice was flat and professional, a request from the Leader's official mistress.
"Tell me."
"We can tell you on the way Marm, but the Leader requests your presence immediately. He is in a room down the corridor."
Carina remembered now. Carlton had left the bed some hours ago to attend a meeting to finalise plans for the ceremony of the signing.
She grabbed a thin, ankle length dressing gown from the wardrobe and pulled it on.
"Is the Leader in danger? Am I in danger?" She tied the belt quickly as she spoke.
"The threat is unclear Marm, but the Leader wishes you with him."
Without another word she hurried out of the room flanked by the two soldiers. Her stomach fluttered with fear but she maintained her outward composure. She noted that both soldiers had drawn their weapons and heard, with a further twist in her insides, the sound of safety catches being clicked off.
Still the alarm screeched through her head.
She wanted to shout questions at the two soldiers, but their attention was firmly on the corridor around them.
There were four more Aksian soldiers clustered around a door further down. They too had their weapons drawn and had the look of those about to enter battle. Wary, nervous, agitated, hyped up on adrenaline.
The door slid open and she was hustled inside. The two soldiers who had escorted her entered also and remained by the now closed door.
Leader Carlton strode to her and took her in his arms. He kissed her briefly on the mouth and smiled.
"I'm glad you're here."
Was the smile strained? Carina detected something behind that smile. Carlton was worried, perhaps even a little frightened.
She became aware of the others in the room, the Leader's top advisors, most of whom she knew personally, and more soldiers. The room seemed filled with people.
"What's going on Jimmy?"
Carlton unfolded his arms from around her and led her to a vacant chair by the single desk in the room.
"We're not sure yet, but our initial reports are of an attack on the Earth Controller."
Carina was stunned. "When?"
"Just a few minutes ago. As soon as the alarm went off we were in touch with the Stain Commanders here. They told us of the attack, nothing more."
"But who..."
"We don't know," said Commander Felton, stepping forward. The Leader's Senior Military Advisor had strapped on his handgun, she noticed, something he had never done before in all the time she had known him.
"Two things are certain," said Carlton, turning to face the others in the room and addressing everyone generally. "One is that whoever carried out the attack might equally try to attack us, and two is that the Earth contingent are bound to at least suspect our hand in this somewhere."
"Surely they wouldn't believe that?" said Councillor Morgan, the soft lilt of his accent all but submerged beneath a tremor of fear. "You don't think they'd try and retaliate do you?"
"If we had been attacked, the Earth contingent here would have been our first suspects," said Commander Felton. "If we had felt there was sufficient proof we would have retaliated."
"But there won't be any proof. We didn't do it!" Councillor Morgan again. His voice betrayed the fear he felt, fear shared by many in the room, but most made at least an outward show of controlling it.
Carina was frightened too. She was as afraid of death, particularly a violent death, as anyone else, but she too controlled it. She was official mistress to the Leader of Aks and, although she knew that most of those in the room saw her as little more than decoration, she would not let them think of her as a whimpering coward. When she spoke, several in the room were surprised by the strength in her voice.
"We are well guarded here by our own troops, but can we trust the Stains? There are only a small number of us compared to the military strength of Stain aboard this station."
Carlton nodded, a faint smile on his lips. He had always known that Carina was strong and intelligent. He thought it about time that some of those of a superior attitude among his advisor discovered it too.
"I still hold a fundamental belief in Stain's neutrality," he said. "However, it would be foolish to risk all our lives on such an admittedly unproven belief."
"Plans are already under way for our move to the shuttle and back to the fleet," said Commander Felton. "I think we had best stay among the safety of our ships until this is cleared. At this time we have no real idea what's happening or how safe or otherwise this station now is."
"I agree," said Carlton, taking Carina's hand and helping her to her feet.
Carina watched thoughtfully as Commander Felton spoke briefly into the communicator in the wristband of his tunic. Obviously the answer satisfied him as he began organising the soldiers in the room. The situation was dangerous, that would have been obvious even to a fool, but it was confusing as well. Who would attack the Earth Controller? She was certain that neither the Leader nor any of his immediate entourage would have sanctioned such a thing. But who other than Aks stood to gain from an assassination attempt on the Earth Controller? And, perhaps just as important in regard to their current safety, had it been successful?
The advisors were being herded like cattle by the soldiers into the middle of the room. She allowed herself to be led by the Leader into the centre. The advisors were nervous, frightened. She could not blame them. The Commander's organisation of them was for one particular reason, a reason they would all be aware of. For anyone to attack the Leader they would first have to kill the soldiers and the advisors surrounding him. They were nothing more than an expendable human shield.
Leader Carlton showed no change of expression but Carina felt his grip on her hand tighten as the door to the room slid open. She glanced at him. He was frightened too, she knew, just as much as the rest of them, but he could not, would not show it. He had to set an example. For maybe the first time in their relationship she felt respect for him, respect as a leader of men. She could not love him as he wanted her to, but if they came through this danger alive she would try to treat him better than she had. He deserved more than the manipulation she had always indulged in.
The Aksian soldiers who had remained outside in the corridor now joined the head of the group, leading the way as the untidy convoy of people hurried out of the room.
There was no panic, Carina noted. Felton's soldiers were doing an admirable job of controlling the frightened politicians around her. These were the same politicians who, at home on Aks, would stride
up and down the corridors of their official residences, snapping orders at these same soldiers, reporting them for the slightest hair out of place or unfastened button. She found it ironic how they now followed those soldiers like frightened sheep, eager to do as they were told. How long would it be after this, she wondered, before they returned to their old arrogant ways? She hoped the soldiers were enjoying their moment of power.
They were almost at the hanger area now, their progress surprisingly easy and uneventful. She could hear the faint humming of shuttle engines, their own shuttle she was sure, ready and waiting to take them to the safety of the Leader's cruiser and the surrounding presence of the Aksian fleet. She allowed herself a brief sigh of relief. They had almost made it. She squeezed Carlton's hand and he turned and smiled at her.
The first explosions blasted dust and debris into her face.
She screamed, temporarily deaf and blind, and felt her grip on Carlton's hand slip. Someone pushed past her and she fell, twisting her ankle, landing on something soft, another person, someone sobbing and shaking.
As hearing returned she could make out gunfire, the screech of ricochets, the screams of the dying and injured. She was aware of shouting too. Orders, demands, curses. The politicians were huddled on the floor around her, trying to hide, trying to survive the vicious firefight that raged around them. Desperately she searched for Carlton, but he was not among them, and then she realised. She looked up.
Carlton still stood, his expression defiant, a weapon taken from a fallen soldier in his hand, spitting bullets towards the enemy, leading by example as always.
The enemy. Where were the enemy?
She could hear the gunfire, see the Aksian soldiers fighting around her, fighting and, in many cases, dying in grim explosions of blood. She could make out faint shadows, figures in the smoke caused by the sparks and fires that raged along the corridor, but she could not see them clearly enough to know if they wore uniforms. Who were they? Earth? Stain? Who?