by M. D. Cooper
Bent backward, the major tried to twist out of her hold, but she kept him in place, squeezing until a low whimper escaped his lips.
Cara put her lips close to the major’s ear and said, “You come after me, and I’ll kill you. Do you understand me?”
“That’s a threat,” he spluttered, tears in his eyes.
“I don’t make threats.”
Cara released his balls and shoved him forward, grabbing the beer mug with her other hand.
“Get your hands off me, drunk!” she shouted.
She sent the mug at the surprised man’s face. He dodged, and the mug shattered against the edge of the table behind him.
A man shouted, grabbing the major by the shoulder to spin him around. In two seconds, the officer was surrounded by a group of angry mechanics.
“Let’s go,” Cara told Stanson. “This party is getting old.”
Cara gave a short laugh.
She closed the Link connection and fought her way out of the bar, pulling her guard along behind her.
GOVERNMENTAL ACTIVITY
STELLAR DATE: 3.21.3011 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Andersonian Governmental Sector
REGION: Luna, Terran Hegemony, InnerSol
The top floor of the Andersonian Governmental Spire, as they liked to call it, was single, enormous room. The lift sat against the southern side of the building, and opened on the impressive expanse of an indoor cavern, divided into working cells that surrounded a greater cell on the far side of the room, where the chancellor’s cabinet met. Columns ran in two rows down the center of the room from the lift, with a gold carpet running from the lift to the chancellor’s area.
Cara stood in the open lift for a second, taking in the sight of the great room, images of Ceres and the destroyed Insi Ring bright on the curved walls, then followed her soldier guide onto the gold carpet.
The Andersonians in this area were all armed, even those who didn’t look like military, and they had checked Cara’s pulse pistol but not taken it. She thought that odd until she saw how generally outgunned she was.
Grim-faced guards lined the walls, and people in light combat armor walked throughout the room, which hummed with heated discussion. They all seemed to be in the middle of a debate about something. Osla walked too fast for Cara to catch full sentences.
No one paid much attention to her until she and the soldier reached the edge of the chancellor’s section, which was separated from the rest of the room by a low, ornate wall. At the gate, two security officers checked Cara again. One turned her poetry book over in his hands and leafed through the pages, but handed it back to her.
When they were satisfied, Cara was allowed into the inner sanctum. Now that she had passed the barrier, she noticed heads turning in the outer area to track her movements.
The new section took up a good twenty percent of the room, much of that filled by a great wooden table in the shape of a ring. A hologram of green, terraformed Ceres floated in the center of the ring. Men and women who she realized were senators sat around the ring, all wearing similar robes as those worn by May Walton the first time Cara had met her. The memory brought back an onslaught of others as she looked around the area, seeing Harl Nines in the light armor.
“This way,” her guide said, motioning for Cara to follow.
They walked around the table, which represented the Insi Ring they had lost, and Cara came into sight of Chancellor Osla.
Chancellor of the Anderson Collective had become more of a leadership position since their population had left Ceres, Cara knew from newsfeeds and gossip she’d heard in OuterSol. On Ceres, the Andersonians had ruled themselves with an iron fist of administrative control by the Worker’s Political Party, a body represented by their senate. Since the exodus from Ceres, the Senate-in-Exile had weakened under the influence of Charles Osla, the only surviving senator from Ceres.
The chancellor stood in the middle of a knot of people, many of which didn’t look like Andersonians, listening intently as a woman in a yellow business suit spoke angrily. Cara wasn’t close enough to catch everything she said, but every tenth word seemed to be a vehement “Psion.”
Chancellor Osla didn’t argue with the woman. He let others do that for him. Cara stood outside the argument, watching the various participants with bemusement.
Osla looked past the woman in yellow and winked at Cara, which caused several people to look her way, noticing her for the first time.
“Captain Sykes,” he said, cutting off the angry woman.
More heads turned to look at Cara.
“Chancellor Osla,” she said, uncomfortable with the new attention
“What’s you’re opinion on the Psion situation? You might be one of the most qualified people to speak about SAI in all of Sol.”
“I don’t think that’s the case, Chancellor.”
“Didn’t you shoot the SolGov liaison Lyssa?”
Cara felt herself flush. “That doesn’t mean I know anything about politics.”
Osla smiled. “Nonsense. I’ve heard the stories about you. You’re the Scourge of the Scattered Disk. The Pirate Queen. I should be worried you’ve come to see me, that certainly means conquest is close at hand.”
Cara gave him a tight smile, glancing at the various hungry faces around the chancellor. Several had the distant stares of recorders, ocular augments sending livestreams out to the Link.
Osla stepped forward, people parting in front of him, and motioned for Cara to join him. A path opened before them.
“We’re taking a break from diplomacy for the day,” he said. “Why don’t you come join me for something refreshing. What time is it?”
“Ten-thirty, Mr. Chancellor,” someone answered.
“Coffee, then,” Osla said.
Cara stepped forward to shake the chancellor’s offered hand. He closed both his hands around hers and looked directly into her eyes.
“You made quite a presentation getting here,” he said in a overly loud voice. “What message did you mean to send? Did you mean to light a beacon of hope for our scattered Andersonian tribes?”
Cara’s gaze slid to the nearest recorder, and Osla smiled in response.
“It’s so wonderful to meet you in person.” He looked directly at the recorders. “Some might not remember the history. It was her father who gave safe passage to our own Senator Walton at the beginning of the war. Without her heroism, invoking Captain Sykes here in the image of our beloved Jee-Quera, the young girl who spoke truth to power, Senator Walton would never convinced so many to leave before that bloody attack, the day that will live in infamy for our people.”
Cara nodded.
Osla pulled her toward him, turning so they were both facing the recorders as he continued to hold her hands in his.
“A wonderful reunion,” he said. “A leader the likes of Cara Sykes won’t be a captain for long. Admiral Sykes has a better ring to it, I think.”
Nods of approval went through the surrounding crowd.
Looking past the recorders, Cara realized they must have let more people inside the inner section, because it was now crowded with faces pressing to get close to the news event.
“What do you think?” Osla asked, jostling Cara slightly. “How does Admiral Sykes sound to you?”
Cara smiled at the recorders, her eyes going hard. She squeezed Osla’s hand hard, rolling his fingers against each other. He stiffened.
Cara cleared her throat. “While I hold great respect for anyone who serves in the military, Chancellor Osla, service simply isn’t for me. I appreciate the joke.”
People continued to press in around them, pushing the recorders closer. There were five of them now, standing on all sides with their distant eyes while other faces pushed in from behind.
She frowned, wondering what had happened to all the security she had seen before. She caught the woman in yellow watching s
ome three rows back, her gaze rapt on Osla. A cold sensation washed over Cara as she recognized the expression.
The woman was waiting for something, waiting for satisfaction.
Cara turned, pulling Osla’s arm close to her, and pushed him backward into the nearest recorder.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
Cara drove him past the recorders and into the second layer of people in civilian clothes, and a blast hit her in the back, throwing her forward. A spray of pain lashed the backs of her legs.
She landed on top of Osla, who stared up at her, gasping.
The lights in the room flashed, and people were screaming. Someone fell over Cara’s legs.
“We need to get you out of here, Chancellor,” she said. “Are you armed?”
“A pistol,” he said tightly.
“Me too. Let’s hope the bomb was the main event.”
Automatic projectile fire barked from near the lift. People screamed and then went silent.
Cara rolled off Osla and rose to a crouch, drawing her pistol. She scanned her surroundings, finding people crouching, crawling for cover, or stumbling toward the walls.
Three armored soldiers stood in a tight formation by the lift, rifles at their shoulders, firing methodically. In unison, they walked forward down the middle of the room. Bullets bit chunks of plascrete out of the columns along their path.
“Is there another way out of here?” Cara asked.
“Middle of the table,” Osla said. “Under the holotank. There’s a hatch.”
“Is it unlocked?”
“I’ve got the security token.”
A member of the chancellor’s security detail had kicked over a desk for cover and was firing on the advancing attackers. A few more fired from the walls, with more gaining their senses as the smoke from the bomb cleared.
Cara spotted the woman in yellow lying splayed on the floor, her torso a mess of blood and burnt clothing. Other bodies lay everywhere. The recorders who had been close to the chancellor lay broken, staring at the ceiling. Moaning and crying rose around the room.
“Run for the hatch,” Cara said. “I’ll cover you. We’ve got a bit of help.”
Osla didn’t hesitate.
“Moving,” he said.
As soon as the chancellor scrambled toward the desk, one of the soldiers spotted his movement and started chasing him with rifle fire.
Cara aimed for the soldier’s neck with a three-round burst, then rolled and fired again from the base of a large planter. Another soldier started firing on her, as the rest of the squad received the news about Osla’s presence. They spread out, taking positions behind the nearest columns to either fire on guards or on Cara and Osla.
The chancellor flattened to his hands and knees, executing an impressive combat crawl between chairs as bits of carpet exploded around him. Cara fired on every attacker that seemed to be drawing a bead on Osla before shots whizzing by her head forced her to defend herself.
Osla reached the desk, and Cara dashed after him. She slid under the desk and rose inside the ring, the holodisplay glimmering around her as she rapidly aimed and fired on the nearest attackers.
“The hatch is under the projector,” Osla said, checking the edges of the holotank.
Cara glanced away to continue firing, and immediately heard Osla grunt. She fired four more times, chasing back the closest wave of enemy soldiers, the turned to find the chancellor lying on his side near the holotank, blood seeping from his ornamental jacket.
Dropping to her hands and knees, Cara crawled to him. His eyes were already half-closed, and he caught his breath when she felt along his torso for the entry wound.
She found the hole just below his ribs, with an exit wound on the opposite side of his back.
“You’re lucky, Mr. Chancellor,” she said, struggling to pull him away from the body of the holotank. “Whatever they shot you with blew right through you. Bad news is that it sounds like you pierced a lung. We need to get you to an autodoc.”
Osla gave a shallow nod, then let his head fall back on the floor. Cara didn’t bother to see if he was unconscious. She quickly ran her fingers over the base of the holoprojector, finding a depression in the carpet. She pulled the material back to reveal a release handle, which she immediately pulled.
Continued fire pocked the walls and floor around her, throwing wood splinters in the air as the ring table took fire. Soldiers on both sides of the firefight shouted commands at each other as they shifted positions in the room. Wounded people moaned and cried, or shouted at the attackers, “Don’t you know who I am?!”
With the latch released, the body of the holotank slid forward, taking the holo of Ceres with it. A square opening appeared in the floor, with a ladder leading down into a low-lit corridor probably ten meters below.
“No stairs, of course,” Cara muttered.
She lowered herself down the ladder and braced her legs, then grabbed the chancellor’s jacket and dragged him toward her. Working his limp body over her shoulder, she yanked him by his belt until he was mostly balanced on her shoulder, and started down, rung by rung. It was certainly easier than trying to carry an unconscious body under Earth gravity, but no less awkward.
One of the chancellor’s boots caught on the lip of the hatch, forcing Cara to rock him from side to side, and she nearly dropped him.
When she was halfway down the ladder, Cara dropped the rest of the way, adjusting Osla as she landed, and looked up in time for a soldier to stare down into the hatch.
Cara didn’t know if he was friendly or enemy; she shot him in the shoulder, and he jerked away from the hatch. On the wall beside the ladder, she found a red button marked ‘LOCK’, and she smacked it with her fist.
Above her, the hatch slid closed.
Stumbling away from the ladder, Cara got her bearings. Markings on the corridor wall indicated that going left would take her to a safe room, while turning right led to a launchpad.
Cara considered the options, wishing she could call Felix for some information, or at least moral support.
Figuring any attack on a chancellor in his own governmental sector probably indicated an inside job, deeming the ‘safe room’ potentially less so, Cara decided to run for the launchpad. As long as she could locate a shuttle or some other ship, she could fight her way on board and get away from the attackers.
The narrow corridor seemed to run straight to the edge of the underground facility, its ceiling lined by conduit and network filament lines. Cara reached the corner just as shouting filled the tunnel behind her. She couldn’t tell if the soldiers charging into view were Andersonian or their attackers, so she kept running.
Osla was bleeding heavily. Cara’s pant legs were soaked with the chancellor’s blood, and she couldn’t help leaving sticky, red bootprints on the floor, so her best strategy was to run and hope anyone following her wasn’t communicating with another force in the tunnel ahead.
The corridor made another right turn, snaking back on itself. It took another corner for Cara to realize she was skirting a larger room, and then the passage ended on an access door with another large emergency button. She stepped back from the door and hit the switch.
A small launch bay with two shuttles waited on the other side of the door. Cara pushed Osla through the door and quickly got her bearings.
Another door stood in the wall to her right. The back wall of the launch bay was filled with cabinets and several rolling maintenance drones with lift pincers. She had hoped for an autodoc, or some member of the Andersonian military. She couldn’t abandon Osla in the launch bay without medical attention, and leaving with him would probably constitute some sort of international crime.
Still, she couldn’t leave the man to die.
With several bounding steps, Cara came around the side of the nearest shuttle. Its access hatch was open, showing a plush interior obviously designed for executive travel. Cara dripped blood on the upholstery as she carried Osla inside.
Sh
e laid the unconscious chancellor across several jump seats and strapped him down, then hurried to the pilot’s console, sliding into the seat as she reviewed the controls.
Nothing responded to her initial queries, so she sent a handshake request, and the shuttle’s NSAI responded through an overhead speaker.
“Authenticate security protocol.”
“What’s your name?” Cara asked.
“Unnecessary. Authenticate security protocol.”
“Emergency override,” Cara pressed. “I’ve got your chancellor back there. Authenticate that he’s going to die if we don’t get out of here.”
“Hold.”
Cara left her seat to check for a manual lock override on the main door. The soldiers chasing her would come into the launch bay any second, and she couldn’t see it from inside the shuttle.
She found the manual latch and unlocked the hatch. It swung down slowly in the low gravity, and she had to pull it in for the final locking maneuver.
“Authenticate Charles Osla,” the NSAI said as Cara cranked the door lock into place. “Authenticate medical emergency. Safety protocols active.”
“Do you have any weapons on this thing?” Cara asked
“Exit flight authorized. Passengers utilize safety equipment prior to launch.” With barely any pause, the shuttle lurched forward. “Launch sequence activated.”
Cara grabbed a safety bar on the bulkhead just as the shuttle accelerated. In another second, she was hanging horizontally as the shuttle executed a launch burn. Through the front windscreen, the domes of the Andersonian governmental sector into view as the shuttle arced around them, and then fell away, the sweep of New Austin filling the screens. Once the acceleration evened out, Cara pulled herself up to the pilot’s seat and strapped in.
“Authenticate,” the NSAI said.
“Hold on,” Cara said.
“‘Hold On’ not recognized. Voice print verification initiated.”
“Dammit.”
New Austin’s police would have her ID in seconds, and probably share that with the TSF. She had hoped to locate a local med clinic and drop the Chancellor there, then make use of their shuttle. It wouldn’t be big enough to get her off Luna, but she could at least get to a different part of New Austin.