by Adam Gaffen
The wingmen then got in their licks. The reaction was uneven, ragged, but lasers crossed the gap and eliminated six Wolves, including Hopalong.
Command of the remaining Wolves fell to Wrangler, and he made the sensible choice. He ordered his boats back to withdraw.
“Sorry, Daniela, but we can’t stand against them.”
She understood. Speed, range, firepower, all went to Artemis.
“No problem, Wrangler. We’ll keep them off you. Circle around; the troops are gonna need a ride home. Nymeria, Red, form on me. The Wolves have evened things up, now it’s time to finish them.”
There was an almost feral growl from her pilots.
This was going to be bloody.
“WHERE THE HELL DO WE go from here?”
Stone looked at Crozier, then Taylor, who were both looking around in puzzlement. Their progress from the surface had been quiet and surprisingly peaceful so far. That could be a result of the destruction the ‘quake had wrought on the upper levels of the Complex.
The surface entrance to the Complex was little more than an airlock and cluster of lift shafts. It had survived the ‘quake, though not without some damage, and they had entered without challenge. But there was a problem.
The lifts only allowed for two stops: top, or bottom.
Nothing in-between.
They’d checked the known emergency exits, and none were useable. Most were collapsed, and the few which weren’t were warped and stuck solid. They couldn’t get in the Complex and work their way down, which left only starting from the bottom and heading up.
So they had.
Transfer to the lower level was a nerve-wracking sequence which had left half the troops, and the people they were protecting, topside while the lifts descended. It left Lieutenant Gries in a most uncomfortable position; no commander is ever happy splitting their forces, and he was no exception. But they managed it without any immediate retribution from the vengeful god Murphy.
Now? They were stuck.
According to the plans Crozier had shared, there was supposed to be a T-junction here. Instead there was a crumpled pressure hatch which wasn’t going to open without massive equipment.
“I think if we back up, there’s an emergency hatch leading to a ladder to the next level down. Their floorplan should be the same, so we ought to be able to bypass this mess,” said Taylor.
“I’m no expert, but this looks like more than a problem on a single level,” Stone said. “And isn’t the Council in the middle of the Complex?”
“Yes?”
“And we’re still a few levels below?”
“Yes.” Taylor’s answer was more certain.
“So why go down? Shouldn’t we keep heading up?”
“Point. Sorry, Master Chief. This isn’t my strong suit.”
She dismissed his apology. “Frankly, I don’t think the Chamber is there any longer.”
“Chief?” asked Mac. She was clearly regretting her decision to come along, no matter how useful her hacking skills might be.
“Think about it. Topside is mostly ruin, right? And we’ve been seeing more and more evidence of damage the further up we go. To me, this suggests the Chamber is not there, or at best under repair.” She paused to let her words sink in. “Nicole, where else would the Council meet?”
“Good question, Chief,” the former Minister said. “Most of the business of the government was done in the levels immediately above the Chamber; the higher the level, the less prestigious the Ministry. Jake?”
“I’m thinking,” he said with a frown. “There was something, years ago. It was shortly after I joined the Ministry...”
His voice trailed off.
Mac, can you get any plans?
Nothing recent, no, the most recent blueprints I can pull are from when construction began on the Complex, back in the last century, and who knows what sort of changes have happened since then!
“Ah!” Taylor said triumphantly. “Third level. There’s a duplicate Chamber down there, designed for emergency use. There are also some offices, not enough for a full Ministry but enough so the Ministers, Councilors, whatever, each could have one.”
“Third level? Bloody hell, that’s eight levels down.” Stone reeled in her temper. “Lieutenant, we need to retrace our steps, return to level three.”
“Aye, Master Chief. Sergeant Monaco, move ‘em out.”
SOMETIMES IT’S THE small things.
“First Councilor.” Newling was sitting in her chambers, alone save for a single armsman bored against the rear bulkhead.
“Empress.” Phalkon bobbed her head in a brief approximation of a bow.
“I assume you have information?”
“Yes, Empress.”
“Good. Tell me.”
“The warp mines have proven successful, destroying the Averroes.” Phalkon continued, forestalling Newling’s protest. “While not the starship we hoped to snare, it is still a blow to the Federation. Moreover, when this war is won, it gives us a path to prevent any unwanted intrusion into our space by warp vessels.”
Newling nodded.
“Our fighters, too, are laying waste to the forces opposed to them.”
“Tell me more,” Newling said, with a gleam.
Phalkon paused. She knew what the Empress wanted to hear; she wanted to hear of the glorious successes. The problem was, with the exception of the warp mines, the rest of her news was mixed at best. Yes, the fighters were doing well, but they’d still lost more than half of their force already. Their capital ships had almost reduced the Federation ships to zero, but at the cost of their near-total destruction.
She was tired of the spin.
She pulled a gun from a hidden holster, tucked away in the pouch all Loonies wore to carry personal items, and fired at the armsman. His boredom ended in a bright flare of pain.
Newling rose, the finely tuned survival instincts which had propelled her to her throne kicking in. Her hand knocked the gun from Phalkon and sent it spinning across the room even as she swung the other at Phalkon’s head. Tal dropped under the swing and reached for Newling’s legs, trying to pull her down.
Newling allowed the grab but turned her own downward momentum into a kick which caught Phalkon under the chin, snapping her head back and breaking the hold. Newling landed with a thud but moved to bring her feet back under her before Phalkon finished falling, then she leapt.
Phalkon just managed to bring her arms up, between herself and Newling before the Empress slammed into her. Using her position to the best advantage, Newling tried to wrap her arms behind Phalkon’s shoulders and crush her.
This wasn’t going at all how Tal had planned it, but she still had a card to play.
Bracing her left arm as best she could against Newling’s chest, Phalkon reached beneath her tunic.
“Traitor!” screamed Newling, spittle flying. “You think I haven’t known? You think I didn’t know Dent was working for you?”
Phalkon didn’t answer; she was too busy trying to keep Newling’s arms from joining.
“I forced him to kill himself, made it a condition of my deal with him. If he hadn’t, I’d have forced you to kill his family, made sure he knew you were the one behind the deed.”
“You’re lying!”
“Why would I lie to a bitch I’m about to kill?”
“Just. Try,” gasped Phalkon. Newling was taller and outmassed her; for all her planning and analytic skills, she really wasn’t much of a fighter. She fought dirty, though, and her hand finally found the object she sought: a stylus.
Phalkon drew her right knee up and rammed it hard into Newling’s groin, a tactic which works equally well on women as men. Newling yelped and released her grip, but instead of pushing her away Phalkon pulled her down.
Then she pushed the stylus into Newling’s left eye, releasing her grasp on both the stylus and the Empress and rolling. Newling yowled and lurched to her feet, both hands flying to the destroyed orb and covering it.
> “My eye!” she roared, pulling the bloody object out. But Phalkon wasn’t paying attention; she was scrabbling towards the gun, barely two meters away.
Newling’s reactions were slowed by her injuries and she mistook the movement for an attempt to escape.
“You can’t get away, I’ll catch you and I’ll break you in half!”
Phalkon’s questing hand found the gun. She rolled over and sat half-upright.
The dozen pulser darts her gun spat shredded Newling’s abdomen. She didn’t fall, though, lurching forward like a creature out of a nightmare.
Phalkon triggered the gun again, and now Newling did fall, right leg tattered and rent. Still Newling tried to pull herself along, trying even now to wreak her vengeance on her traitorous foe.
Phalkon regained her feet and took one deliberate step towards the dying Empress.
One final burst, this into Newling’s head, and the Empress finally lay still.
“No. You won’t.”
“IT’S WORKING, ADMIRAL, but not fast enough.”
“Rowan and rue. What else can we do?”
The Lightning missiles were thinning the approaching mass, but their destructive power was proving less than impressive. Fifty kilotons was an impressive payload; the bomb which wiped out a chunk of Philadelphia was only forty kilotons, after all, and the pony nuke which kicked off the Border War a tenth of that.
The problem was momentum.
The smallest ship’s hull, now less than 30,000 kilometers away, still massed over seven thousand tonnes and was closing the gap at more than 200 KPS. Nuclear weapons, no matter how advanced, took time to reach their full destructive capacity when detonating, and by the time the warhead had fully engaged the ships were past.
In response Diana had adjusted her fire and the detonation commands in the missiles. Now they were being triggered before making impact with the target. Unfortunately it was an art, not a predictable science; there were simply too many unknowable variables for even Diana to calculate. She’d been getting better results with practice, but there were still more than forty on track for impact in twelve minutes, including one of the carriers.
It was time to think of damage control.
“Reprioritize,” Whitmore said. “Pound the biggest one until it’s gone, then move to the next and so forth.”
“Understood, Admiral, but I will not be able to destroy all the ships in this case. We will be impacted.”
“Move all non-critical personnel away from that side of the habitat. Damage control crews on standby, for what good they’ll do.”
“Admiral!”
“What, Horst?”
“The maneuvering system!”
“Eh? It’s not powerful enough to get us out of the way.”
“No, I know, but it can induce a wobble, yes? Diana?”
“I understand what he is suggesting, Admiral, and the orbital stabilization system can provide enough delta vee to alter our aspect.”
“Stop talking and do it!”
“Commencing maneuver.”
“O’Toole, open fire with the lasers again. If we’re sweeping back and forth, maybe we can get lucky and do some extra damage.”
“Sorry, Admiral, the missiles are interfering with my firing solutions.”
“Maeve wept, I forgot.” She paused, then suddenly said, “Diana, get me the D2.”
“Channel open.”
“Captain Orloff, status.”
“We’ve evened the odds and Captain Auburn is in pursuit of the remaining Gemini.”
“Good. What is the status of your energy torpedoes?”
“Full load.” They carried thirty of the potent missiles.
“Diana, what would an energy torpedo do to one of those ships? If we hit it broadside, not head-on?”
The energy torpedoes were unique to the Defiant-class ships. Essentially a missile tube carrying a magnetic bottle of phased particles, they might have the oomph to do what the Lightnings couldn’t, and the D2 could alter her angle of fire more readily than Njord.
“At a minimum, push it off course. They do not appear to have course correction capabilities.”
“Captain, we need you here. Now. Colonel McKnight will coordinate your efforts, and –”
“Admiral!” Colona’s voice was unnaturally shrill.
“Titania’s teeth, what now?”
In response Colona changed the focus of the holotank.
“What is that?”
“The Orion launch plate. And it’s on a collision course.”
CHAPTER FIVE
UE Headquarters; Habitat Njord; Cislunar Space; Artemis City
Stardate 12009.14
Lynch tried to conceal his glee.
So far everything was working. For once, everything was working!
Culbertson had caved, as he knew she would. No way was she going to risk the legal wrath of the UE; HLC operated in too many UE member states to be immune from prosecution.
And now his final blow against the Federation, the blow which would cement the peace he’d negotiated with the Union of Artemis, the blow which would propel him into the General Secretary’s office, was underway.
He had to admit Phalkon was good as her word. She’d promised distractions and diversions, and she delivered. Only an hour more and he’d be hailed as the savior of the UE, no, hell, the planet! He even had the announcement recorded; when the news of Njord’s destruction reached him, he’d claim airtime worldwide on the behalf of the UE.
Baytes would have to step aside.
His daydreams were interrupted by his door signal.
“Enter,” he said.
Two Peace Enforcers marched in, their weapons at port arms, followed by Lehman, then Baytes, then a blonde he didn’t recognize, and finally two more Peace Enforcers.
Rising from his seat, he said, “Counsel, Mr. Secretary. What a pleasant surprise. Who have you brought to me?”
“Ms. Jordan, will you do the honors?” Lehman said.
Jordan. He knew the name. Where?
Ah!
“Alyssa Jordan?”
The blonde nodded.
“You are under arrest!” Lynch exclaimed.
“Be quiet, Mr. Lynch!” snapped Baytes.
“Sir! This is one of the criminals named by the Union of Artemis, one of the ringleaders who fomented a revolution!”
“Mr. Lynch, shut up!”
“I strongly advise you not say anything else,” added Lehman, giving his lawyerly suggestion.
“Guards! Apprehend her!”
When none moved, or even so much as flicked an eye towards her, he erupted.
“I’ll have you court martialed! You work for me! Now, arrest that woman!”
Baytes was talking to Jordan.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Jordan; I was afraid something like this would happen.”
She waved a hand.
“I’ve dealt with worse.” She turned to face Lynch. “You want to arrest me? Fine.”
She opened her arms wide.
“Come get me.”
“With pleasure,” he snarled, coming over his desk in a rush.
Jordan stood her ground, unmoving, as he lowered his head. He’d level her, drive her right into the ground, then she’d see who was arresting whom!
His arms reached to wrap her torso, but she wasn’t there any longer. With a half-step to the right she dodged his lunge and gave him some added momentum with a push as he went past. His balance disrupted, Lynch slammed into his assistant’s desk before crashing hard to the floor.
With surprising speed he lifted himself to his knees, left arm braced against the desk to finish standing. Then Jordan’s booted foot caught him in the ribs.
With a grunt he fell to all fours but couldn’t escape the next kick, right into the same ribs. He dropped and rolled, presenting his back to her foot.
But it never came.
Instead four pairs of Peace Enforcer hands were on him, pulling his arms painfully behind his back and
slapping shackles on his wrists. Then he was yanked upright and his feet manacled together at the ankles before being spun to face Jordan. Her voice was cold and formal, almost completely unlike her usual Southern belle persona.
“By the power delegated to me by the General Secretary of the United Earth Government, I am placing you under arrest, Director Roosevelt Lynch. You are advised your words and actions can be held against you. You are not required to provide information which may incriminate you. You have the right to legal representation should you wish it. Do you understand?”
“Screw you! You have no authority here!”
“She does, Mr. Lynch,” Lehman said. “Per Secretary Baytes.”
“Baytes is a puppet, a tool of the weak-willed pantywaists who would cede this planet to our colonies!”
“He is the legally appointed leader of the UE,” countered Lehman.
“What are the charges?” demanded Lynch.
“How about we start with murder, Lynch?” Jordan said with as much of a sneer as she could produce. “Then I think obstruction of justice, misappropriation of UE funds, and maybe with a final serving of high treason. What do you think, did we miss anything important?”
Lynch felt the blood drain from his face. It was impossible! There were no witnesses, no ties connecting him to Mya’s death! The rest was mere political theater, and he could play that game as well as anyone.
“Mya’s death was tragic but I had nothing to do with it!”
“Not my issue,” Jordan said. “I’m here for the arrest. The rest is up to Counselor Lehman.”
“Bring him to be processed,” Lehman said. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Secretary, Ms. Jordan. I want to ensure his paperwork is all filed properly. No mistakes.”
With a nod Lehman left, followed by the Enforcers surrounding Lynch.
“Thank you, Ms. Jordan,” said Baytes. “The UE owes you a debt of gratitude.”
“Not me, Mr. Secretary,” she demurred. “I’m simply the one available to be here. No, the people who have died due to Lynch’s actions are owed your debt, not me.”