Part 4
“Sir,” spoke up the security officer, “you might want to hear this...” He flipped a switch on the headset and a speaker activated, broadcasting the still transmitting radio reports from the team in the tunnels. All around the Governor, soldiers and guards began to scour for a way to get the elevator moving, but none of the machinery had any life left in it.
“-glow sticks out,” crackled the radio, deafeningly loud amongst the mutters of frustration. Most of the staff was too terrified to even stand back up, and now their attention was consumed by what was happening in the tunnels below. “No way past us. We’ll see him with night vision, so stay alert.”
For a moment there was quiet, even the guards seeming to pay attention, then it was broken abruptly by the cracking sounds of gunfire and panicked shouting. A deluge of voices cascaded across the radio-waves and into the stilled steel box they were all trapped in. The chaotic din of the fierce fighting filled the room as if they were only feet away.
Each of the staff cringed as they heard someone cry out in pain, imagining their own fate at this psycho’s hands should he actually find them. Horrid premonitions of their demise drove many of them to begin pounding on the elevator and shout for help, adding further to the pandemonium.
The Governor and his guards alone kept their cool, listening for the telltale silence that would precede Laemkral’s death. It never came as within seconds of the chaotic chatter only static could be heard. However, as the security officer moved his hand to turn off the speaker, a voice came over the radio.
From the very instant he heard it, the Governor’s blood ran colder than ice when he heard the voice. From the very first syllable he heard a deadness in the speaker’s soul, a void that filled every utterance. There was more under the surface, a calmness that masked boundless rage seeking to let loose its fury upon the world.
“Governor, I am coming to kill you. You will be dead before you leave the starport.” That was all the voice said, that was all that needed to be said. The Governor pursed his lips, forcing himself to remain calm amidst all his panicking staff.
“Where’s the power? Why isn’t it back yet?” Upon hearing their boss’s voice, normalcy instantly returned to the staff as a purpose diverted their minds. Data slates powered to life, their glowing screens lighting up little more than faces and hands that feverishly worked and tapped at keys.
“The main lines are all down,” chimed one voice. “We’ve got security teams working to secure access points from the tunnels,” barked another. “There’s no power in the whole facility, but back up generators should be online in ten minutes,” came a third voice.
This banter of chatter continued until the lights flickered back on and the motor began to whine again, raising the elevator once more. The Governor turned to look his staff over, their eyes raising from their work to meet his. “Make no mistake, this man is dangerous, and very clever, but he is just a man.” His fists clenched and his jaw set into a determined look. “We are also not turning back, because I refuse to cower to these threats.”
As the doors opened, they proceeded to file off the elevator and into a long stretch of corridor, marching along in a huddled mass of people, the Governor at the center. Glass lined the hallway, the panels lighting up with advertisements as the group marched past. Guards flitted in and out amongst the panels, dressed in full protective gear and armed to the teeth.
Side areas strung out from the main passage, connecting the starport together like a spider’s web of tunnels and corridors, all leading to a main hub at the center of each terminal. Shops and business eager to sell products to weary travelers willing to part with their money for some conveniences, their doors gated and shut, were scattered throughout.
Everyone in the staff was on edge. Their pace was hurried and eyes darted around to every nook and cranny despite their armed protectors that lined the hallway. A look at any of their faces would show just how fearful they’d become since the power had died in the elevator. Any of them but the Governor. His gaze was locked straight ahead, fixed on the set of double doors at the other end. Beyond was this terminal’s hub, and past that safety.
As they got ever closer, one of the adjutants manning the radio network spoke up, “Sir, the transports are outside and ready. We just need to give them an exit location and they’ll be there.” The radio crackled with static as their footsteps echoed off the walls and ceiling, the panes of advertising advertising panes distorting the sounds further. “Do you have an exit picked sir?”
The Governor stepped up to the double doors, reaching out and laying a hand on the metal handle. “No,” he muttered, “we wait until we’re closer before we reveal where we are.” He turned around to look the man in the face. “That psychopath could still have a radio, remember? We can’t risk telling him where we are.” With that, he pulled open the doors to find the room dark on the other side.
Every light had been destroyed, a few connections sparking from torn electrical wiring, the shadows of the central hub flickering too fast for the human eye to make out. Light from their corridor spilled in, revealing several guards laying dead on the floor in puddles of blood. Directly in front of all this, stood a cloaked figure that was almost completely transparent. All that could be seen was a shadowed face, half aglow with a red light from the left eye.
His jaw agape, the Governor simply stood stock still as a knife flicked out and slid straight into his chest. A cold feeling overwhelmed him as he felt the blade drive in deep, piercing his lung with a sharp pain. He looked down as he heard a voice, the voice from before, the voice that stole what little strength he had left as quickly as a breeze blew out a candle. “Don’t worry about giving away your location, Governor. As you can see, I found you all on my own.”
A trickle of blood rolled down his cheek and an iron taste filled his mouth as a hand grabbed the Governor by the shirt. With a sudden jerk he felt himself lifted into the air and thrown through the crowd behind him. The crash to the ground knocked out what little breath he had left, and there was a wet feeling on his skin from the blood pouring from the now open wound.
Behind him he heard the crash of hand to hand combat, screams of panic, and the clamor of running steps as people fled as fast as their legs would carry them. Rolling onto his back, the Governor stared up at the fluorescent lights, already starting to become fuzzier with each passing heartbeat that spilled more of his lifeblood. Fingers, already numbing, grasped clumsily for the pistol he wore at his side. It had served him faithfully his entire lifetime in the military, and even now the familiar grip as his hand encircled it reassured him.
Boots crashed past his head, the sounds of firing now echoing far off in his head, voices surrounding him and shouting. He was dying, he knew that, and he wasn’t going to be saved. A pistol barked near his head, and blood splattered onto his face. He looked over in its direction and found himself staring at Laemkral, the bionic arm outstretched in his direction with gun in hand.
“You may kill me,” he croaked, struggling with each word to be heard over the gunfire that whizzed past the mercenary. Not once did the man flinch, standing calmly in the midst of the firefight that raged in his direction. “You may kill me, but you can’t win.”
“I beg to differ, Governor,” the man replied, firing off shots with his other hand, casually killing with every pull of the trigger. There was nothing evil about him, just a caustic indifference that made him seem even more inhuman. “Every Confederation lackey I kill is another victory, and a step towards overall victory. And unlike you, I have nothing but endless time.” The pistol fired, and the world went black.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Return to Ke'en, Part 3
Part 3
The tunnel was a twisting, turning pathway, replete with side access tunnels tucked behind concrete alcoves. Just like a spine, thick serpentine strands of cabling ran across the ceiling, twisted and coiled around and amongst pipes of all sizes and purposes. The side tunnels sprouted off to all different parts of the starport, though it was the main tunnel that ran the length of the facility and was directly beneath the busiest parts.
My footsteps as I walked on the dirty tiled floor were slow and steady, each shadow holding a possible threat, and each pile of crates concealing a potential ambush. A deathly silence hung in the air as I steadily walked on, swinging my rifle left and right as I checked constantly for a firefight that never came. I could hear my heart pumping like a drum in my head and adrenaline coursed through my veins as thick as my own blood. Something simply wasn’t right. This was too easy.
****************************************************
“Sir, we have a problem. Someone has attacked and killed several guards at the starport.” The security officer raised a hand to his headset, pressing the earpiece in and shutting out the outside noise. “Intelligence suggests it’s Laemkral.”
The governor shook his head, a frown crossing his already somber face. Short, white hair stood cropped upon his head, a rather full set of hair for a man his age. A prominent scar ran down his face, a memory of a battle long ago from some world who’s name he couldn’t remember. He’d fought a lifetime in the Confederation army and had been rewarded with this assignment, another fight to stop an enemy of the government. Fitting, he thought, that even in retirement I’ll find no peace.
“You say this man has been a problem for ten years now?” he asked, his voice a throaty rumble. “From what I’ve been told, he’s got a history that the Justices have traced back another ten years on top of that. And that’s just what we know.” His steely gaze bore into the security officer’s skull with all the intensity of a star. “How is he still staying a step ahead of you when he’s got to be as damn near ancient as I am??”
Nearby, a man with a grey overcoat trimmed with red stepped forward. His right hand, gloved in black leather, rubbed a small golden gavel-shaped pin on his lapel. “Governor, as this world’s head security officer, as of your arrival just now, I feel I should mention that the Justices believe the Laemkral fighting us today may not be the same one from ten years ago.” Heads everywhere on the shuttle turned in his direction.
The governor fixed him with an icy, disbelieving stare. “Go on...”
It seemed the stare did not affect the man, for he continued without a pause in his vocal cadence, “It’s the only logical conclusion. He’s been fighting endlessly for twenty years, or so we are led to believe, all the while building a reputation and an image.” He snorted derisively at the thought. “An image, why is that? So that he can replace himself with younger, fitter individuals who will carry on for him when injuries or age take him out of the fight. According to reports, he’s been grievously injured, several times, to where a person should be unable to recover. Yet, soon he returns as if nothing had happened.”
The Justice let the words sink in for a moment before concluding, “Therefore, it stands to reason that there is an army of them, attempting to persuade us that one man is doing all of this. It’s really impossible. No one person could do what he is attributed to have done.”
As silence settled upon the room, the entirety of the governor’s staff awed into submission, he beamed a gloating smile. Slowly, the governor stepped up to him, meeting his eyes. “Brilliant, Justice. Sheer brilliance. Now tell me, why?”
At this, he was taken aback. “Uh-what? I’m sorry, Governor, what do you mean by ‘why’?” The confidence that had been there but a moment ago was quickly fading.
“Well sonny, if there’s an army of these people, why in the Hells are they only ever doing this one at a time? Do you think the rest just sit around in secret waiting for their chance? Why don’t we have fifteen, or thirty, or a hundred even, of these psychos? Why is there only ever just one?”
For a moment, every set of eyes looked back upon the Justice, waiting for an answer. The seconds ticked by, all of them still crowded in the shuttle, waiting to disembark. “I, I-uh,” the man stuttered, trying to pull something from his memory. “I..don’t...know?”
The governor did not seem pleased to hear this, if he could even look pleased at all. “Throw him off of this ship, and find me a new Chief of Security.” Several of his bodyguards stepped forward, seizing the man by the collar and dragging him out of the room despite his protests.
“Now, as to the matter of these dead guards. If it’s Laemkral, then this is to be expected. We wanted to lure him out, and that means sacrificing a few pawns,” thundered the governor, thumping a table with his fists for emphasis. “What matters is that we keep track of him, force him where we want him to go, and only then do we proceed to get off this bloody starship.”
****************************************************
As I neared the main terminal, barely a hundred meters away, I rounded a corner and found myself staring into a thicket of rifles aimed in my direction. They were all held by armed guards who’d taken up a position behind a barricade erected across the width of the tunnel. Metal containers, pallets, anything sturdy that could be stacked into a defensible position, now obscured the path before me.
In that instant of recognition, I began to throw myself to the right, hoping to make it behind a nearby concrete outcropping that would hopefully give me some cover from the veritable fusillade that was being fired at me. Muzzle flashes lit up the corridor in one bright moment, firing metal death in my direction as I fired my own rifle in mid-jump.
Time slowed around me as my adrenaline, already pumping through my veins, poured into my system like a tidal wave. My vision became crystal sharp, my bionic pumping me data at an almost intolerable rate, picking out the finest of details as I both felt, saw, and heard rounds whizz past like a storm of angry insects. Each was well aimed, and only my timely movement and the cloak distorting my image saved me.
With my heart rate jumping through the roof, my chest pounding with every beat, bullets slammed into my body all over and sent me reeling. The sickening slurch as flesh tore apart, the hot metal digging into my exposed arms and punching through the thin armor padding on my legs, the thud and beating left behind by the impact against my chest armor, I crashed to the ground. Tumbling and kicking my way into cover, my breathing came short and quick for me as I quickly assessed my wounds.
Blood streamed from the perforations dotting both legs and my left arm, but no bones had been hit and nothing vital was torn. Pain seared all three limbs, and with shots still ricocheting around me off the tile floor and concrete pillar I pulled out several bandages and quickly plugged the bulletholes. The pain was keeping me conscious as my body readjusted to the sudden drop in blood pressure, but if I didn’t keep my mind focused it would also make me sloppy.
As I yanked the last knot tight with my teeth, I realized things had become deathly quiet. Damn, I thought. If I was them, now is when I’d be trying to close on me and finish me off. Pulling both of my pistols, I spun my upper body to the left and leaned back. My left arm went up and around, coming down around the corner fully extended as I stared down the sights upside down. Similarly, my right hand was kept at an angle, held just past my face, and no sooner than both weapons were out was I firing.
The booming reports of the twin .50 pistols dwarfed the quieter pops of the rifles, making up in sheer ferocity what they lacked in volume of fire. I watched as in seconds metal was twisted and torn, wood exploded and splintered, and plastic warped and melted beneath the storm of fire I laid down. Just as fast as I’d popped out, before the last shell clinked upon the ground I was already sitting back upright and in cover.
I tossed the right pistol to the side and picked up my rifle, listening for the sound of someone stupid enough to attack me after that, ready to put an energy bolt square into their chest. Simultaneously, my left hand slid a new magazine home into the pistol, clicking the slide forward before getting to work on its pair. Nothing. They were training them smarter. Damn, I hated smart, it just meant more work on my end to achieve the same result.
****************************************************
“He’s at the barricade now, sir, pinned down.” The security officer informed the governor of this turn of events, a thin smile pursing his lips. “The sentries report receiving heavy gunfire in return, but it’s brief, not accurate, and not causing casualties. They can continue to hold.”
“Excellent,” murmured the governor. The man felt more at ease now, knowing that Laemkral had been temporarily halted. To think that he could have been stopped was ridiculous, the psycho was relentless according to his file. No, better to delay and stall him than to try and take him out until he could fully gauge his opponent. The governor had not survived this long by underestimating opponents, either on or off the battlefield. “Alright ladies and gentlemen, time to get the hell out of here.”
As they descended the ramp from the shuttle, guards swarming around the governor and his small staff, he thought about how long it had taken to organize this. Analyzing the most likely infiltration routes, securing all of them, leaking out the information, and putting each piece into position had required over a year of planning. How long, he wondered, would be required to defeat Laemkral? How many more pawns had to be expended to defend the king? Would he even live long enough to see that day?
Armed escorts formed up around the official party, marching them inside as quickly as they could. No proper vehicle could reach any of the landing pads, so they were forced to walk through the terminal. This particular section had been evacuated, then repopulated with scores of soldiers and Justice agents, many dressed like and posing as normal people. Organizing that had cost a lot of time and money as well.
Marching alongside, the security officer continued to hold his headset tightly to his ear, still monitoring the progress of the tunnels below. As the group stepped into the elevator away from the landing pad and up into the terminal, his expression changed. “Sir, the tam reports they just lost lights...no, wait, they’re back.” He glanced at the elderly man, awaiting confirmation he’d even been paying attention.
“Good work, son, keep me informed,” praised the governor, still painfully aware of how tenuous the situation still was. The guards below were a delaying tactic at best. Reinforcements could not be spared, the terminal had to be protected in case of other threats that might seek to do him harm. “Don’t worry about the lights down there, they’re hardwired into the main power line. He most likely snipped some back-up to an auxiliary line. There’s countless connections to the main line down-” spoke the governor, but he never got to finish his sentence.
The explosion that interrupted the governor knocked most of them to the ground as the elevator car shuddered violently, sending people sprawling. Above, the lights flickered and died as the engine whined quietly to silence, the entire terminal going as black as night with only the sunlight filtering in through the occasional window. The elevator itself hung deathly still, a grave silence in the air before the Governor finally spoke. “Son of a bitch, he can’t have...” was all he said, words trailing to nothing.
The tunnel was a twisting, turning pathway, replete with side access tunnels tucked behind concrete alcoves. Just like a spine, thick serpentine strands of cabling ran across the ceiling, twisted and coiled around and amongst pipes of all sizes and purposes. The side tunnels sprouted off to all different parts of the starport, though it was the main tunnel that ran the length of the facility and was directly beneath the busiest parts.
My footsteps as I walked on the dirty tiled floor were slow and steady, each shadow holding a possible threat, and each pile of crates concealing a potential ambush. A deathly silence hung in the air as I steadily walked on, swinging my rifle left and right as I checked constantly for a firefight that never came. I could hear my heart pumping like a drum in my head and adrenaline coursed through my veins as thick as my own blood. Something simply wasn’t right. This was too easy.
****************************************************
“Sir, we have a problem. Someone has attacked and killed several guards at the starport.” The security officer raised a hand to his headset, pressing the earpiece in and shutting out the outside noise. “Intelligence suggests it’s Laemkral.”
The governor shook his head, a frown crossing his already somber face. Short, white hair stood cropped upon his head, a rather full set of hair for a man his age. A prominent scar ran down his face, a memory of a battle long ago from some world who’s name he couldn’t remember. He’d fought a lifetime in the Confederation army and had been rewarded with this assignment, another fight to stop an enemy of the government. Fitting, he thought, that even in retirement I’ll find no peace.
“You say this man has been a problem for ten years now?” he asked, his voice a throaty rumble. “From what I’ve been told, he’s got a history that the Justices have traced back another ten years on top of that. And that’s just what we know.” His steely gaze bore into the security officer’s skull with all the intensity of a star. “How is he still staying a step ahead of you when he’s got to be as damn near ancient as I am??”
Nearby, a man with a grey overcoat trimmed with red stepped forward. His right hand, gloved in black leather, rubbed a small golden gavel-shaped pin on his lapel. “Governor, as this world’s head security officer, as of your arrival just now, I feel I should mention that the Justices believe the Laemkral fighting us today may not be the same one from ten years ago.” Heads everywhere on the shuttle turned in his direction.
The governor fixed him with an icy, disbelieving stare. “Go on...”
It seemed the stare did not affect the man, for he continued without a pause in his vocal cadence, “It’s the only logical conclusion. He’s been fighting endlessly for twenty years, or so we are led to believe, all the while building a reputation and an image.” He snorted derisively at the thought. “An image, why is that? So that he can replace himself with younger, fitter individuals who will carry on for him when injuries or age take him out of the fight. According to reports, he’s been grievously injured, several times, to where a person should be unable to recover. Yet, soon he returns as if nothing had happened.”
The Justice let the words sink in for a moment before concluding, “Therefore, it stands to reason that there is an army of them, attempting to persuade us that one man is doing all of this. It’s really impossible. No one person could do what he is attributed to have done.”
As silence settled upon the room, the entirety of the governor’s staff awed into submission, he beamed a gloating smile. Slowly, the governor stepped up to him, meeting his eyes. “Brilliant, Justice. Sheer brilliance. Now tell me, why?”
At this, he was taken aback. “Uh-what? I’m sorry, Governor, what do you mean by ‘why’?” The confidence that had been there but a moment ago was quickly fading.
“Well sonny, if there’s an army of these people, why in the Hells are they only ever doing this one at a time? Do you think the rest just sit around in secret waiting for their chance? Why don’t we have fifteen, or thirty, or a hundred even, of these psychos? Why is there only ever just one?”
For a moment, every set of eyes looked back upon the Justice, waiting for an answer. The seconds ticked by, all of them still crowded in the shuttle, waiting to disembark. “I, I-uh,” the man stuttered, trying to pull something from his memory. “I..don’t...know?”
The governor did not seem pleased to hear this, if he could even look pleased at all. “Throw him off of this ship, and find me a new Chief of Security.” Several of his bodyguards stepped forward, seizing the man by the collar and dragging him out of the room despite his protests.
“Now, as to the matter of these dead guards. If it’s Laemkral, then this is to be expected. We wanted to lure him out, and that means sacrificing a few pawns,” thundered the governor, thumping a table with his fists for emphasis. “What matters is that we keep track of him, force him where we want him to go, and only then do we proceed to get off this bloody starship.”
****************************************************
As I neared the main terminal, barely a hundred meters away, I rounded a corner and found myself staring into a thicket of rifles aimed in my direction. They were all held by armed guards who’d taken up a position behind a barricade erected across the width of the tunnel. Metal containers, pallets, anything sturdy that could be stacked into a defensible position, now obscured the path before me.
In that instant of recognition, I began to throw myself to the right, hoping to make it behind a nearby concrete outcropping that would hopefully give me some cover from the veritable fusillade that was being fired at me. Muzzle flashes lit up the corridor in one bright moment, firing metal death in my direction as I fired my own rifle in mid-jump.
Time slowed around me as my adrenaline, already pumping through my veins, poured into my system like a tidal wave. My vision became crystal sharp, my bionic pumping me data at an almost intolerable rate, picking out the finest of details as I both felt, saw, and heard rounds whizz past like a storm of angry insects. Each was well aimed, and only my timely movement and the cloak distorting my image saved me.
With my heart rate jumping through the roof, my chest pounding with every beat, bullets slammed into my body all over and sent me reeling. The sickening slurch as flesh tore apart, the hot metal digging into my exposed arms and punching through the thin armor padding on my legs, the thud and beating left behind by the impact against my chest armor, I crashed to the ground. Tumbling and kicking my way into cover, my breathing came short and quick for me as I quickly assessed my wounds.
Blood streamed from the perforations dotting both legs and my left arm, but no bones had been hit and nothing vital was torn. Pain seared all three limbs, and with shots still ricocheting around me off the tile floor and concrete pillar I pulled out several bandages and quickly plugged the bulletholes. The pain was keeping me conscious as my body readjusted to the sudden drop in blood pressure, but if I didn’t keep my mind focused it would also make me sloppy.
As I yanked the last knot tight with my teeth, I realized things had become deathly quiet. Damn, I thought. If I was them, now is when I’d be trying to close on me and finish me off. Pulling both of my pistols, I spun my upper body to the left and leaned back. My left arm went up and around, coming down around the corner fully extended as I stared down the sights upside down. Similarly, my right hand was kept at an angle, held just past my face, and no sooner than both weapons were out was I firing.
The booming reports of the twin .50 pistols dwarfed the quieter pops of the rifles, making up in sheer ferocity what they lacked in volume of fire. I watched as in seconds metal was twisted and torn, wood exploded and splintered, and plastic warped and melted beneath the storm of fire I laid down. Just as fast as I’d popped out, before the last shell clinked upon the ground I was already sitting back upright and in cover.
I tossed the right pistol to the side and picked up my rifle, listening for the sound of someone stupid enough to attack me after that, ready to put an energy bolt square into their chest. Simultaneously, my left hand slid a new magazine home into the pistol, clicking the slide forward before getting to work on its pair. Nothing. They were training them smarter. Damn, I hated smart, it just meant more work on my end to achieve the same result.
****************************************************
“He’s at the barricade now, sir, pinned down.” The security officer informed the governor of this turn of events, a thin smile pursing his lips. “The sentries report receiving heavy gunfire in return, but it’s brief, not accurate, and not causing casualties. They can continue to hold.”
“Excellent,” murmured the governor. The man felt more at ease now, knowing that Laemkral had been temporarily halted. To think that he could have been stopped was ridiculous, the psycho was relentless according to his file. No, better to delay and stall him than to try and take him out until he could fully gauge his opponent. The governor had not survived this long by underestimating opponents, either on or off the battlefield. “Alright ladies and gentlemen, time to get the hell out of here.”
As they descended the ramp from the shuttle, guards swarming around the governor and his small staff, he thought about how long it had taken to organize this. Analyzing the most likely infiltration routes, securing all of them, leaking out the information, and putting each piece into position had required over a year of planning. How long, he wondered, would be required to defeat Laemkral? How many more pawns had to be expended to defend the king? Would he even live long enough to see that day?
Armed escorts formed up around the official party, marching them inside as quickly as they could. No proper vehicle could reach any of the landing pads, so they were forced to walk through the terminal. This particular section had been evacuated, then repopulated with scores of soldiers and Justice agents, many dressed like and posing as normal people. Organizing that had cost a lot of time and money as well.
Marching alongside, the security officer continued to hold his headset tightly to his ear, still monitoring the progress of the tunnels below. As the group stepped into the elevator away from the landing pad and up into the terminal, his expression changed. “Sir, the tam reports they just lost lights...no, wait, they’re back.” He glanced at the elderly man, awaiting confirmation he’d even been paying attention.
“Good work, son, keep me informed,” praised the governor, still painfully aware of how tenuous the situation still was. The guards below were a delaying tactic at best. Reinforcements could not be spared, the terminal had to be protected in case of other threats that might seek to do him harm. “Don’t worry about the lights down there, they’re hardwired into the main power line. He most likely snipped some back-up to an auxiliary line. There’s countless connections to the main line down-” spoke the governor, but he never got to finish his sentence.
The explosion that interrupted the governor knocked most of them to the ground as the elevator car shuddered violently, sending people sprawling. Above, the lights flickered and died as the engine whined quietly to silence, the entire terminal going as black as night with only the sunlight filtering in through the occasional window. The elevator itself hung deathly still, a grave silence in the air before the Governor finally spoke. “Son of a bitch, he can’t have...” was all he said, words trailing to nothing.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Return to Ke'en, Part 2
Part 2
The starport on Zena III serves as a reception area for intraplanetary travel from other cities on world as well as the orbital platform circling above in orbit. It is a massive complex with a security force responsible for the billions in credits of high value items constantly being loaded, unloaded, and transported on- and off-world, so mistakes and oversights aren’t an uncommon occurrence. Today is different, however, because today there’s guards swarming all over one of the terminals, and they’re trying too hard to not be noticeable. The simple observation of the rest of the starport being devoid of this level of security tells me one simple fact. This is where the new Governor is coming in. The question I’m left still asking is when. The answer, which I’m deducing from the very important looking government-class shuttle now landing with an armed escort, is now.
When deciding how to proceed from this point on I came to the conclusion that stealth was my best option, but success lay in moving fast and hard. A difficult combination, but I’m always up to a challenge.
As soon as the shuttle is out of view I immediately breech the outer fence, little more than a thin wire obstacle that I quickly tear apart with my bionic right hand. Sparks fly from the metal as electricity courses into my arm. For a moment I feel my skin tingle as my hair stands on end, but the metal alloy is well insulated and I get through unfried.
The roofs are covered with marksmen, any of which could see the hole in the fence and sound the alarm. One looks in my direction and I raise the energy rifle, firing a shot singlehandedly with my right arm. With little more than a hiss from my weapon, he drops dead. Now sprinting across the open ground, I watch for my eye to count off the second or so it takes the rifle to recharge before I take out another guard on the rooftops.
This part of the starport, where I am, is separate from the terminals where passengers embark and disembark. Less security, best point to infiltrate, but I’ve got to fight my way through these guards before I even get near the passenger terminals. By one of the doors another armored guard stands at his post, visored mask and helmet obscuring his face. The ground troops resemble soldiers with all the armor they’re wearing, and the assault rifle each has strapped to their back doesn’t hurt the image either.
I’m on him before he sees me coming, my cloak wrapped tightly around me until just a few feet short of him. With a grunt I lower my shoulder and barrel into him, slamming him into the wall. Too close to draw my knife, I start throwing elbows that dig into vital spots left unprotected by their bulky armor. The blows quickly take the fight from him, and I finish with a slam of the butt of the rifle into his face. His face shield holds, but I know he still felt the impact because he hits the ground like a sack of rocks.
Alright, I’m in, which means too close for the rifle. I sling it onto my back and draw my knife with my left hand. The pistols stay put, too loud to use just yet. I take a moment to loosen my muscles and check my cloak is still in place before gently easing open the door with a push of the latch. It clicks into place and the metal door starts to swing in.
The room on the other side seems designed for storage and movement of materials, with pallets piled up high and forklifts scattered around the room. Chains dangle from the ceiling, affixed to pulleys and rails. Besides that, it’s empty. A look around with my bionic confirms what I’m seeing, that there’s no one inside. Still, no time to stop and slow down, not yet.
I shut my right eye and a map instantly fills my vision, blueprints recalled up by the bionic eye as I pinpoint my location and find the way I need to go. I’d already done this before, but I’ve found it never hurts to double check once you’re into the thick of things. Content I know where I am, I open my eye and the map disappears.
Footsteps and voices cause me to tense up, my head jerking towards a set of double doors at the end of the room as I twist my body into a fighting pose. I can feel my heartbeat elevating and my breathing becoming more rushed as adrenaline starts to kick my body into overdrive. My cloak fluttering barely loud enough to hear, I slip behind a set of pallets and crouch low to the ground. The walkway from the doors to the one I came in through passes by my left and I keep the knife ready, just in case.
The doors swing open, the voices filling the room as I make out two distinct sets of footsteps. One is lighter, with more of a bounce in the step, possibly a female. The other is clunky, heavy like a beating drum. Male, and a big one at that. I can’t make out what they’re saying, the face masks muddle their annunciations, so they’re most likely using headsets to talk back and forth. They’re moving slowly, so most likely a patrol, but not so slow that they’re being cautious.
As they pass me by, not even looking in my general direction, I throw myself out into the aisle, slashing through the right boot of the person standing nearer to me and severing the Achilles tendon. Before the man can scream, I’m already standing to my feet. His partner, caught by surprise, barely can catch a glimpse of the blur that is me moving behind her before I’ve wrapped my right arm around her face, pulling her close and tilting her head back. A quick thrust of my knife up into the soft part of her chin and she goes limp. I let her drop to the ground with a loud thud.
The male guard, no doubt grimacing in pain as he tries to stay standing, begins to raise his rifle up to fire from the hip. I’m close enough I doubt he’d miss, so with a swift kick to the chest I send him flying back. Somehow he still keeps his grip on the weapon, trying vainly still to shoot me with it. I step forward and kick it out of his hands and to the side. It clatters out of reach, skittering along the concrete.
He’s still got some fight in him and he tries to sweep me with his good leg, catching me low and bringing me down to his level. I hit the ground, landing on my back and getting the wind taken out of my sails. Instantly he’s on me, hands wrapped around my throat and his legs straddling me to hold me in place. I slash at his forearm, leaving a bleeding gash that pours a stream down to his hand. He counters, grabbing my wrist with his hand, now slick with blood, and trying to hold it still.
This eases some of the pressure on my throat, enough to get some oxygen into my lungs. I encircle his arm, the one still trying to choke me, with my right, breaking his hold and grabbing hold of his shoulder. With one swift motion I tug on his armor and buck my hips, sending him toppling to the side. Together we roll over, placing me on top, but I know I’m not out of the woods just yet as his legs are still wrapped around my waist, taking away most of my leverage.
This is taking too long, I think, and if he’s not already called for back-up over the radio, he will soon. Taking the chance that my stealth has already been blown, I let go of him with my right hand and go for one of the pistols strapped to my thigh. It slips out of the holster quickly and I bring it around towards his face.
He grabs at my wrist with his free arm, trying in vain to steer the bionic arm away, but his human strength is no match for the gears and servos that grind away and force him to slowly give ground. As the barrel crosses over his chest I push forward with my weight, shoving it up against the body armor and firing at point blank. The armor muffles the report somewhat, but each round punches through and into his chest. For a moment he continues to struggle, but finally collapses.
I stood up from the body, wiping the blood off my knife before turning towards the very door the guards had walked out of. I stepped through, weapons still in hand, and found myself in an access tunnel that headed underground towards the main terminal.
The starport on Zena III serves as a reception area for intraplanetary travel from other cities on world as well as the orbital platform circling above in orbit. It is a massive complex with a security force responsible for the billions in credits of high value items constantly being loaded, unloaded, and transported on- and off-world, so mistakes and oversights aren’t an uncommon occurrence. Today is different, however, because today there’s guards swarming all over one of the terminals, and they’re trying too hard to not be noticeable. The simple observation of the rest of the starport being devoid of this level of security tells me one simple fact. This is where the new Governor is coming in. The question I’m left still asking is when. The answer, which I’m deducing from the very important looking government-class shuttle now landing with an armed escort, is now.
When deciding how to proceed from this point on I came to the conclusion that stealth was my best option, but success lay in moving fast and hard. A difficult combination, but I’m always up to a challenge.
As soon as the shuttle is out of view I immediately breech the outer fence, little more than a thin wire obstacle that I quickly tear apart with my bionic right hand. Sparks fly from the metal as electricity courses into my arm. For a moment I feel my skin tingle as my hair stands on end, but the metal alloy is well insulated and I get through unfried.
The roofs are covered with marksmen, any of which could see the hole in the fence and sound the alarm. One looks in my direction and I raise the energy rifle, firing a shot singlehandedly with my right arm. With little more than a hiss from my weapon, he drops dead. Now sprinting across the open ground, I watch for my eye to count off the second or so it takes the rifle to recharge before I take out another guard on the rooftops.
This part of the starport, where I am, is separate from the terminals where passengers embark and disembark. Less security, best point to infiltrate, but I’ve got to fight my way through these guards before I even get near the passenger terminals. By one of the doors another armored guard stands at his post, visored mask and helmet obscuring his face. The ground troops resemble soldiers with all the armor they’re wearing, and the assault rifle each has strapped to their back doesn’t hurt the image either.
I’m on him before he sees me coming, my cloak wrapped tightly around me until just a few feet short of him. With a grunt I lower my shoulder and barrel into him, slamming him into the wall. Too close to draw my knife, I start throwing elbows that dig into vital spots left unprotected by their bulky armor. The blows quickly take the fight from him, and I finish with a slam of the butt of the rifle into his face. His face shield holds, but I know he still felt the impact because he hits the ground like a sack of rocks.
Alright, I’m in, which means too close for the rifle. I sling it onto my back and draw my knife with my left hand. The pistols stay put, too loud to use just yet. I take a moment to loosen my muscles and check my cloak is still in place before gently easing open the door with a push of the latch. It clicks into place and the metal door starts to swing in.
The room on the other side seems designed for storage and movement of materials, with pallets piled up high and forklifts scattered around the room. Chains dangle from the ceiling, affixed to pulleys and rails. Besides that, it’s empty. A look around with my bionic confirms what I’m seeing, that there’s no one inside. Still, no time to stop and slow down, not yet.
I shut my right eye and a map instantly fills my vision, blueprints recalled up by the bionic eye as I pinpoint my location and find the way I need to go. I’d already done this before, but I’ve found it never hurts to double check once you’re into the thick of things. Content I know where I am, I open my eye and the map disappears.
Footsteps and voices cause me to tense up, my head jerking towards a set of double doors at the end of the room as I twist my body into a fighting pose. I can feel my heartbeat elevating and my breathing becoming more rushed as adrenaline starts to kick my body into overdrive. My cloak fluttering barely loud enough to hear, I slip behind a set of pallets and crouch low to the ground. The walkway from the doors to the one I came in through passes by my left and I keep the knife ready, just in case.
The doors swing open, the voices filling the room as I make out two distinct sets of footsteps. One is lighter, with more of a bounce in the step, possibly a female. The other is clunky, heavy like a beating drum. Male, and a big one at that. I can’t make out what they’re saying, the face masks muddle their annunciations, so they’re most likely using headsets to talk back and forth. They’re moving slowly, so most likely a patrol, but not so slow that they’re being cautious.
As they pass me by, not even looking in my general direction, I throw myself out into the aisle, slashing through the right boot of the person standing nearer to me and severing the Achilles tendon. Before the man can scream, I’m already standing to my feet. His partner, caught by surprise, barely can catch a glimpse of the blur that is me moving behind her before I’ve wrapped my right arm around her face, pulling her close and tilting her head back. A quick thrust of my knife up into the soft part of her chin and she goes limp. I let her drop to the ground with a loud thud.
The male guard, no doubt grimacing in pain as he tries to stay standing, begins to raise his rifle up to fire from the hip. I’m close enough I doubt he’d miss, so with a swift kick to the chest I send him flying back. Somehow he still keeps his grip on the weapon, trying vainly still to shoot me with it. I step forward and kick it out of his hands and to the side. It clatters out of reach, skittering along the concrete.
He’s still got some fight in him and he tries to sweep me with his good leg, catching me low and bringing me down to his level. I hit the ground, landing on my back and getting the wind taken out of my sails. Instantly he’s on me, hands wrapped around my throat and his legs straddling me to hold me in place. I slash at his forearm, leaving a bleeding gash that pours a stream down to his hand. He counters, grabbing my wrist with his hand, now slick with blood, and trying to hold it still.
This eases some of the pressure on my throat, enough to get some oxygen into my lungs. I encircle his arm, the one still trying to choke me, with my right, breaking his hold and grabbing hold of his shoulder. With one swift motion I tug on his armor and buck my hips, sending him toppling to the side. Together we roll over, placing me on top, but I know I’m not out of the woods just yet as his legs are still wrapped around my waist, taking away most of my leverage.
This is taking too long, I think, and if he’s not already called for back-up over the radio, he will soon. Taking the chance that my stealth has already been blown, I let go of him with my right hand and go for one of the pistols strapped to my thigh. It slips out of the holster quickly and I bring it around towards his face.
He grabs at my wrist with his free arm, trying in vain to steer the bionic arm away, but his human strength is no match for the gears and servos that grind away and force him to slowly give ground. As the barrel crosses over his chest I push forward with my weight, shoving it up against the body armor and firing at point blank. The armor muffles the report somewhat, but each round punches through and into his chest. For a moment he continues to struggle, but finally collapses.
I stood up from the body, wiping the blood off my knife before turning towards the very door the guards had walked out of. I stepped through, weapons still in hand, and found myself in an access tunnel that headed underground towards the main terminal.
Return to Ke'en, Part 1
Part 1
My world is burning. That is all I can begin to think as I look around and see flames engulfing the village where I grew up, every house and hut wreathed in fire as people run around screaming in a panic. There's nothing for us to do to stop the fire, to stop the death, to stop whatever it is that is happening. After all, what do you do when the gods themselves are destroying you?
The ground trembles, shudders, and cracks beneath our feet. Above us, the sky is raining death and I can only watch as huge rockets explode in the distance with a mighty roar and a wave of hot air that washes over us. Instead of blowing out the fires, everything ignites and the world dies more. I see death all around me. Skeletons and bodies, laying still in twisted poses that mock the life they once led. My world is burning and dying and I am helpless to stop it, but I'm also forced to watch it because for some reason only I am alive.
Inside I feel pain like I've never experienced, which is really saying something, and everything around me begins to blur and turn red. Redder than the red of the flames, more crimson than hazy sun that hangs in the sky, the color red you only see in fresh blood. I'm seeing a world bathed in blood, and then I see it no more.
With a start and a slash of my knife I awaken, the blade having cut cleanly through empty air as I realize I'm in my bed on Zena III. It was the dream again. The same dream I've had since I was a boy and watched my homeworld die before being carried off by the very people who'd killed her. The Confederation. Now I spent every waking day looking to hurt them back until just like my world, they are destroyed and forgotten.
I'm currently in my late sixties, I don't know exactly since I stopped keeping track some years ago, but I look to be no older than my twenties, a gift from an extraplanar creature that tried to take over my body once. Long story, but now I don't age, never get sick, and rarely need to eat or drink. Sleep is also something I don't seem to need much of anymore, but it's a way to pass the time and helps speed along healing. I'm pretty much frozen in time age wise, not to mention I've worked myself into being in top physical form.
Of course, there's always room for stronger, and since I'm now awake I throw back the sheets and get out of bed. Before beginning my exercises I throw on a weighted vest, a little something extra to actually make this a challenge. I throw myself into the routine, methodically working every muscle group bit by bit from my head to my toes. As I progress through my work-out, I take the time to reflect upon the roughly ten years that have passed since the incident at Zenatech.
My crusade against the Confederation has taken a gradual turn for the better. The day after I gunned my way through the security staff, in the process destroying several floor sections from booby trapped explosives, and tore apart the lobby of the building next to it in my escape, my name was all over the newsnet. Pictures, blurry and hard to make out, were posted all over and sketches of my likeness had been handed to just about every Justice in the city before the newsnet got a hold of it.
That very evening, I killed the head of the Zenatech corporation while he was making a speech to the public, assuring them that I wasn't going to affect the day to day operations of the company. Looked like her was wrong on that account. To tell the truth, it wasn’t the shot itself that was hard, the real trick was the explosives across town in one of their assembly factories detonating at just the right moment in the speech.
The look on his face was certainly something I’ll remember for the rest of my life as one of those distinct moments when I can take special pride in my work, especially since a second later I erased it with a shot from my energy rifle. Brain pulp and liquified skin and bone splattered the area, and those short seconds of the speech, the explosion at the building followed by the one in his head, were on the newsnet for days.
I began a waiting game, letting the news frenzy die down so I could sneak back out and cause more mayhem, stirring up the hornets nest one more time. Task forces were created to hunt me down and they often met a grisly end at my hands as I shot and stabbed every one of them that came close. Mercenaries and hired guns of all types took up the bounty on my head. They tended to do better, but not by much.
So, for ten years I’ve been killing and destroying and all around me Zena III has been crumbling. I’ve become a true thorn in their sides as lawlessness has descended upon this world in my wake. Still, I hide and wait and know that in time it’ll collapse. But every day I wake up and ask myself one question. When?
Today sees me on a crucial mission. Several months ago I killed the ruling Governor because she was stupid enough to come back planetside for a formal meeting with the current heads of the various companies still operating on Zena III. It was meant to be a secret, but when you put enough people like that together in one room it gets hard to keep it quiet. I found out and snuck into the compound, putting a bullet into the back of her head as she was getting dressed for dinner.
Now a new Governor has come to Zena III, and he’s arriving with the full backing of the Confederation government. It’s gotten to the point where I’m dismissed in the news as just a tiny part of what’s happening here, all in an effort to downplay to the public the effect I have. This guy is here to fix it all, and that means more than just dealing with me. Since I’ve begun my little war, organized crime has skyrocketed and corruption has gone through the roof. The wastelanders living in the harsh, empty lands outside the city have become more violent and begun raiding the city outskirts. All in all, the planet has taken a turn for the chaotic, and he’s here to reverse it. I can’t have that.
My greatest obstacles now are the very forces helping to destabilize the government and economy. The criminals, thugs, and scum I hide amongst no longer see fit to turn a blind eye to my activities because while I pushed the Confederation and thus gave them a foothold, I’m still pushing and if the whole house of cards tumbles then they go with it.
This can’t be allowed. I’ve worked too hard for too long to let some upstart punks with delusions of criminal grandeur get in my way. I’ve come to realize that if they continue to impede my mission, I’ll have to deal with them in a way they understand. I shake my head, forcing myself to focus on the here and now-the Governor. Before he has a chance to do anything, I’m taking him out of the picture.
I strap on my body armor to my chest, feeling the familiar weight of the dense weave and plates settle onto my body. Over this I throw on a vest lined with another layer of a flexible armor weave, the pouches packed full of pistol magazines loaded with .50 caliber rounds of ammunition. Along my belt I attach on my knife to my hip before securing on an assortment of grenades and a spare energy cell for the rifle, which I strap onto my back.
Next I step over to my pistols and run my fingers along the barrels, the metal of my right hand clacking on the grip. The bionic closes tightly and I give the pistol a spin. It and its twin have been heavily modified with numerous features and upgrades. Recoil compensators, enhanced triggers, improved feed mechanisms, IR beams linked to my bionic left eye, and little fine tuning tweaks to every piece. I set the pistol back down and strap on holsters to my thighs, both designed for quick draw releases, before sliding the pistols securely into their home.
One last piece of my ensemble is missing, my cloak. The fabric is soft to my touch, but sturdy and durable as well. Despite being as black as night, there’s a shimmer to the material as the very light surrounding it is bent and altered. I fasten it around my neck and a slight shudder runs along my back as the cloak engulfs me, attuning itself to me through a process that even now, lifetimes later, I still don’t understand. I raise the hood and disappear into anonymity beneath it, just another faceless person beyond notice.
I turn to the door, staring at the blurred image mirrored in its dull, faded, metal finish. I’ve not seen my face in several years, though I know that it has gone untouched by time. The only changes to me are the scars left from countless fights and scrapes, slowly fading but never completely disappearing. A tap of the entry pad and the door glides open with a hiss to the outside world.
Cars roar down the pock-marked road and people bustle along the sidewalk, ignoring each other and never making eye contact, each scurrying along their dull lives. The noise outside is a roar of chaos, the city sounds blending together hitting your ears with all the force of a hammer blow, only quieted when you’re inside. Along with the noise, there’s the smell of decay that pervades everything, even following you inside as it clings to every inch of your clothes. The part of the city where I’m currently holed up is a slum, sewage backed up onto the street and graffiti covering those walls still intact. Windows are boarded up or broken, or both.
A team of Justices roll by in a cruiser, the armored vehicle towering over other vehicles on the road as it rumbles along. To them, this entire area is a warzone, populated by gangs that control city blocks and squabble over the scraps they can find. Here, I’m safe, overlooked by everyone too concerned with their own business to notice me.
I meld into the crowd, beginning my trek to the heart of the city and my mission. With every step I take I’m running through my plan, piece by piece, going over every little detail of the end result of weeks of reconnaissance and planning. If I want to make it out alive of what I’ve got lined up, I’m going to need every extra edge.
My world is burning. That is all I can begin to think as I look around and see flames engulfing the village where I grew up, every house and hut wreathed in fire as people run around screaming in a panic. There's nothing for us to do to stop the fire, to stop the death, to stop whatever it is that is happening. After all, what do you do when the gods themselves are destroying you?
The ground trembles, shudders, and cracks beneath our feet. Above us, the sky is raining death and I can only watch as huge rockets explode in the distance with a mighty roar and a wave of hot air that washes over us. Instead of blowing out the fires, everything ignites and the world dies more. I see death all around me. Skeletons and bodies, laying still in twisted poses that mock the life they once led. My world is burning and dying and I am helpless to stop it, but I'm also forced to watch it because for some reason only I am alive.
Inside I feel pain like I've never experienced, which is really saying something, and everything around me begins to blur and turn red. Redder than the red of the flames, more crimson than hazy sun that hangs in the sky, the color red you only see in fresh blood. I'm seeing a world bathed in blood, and then I see it no more.
With a start and a slash of my knife I awaken, the blade having cut cleanly through empty air as I realize I'm in my bed on Zena III. It was the dream again. The same dream I've had since I was a boy and watched my homeworld die before being carried off by the very people who'd killed her. The Confederation. Now I spent every waking day looking to hurt them back until just like my world, they are destroyed and forgotten.
I'm currently in my late sixties, I don't know exactly since I stopped keeping track some years ago, but I look to be no older than my twenties, a gift from an extraplanar creature that tried to take over my body once. Long story, but now I don't age, never get sick, and rarely need to eat or drink. Sleep is also something I don't seem to need much of anymore, but it's a way to pass the time and helps speed along healing. I'm pretty much frozen in time age wise, not to mention I've worked myself into being in top physical form.
Of course, there's always room for stronger, and since I'm now awake I throw back the sheets and get out of bed. Before beginning my exercises I throw on a weighted vest, a little something extra to actually make this a challenge. I throw myself into the routine, methodically working every muscle group bit by bit from my head to my toes. As I progress through my work-out, I take the time to reflect upon the roughly ten years that have passed since the incident at Zenatech.
My crusade against the Confederation has taken a gradual turn for the better. The day after I gunned my way through the security staff, in the process destroying several floor sections from booby trapped explosives, and tore apart the lobby of the building next to it in my escape, my name was all over the newsnet. Pictures, blurry and hard to make out, were posted all over and sketches of my likeness had been handed to just about every Justice in the city before the newsnet got a hold of it.
That very evening, I killed the head of the Zenatech corporation while he was making a speech to the public, assuring them that I wasn't going to affect the day to day operations of the company. Looked like her was wrong on that account. To tell the truth, it wasn’t the shot itself that was hard, the real trick was the explosives across town in one of their assembly factories detonating at just the right moment in the speech.
The look on his face was certainly something I’ll remember for the rest of my life as one of those distinct moments when I can take special pride in my work, especially since a second later I erased it with a shot from my energy rifle. Brain pulp and liquified skin and bone splattered the area, and those short seconds of the speech, the explosion at the building followed by the one in his head, were on the newsnet for days.
I began a waiting game, letting the news frenzy die down so I could sneak back out and cause more mayhem, stirring up the hornets nest one more time. Task forces were created to hunt me down and they often met a grisly end at my hands as I shot and stabbed every one of them that came close. Mercenaries and hired guns of all types took up the bounty on my head. They tended to do better, but not by much.
So, for ten years I’ve been killing and destroying and all around me Zena III has been crumbling. I’ve become a true thorn in their sides as lawlessness has descended upon this world in my wake. Still, I hide and wait and know that in time it’ll collapse. But every day I wake up and ask myself one question. When?
Today sees me on a crucial mission. Several months ago I killed the ruling Governor because she was stupid enough to come back planetside for a formal meeting with the current heads of the various companies still operating on Zena III. It was meant to be a secret, but when you put enough people like that together in one room it gets hard to keep it quiet. I found out and snuck into the compound, putting a bullet into the back of her head as she was getting dressed for dinner.
Now a new Governor has come to Zena III, and he’s arriving with the full backing of the Confederation government. It’s gotten to the point where I’m dismissed in the news as just a tiny part of what’s happening here, all in an effort to downplay to the public the effect I have. This guy is here to fix it all, and that means more than just dealing with me. Since I’ve begun my little war, organized crime has skyrocketed and corruption has gone through the roof. The wastelanders living in the harsh, empty lands outside the city have become more violent and begun raiding the city outskirts. All in all, the planet has taken a turn for the chaotic, and he’s here to reverse it. I can’t have that.
My greatest obstacles now are the very forces helping to destabilize the government and economy. The criminals, thugs, and scum I hide amongst no longer see fit to turn a blind eye to my activities because while I pushed the Confederation and thus gave them a foothold, I’m still pushing and if the whole house of cards tumbles then they go with it.
This can’t be allowed. I’ve worked too hard for too long to let some upstart punks with delusions of criminal grandeur get in my way. I’ve come to realize that if they continue to impede my mission, I’ll have to deal with them in a way they understand. I shake my head, forcing myself to focus on the here and now-the Governor. Before he has a chance to do anything, I’m taking him out of the picture.
I strap on my body armor to my chest, feeling the familiar weight of the dense weave and plates settle onto my body. Over this I throw on a vest lined with another layer of a flexible armor weave, the pouches packed full of pistol magazines loaded with .50 caliber rounds of ammunition. Along my belt I attach on my knife to my hip before securing on an assortment of grenades and a spare energy cell for the rifle, which I strap onto my back.
Next I step over to my pistols and run my fingers along the barrels, the metal of my right hand clacking on the grip. The bionic closes tightly and I give the pistol a spin. It and its twin have been heavily modified with numerous features and upgrades. Recoil compensators, enhanced triggers, improved feed mechanisms, IR beams linked to my bionic left eye, and little fine tuning tweaks to every piece. I set the pistol back down and strap on holsters to my thighs, both designed for quick draw releases, before sliding the pistols securely into their home.
One last piece of my ensemble is missing, my cloak. The fabric is soft to my touch, but sturdy and durable as well. Despite being as black as night, there’s a shimmer to the material as the very light surrounding it is bent and altered. I fasten it around my neck and a slight shudder runs along my back as the cloak engulfs me, attuning itself to me through a process that even now, lifetimes later, I still don’t understand. I raise the hood and disappear into anonymity beneath it, just another faceless person beyond notice.
I turn to the door, staring at the blurred image mirrored in its dull, faded, metal finish. I’ve not seen my face in several years, though I know that it has gone untouched by time. The only changes to me are the scars left from countless fights and scrapes, slowly fading but never completely disappearing. A tap of the entry pad and the door glides open with a hiss to the outside world.
Cars roar down the pock-marked road and people bustle along the sidewalk, ignoring each other and never making eye contact, each scurrying along their dull lives. The noise outside is a roar of chaos, the city sounds blending together hitting your ears with all the force of a hammer blow, only quieted when you’re inside. Along with the noise, there’s the smell of decay that pervades everything, even following you inside as it clings to every inch of your clothes. The part of the city where I’m currently holed up is a slum, sewage backed up onto the street and graffiti covering those walls still intact. Windows are boarded up or broken, or both.
A team of Justices roll by in a cruiser, the armored vehicle towering over other vehicles on the road as it rumbles along. To them, this entire area is a warzone, populated by gangs that control city blocks and squabble over the scraps they can find. Here, I’m safe, overlooked by everyone too concerned with their own business to notice me.
I meld into the crowd, beginning my trek to the heart of the city and my mission. With every step I take I’m running through my plan, piece by piece, going over every little detail of the end result of weeks of reconnaissance and planning. If I want to make it out alive of what I’ve got lined up, I’m going to need every extra edge.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Next Step, Part 15 (Epilogue)
Part 15 (Epilogue)
Bethany E. Carasov sat quietly in the room at the inn. It was small, not well kept, and it reeked of some foul smell. But it was peaceful, and she doubted that anyone would find her here. The Justices had asked her their questions, and she'd passed on everything she wanted to say, including telling the story about Laemkral. She had neglected to mention Tratham entirely, but thought that was the best move she could make for now.
Her clothes laid strewn about on the bed, an assortment of false identity cards and credit chips scattered amongst them. A name. She still needed to settle upon a new identity, and that meant first picking a name. Figaro rubbed up against her legs, unable to settle down after being uprooted from his comfortable surroundings.
She looked down at the laser pistol clutched in her hands, unable to put it down still since she'd picked it up back in the tower. Her life was all a lie now, and she had to pick the right lie or she'd be using this pistol more than she cared to.
A name, she thought, I need to have a name. For a while she pondered this important decision before looking at the bed again. Amongst the piles of clothes and money and false identity cards waiting to be forged into a new life sat several data slates advertising exclusive resort communities. She had the money to just disappear for maybe ten years at best, twelve if she was careful.
Maybe she would pick the resort first, then come back to the name later. Yes, that would definitely help put her at ease. Slowly, she put down the pistol and picked up the ham sandwich sitting on the desk next to her. It was a far step below her usual fare, but with a new future laying at her feet, it was the most delicious food she'd ever had.
****************************************************
Operative Lawrence Tratham slammed the data slate onto the table, cracking the image displayer. Not only had Laemkral escaped again, but now the whole damn universe knew about him. This was great, just great. What had started as a simple task for the Gavels all those years ago had now turned into an all-consuming quest for him to destroy this man. And now, here was his target on the latest news update being forwarded across the entire subsystem, and probably beyond that.
This was bad. This was very bad. Any minute now he would get a call, his personal phone would ring and it would be his superior demanding to know what had gone so horribly wrong with his mission and how clearly he wasn't up to the task of doing anything important or of value to the Gavels if he couldn't kill this one man. That's what was going to happen, he was certain.
Sure enough, his phone rang not a minute later and the number calling belonged to his handler within the Gavels. Nervous, he answered. "Hello?" The voice on the other end was not happy, demanding to know what it was they were looking at.
"It's a poor quality picture," he stated, not an outright lie as the image was of dubious quality since Laemkral could hardly be seen in great detail, mainly thanks to his cloak. "The public will be suspicious, look to the Confederation for reassurance that will be provided, and we wait for him to leave and move on. They'll forget, the people have a short memory."
The berating continued, his superior demanding to know if he was an idiot, unable simply to kill or capture this one man. After all, did he not have the full resources available to not just an Operative, but a Gavel? "Sir, I can assure you that I have done everything within my power, but I have had to work in the shadows. My instructions were the public should have no knowledge about him, and apparently he's figured out we don't want them to know about him." More yelling. "No sir, I don't know if he knows about us." More yelling, yet again. "No sir, I don't know why he does what he does. I've simply been tracking him since Cyrus XII. He's a lunatic and psychopath who butchered Confederate Soldiers, I don't need to know why."
For some time the conversation continued in this rather one-sided manner, Lawrence being yelled at and having to have an excuse. That was what he hated the most. The excuses. "Sir, here is what I can tell you. The source on the clones was reliable. They work. We've now got a resource that will be of great use to us in infiltrating agents." This much was true, the doctor had willingly cooperated by cloning the mercenary Lyn Kara and turning him into a limitless resource of bodies to be used as simple fodder.
The voice on the other end took this news well, noting that at least something good had come from this. Then, the announcement. Laemkral was public business, let the Justices deal with him now. Tratham was being removed from the case. After that, the line went dead.
"So that's that," he muttered to himself, bitter at the way things had turned out. His career was effectively dead, his life at an end. All he had to look forward to was going home. He hadn't seen his son or wife in many years, at least it would be an easy early retirement.
He leaned back in his chair, surveying the room and all his reports and files. It had been a long run, but it was over. At long last, he was done with Laemkral. Let someone else worry about the psychopath.
****************************************************
Senator A'til looked over the data slate that had been handed him. O'Mal's death had freed up room for his advancement years before, and like his predecessor, A'til believed strongly in Justice. He believed in it so strongly he wore a pin of a courtroom gavel on his robes. A pin that meant many things. There was always a Gavel in the Confederation Senate. If there were others, he did not know and neither did they know of him. Such was the secrecy.
The report he had been handed left him angered and very upset. An Operative, a Gavel Operative no less, had failed to kill the individual for the massacre on Cyrus XII. The cover-up was complete, no one would ever know it was a single person, but even still justice had to be meted out. Resources had been invested heavily in trying to exact justice, but his exposure to the public, though little was actually revealed about him, meant that it was now out of the Gavels' hands. For now.
The other information, the clone mercenary Lyn Kara, was rather useful. Perhaps in time, with the proper planning, some good could be made of it in dealing with this Laemkral figure when he was older, slower. Tratham may have wasted his life, but in the end the Confederation would endure. It always had, it always would.
****************************************************
I took the time to read the files Bethany gave to me. They were very detailed, far more than I could have hoped for. Tratham had little info on him, as I suspected, but knowing that he was just a pawn meant that he wasn't my main focus. These so-called Gavels were dangerous, especially if I was in their sight picture. The harder I hit the Confederation, the more they'd hit back, and it would be in ways I may not be able to see coming.
No matter, just meant I'd need to be that much more aware, that much more detached from anything that might cloud my vision. The public had seen me, the underground now talked about me, my name was being spread across the news net to hundreds of worlds. It had begun, the war that would last my entire life.
I was trained, capable, lethal. Few men or women could go toe to toe with me and hope to live. I had the skills I needed to not just survive, but to fight back. And now, I had begun to create the notoriety, the fear, the legend. I would soon begin to fade from the public spotlight, but in the right circles my name would continue to be passed around. That meant it was time to go big. The days of small jobs doing odds and ends were over. This was the ultimate big leagues.
I loaded another loose round into the pistol magazine and dared the fates to give me their best shot.
The story will continue soon with a new tale, so watch out!
Bethany E. Carasov sat quietly in the room at the inn. It was small, not well kept, and it reeked of some foul smell. But it was peaceful, and she doubted that anyone would find her here. The Justices had asked her their questions, and she'd passed on everything she wanted to say, including telling the story about Laemkral. She had neglected to mention Tratham entirely, but thought that was the best move she could make for now.
Her clothes laid strewn about on the bed, an assortment of false identity cards and credit chips scattered amongst them. A name. She still needed to settle upon a new identity, and that meant first picking a name. Figaro rubbed up against her legs, unable to settle down after being uprooted from his comfortable surroundings.
She looked down at the laser pistol clutched in her hands, unable to put it down still since she'd picked it up back in the tower. Her life was all a lie now, and she had to pick the right lie or she'd be using this pistol more than she cared to.
A name, she thought, I need to have a name. For a while she pondered this important decision before looking at the bed again. Amongst the piles of clothes and money and false identity cards waiting to be forged into a new life sat several data slates advertising exclusive resort communities. She had the money to just disappear for maybe ten years at best, twelve if she was careful.
Maybe she would pick the resort first, then come back to the name later. Yes, that would definitely help put her at ease. Slowly, she put down the pistol and picked up the ham sandwich sitting on the desk next to her. It was a far step below her usual fare, but with a new future laying at her feet, it was the most delicious food she'd ever had.
****************************************************
Operative Lawrence Tratham slammed the data slate onto the table, cracking the image displayer. Not only had Laemkral escaped again, but now the whole damn universe knew about him. This was great, just great. What had started as a simple task for the Gavels all those years ago had now turned into an all-consuming quest for him to destroy this man. And now, here was his target on the latest news update being forwarded across the entire subsystem, and probably beyond that.
This was bad. This was very bad. Any minute now he would get a call, his personal phone would ring and it would be his superior demanding to know what had gone so horribly wrong with his mission and how clearly he wasn't up to the task of doing anything important or of value to the Gavels if he couldn't kill this one man. That's what was going to happen, he was certain.
Sure enough, his phone rang not a minute later and the number calling belonged to his handler within the Gavels. Nervous, he answered. "Hello?" The voice on the other end was not happy, demanding to know what it was they were looking at.
"It's a poor quality picture," he stated, not an outright lie as the image was of dubious quality since Laemkral could hardly be seen in great detail, mainly thanks to his cloak. "The public will be suspicious, look to the Confederation for reassurance that will be provided, and we wait for him to leave and move on. They'll forget, the people have a short memory."
The berating continued, his superior demanding to know if he was an idiot, unable simply to kill or capture this one man. After all, did he not have the full resources available to not just an Operative, but a Gavel? "Sir, I can assure you that I have done everything within my power, but I have had to work in the shadows. My instructions were the public should have no knowledge about him, and apparently he's figured out we don't want them to know about him." More yelling. "No sir, I don't know if he knows about us." More yelling, yet again. "No sir, I don't know why he does what he does. I've simply been tracking him since Cyrus XII. He's a lunatic and psychopath who butchered Confederate Soldiers, I don't need to know why."
For some time the conversation continued in this rather one-sided manner, Lawrence being yelled at and having to have an excuse. That was what he hated the most. The excuses. "Sir, here is what I can tell you. The source on the clones was reliable. They work. We've now got a resource that will be of great use to us in infiltrating agents." This much was true, the doctor had willingly cooperated by cloning the mercenary Lyn Kara and turning him into a limitless resource of bodies to be used as simple fodder.
The voice on the other end took this news well, noting that at least something good had come from this. Then, the announcement. Laemkral was public business, let the Justices deal with him now. Tratham was being removed from the case. After that, the line went dead.
"So that's that," he muttered to himself, bitter at the way things had turned out. His career was effectively dead, his life at an end. All he had to look forward to was going home. He hadn't seen his son or wife in many years, at least it would be an easy early retirement.
He leaned back in his chair, surveying the room and all his reports and files. It had been a long run, but it was over. At long last, he was done with Laemkral. Let someone else worry about the psychopath.
****************************************************
Senator A'til looked over the data slate that had been handed him. O'Mal's death had freed up room for his advancement years before, and like his predecessor, A'til believed strongly in Justice. He believed in it so strongly he wore a pin of a courtroom gavel on his robes. A pin that meant many things. There was always a Gavel in the Confederation Senate. If there were others, he did not know and neither did they know of him. Such was the secrecy.
The report he had been handed left him angered and very upset. An Operative, a Gavel Operative no less, had failed to kill the individual for the massacre on Cyrus XII. The cover-up was complete, no one would ever know it was a single person, but even still justice had to be meted out. Resources had been invested heavily in trying to exact justice, but his exposure to the public, though little was actually revealed about him, meant that it was now out of the Gavels' hands. For now.
The other information, the clone mercenary Lyn Kara, was rather useful. Perhaps in time, with the proper planning, some good could be made of it in dealing with this Laemkral figure when he was older, slower. Tratham may have wasted his life, but in the end the Confederation would endure. It always had, it always would.
****************************************************
I took the time to read the files Bethany gave to me. They were very detailed, far more than I could have hoped for. Tratham had little info on him, as I suspected, but knowing that he was just a pawn meant that he wasn't my main focus. These so-called Gavels were dangerous, especially if I was in their sight picture. The harder I hit the Confederation, the more they'd hit back, and it would be in ways I may not be able to see coming.
No matter, just meant I'd need to be that much more aware, that much more detached from anything that might cloud my vision. The public had seen me, the underground now talked about me, my name was being spread across the news net to hundreds of worlds. It had begun, the war that would last my entire life.
I was trained, capable, lethal. Few men or women could go toe to toe with me and hope to live. I had the skills I needed to not just survive, but to fight back. And now, I had begun to create the notoriety, the fear, the legend. I would soon begin to fade from the public spotlight, but in the right circles my name would continue to be passed around. That meant it was time to go big. The days of small jobs doing odds and ends were over. This was the ultimate big leagues.
I loaded another loose round into the pistol magazine and dared the fates to give me their best shot.
The story will continue soon with a new tale, so watch out!
Next Step, Part 14
Part 14
I would later learn that the explosion had filled the night sky with a glimmering rain of reinforced glass and flames, but all I experienced was the shockwave as I hurtled out into the open air and the deafening boom that quickly turned into the roar of air rushing past me. I twisted and turned, my cloak wrapped around me, struggling to get into a more manageable position as I grasped at the fabric. Finally, tension snapped into the fabric as I got a firm grip, allowing me to soar straight at the building opposite Zenatech's offices.
In just a few short seconds, I hurtled through another glass window that shattered around me, raining razor sharp shards upon me as I tumbled into a heap on the floor. "Son of a bitch, that actually worked," I muttered to myself as alarms began to go off around me. I was covered in cuts and scrapes now, my armor nicked in hundreds of places, and only getting worse as I got to my feet and brushed away the glass.
Below me, search lights turned onto the window I'd just crashed through, filling the room with a blinding light that I quickly walked out of, wandering through the maze of cubicles in search of an elevator. I stopped after a few seconds and turned back, kneeling at the window and pulling out my rifle. I fired, and the light went out. With that nuisance taken care of, I walked back towards the elevators, pushing a button and calmly waiting.
In less than a minute, the doors opened with a cheerful ding to greet me and I stepped inside. I pushed a button and leaned back against the handrail, looking around the ceiling and seeing a camera looking back at me. This would not do. Like the light outside, I blinded the camera with a gunshot.
The ride itself was rather pleasant, a nice quiet ride except for the whirr of the machinery as it lowered the elevator down to my floor. I double checked my pistols, wanting them to be full for when I got off, and began getting myself ready for my exit and disappearance. For a moment, the elevator halted in place before resuming its course down. I'd pushed the button for the fifth floor, but with the slightest hint of a smirk on my face I knew where the car was headed. Straight to the ground floor and the waiting Confederates.
****************************************************
The urban strike team waited, rifles drawn and aimed directly at the dull metal of the elevator door. Each team member nervously fidgeted in place, anxious for the moment when the doors would open and they'd be face to face with the psychopath who'd been tearing apart Zenatech. Their friends had been blown up numerous times by his booby traps, and they were each eager for revenge. Sergeant Williams was no exception, fingering the trigger of his unsafed submachine gun.
"Easy boys, we've got it on manual control: he's coming straight to us. Soon as the doors open, take him and be quick about it. And I heard he's wearing armor, so don't be afraid to shoot first." To be truthful, the sergeant had heard no such thing, even if it was true. He simply didn't think this scumbag was worth taking in alive, just to be executed by someone else after he'd been convicted. His mean deserved this, they'd earned it with blood and tears and lives paid.
The elevator came to a halt on the ground floor, the lights above flickering in the "L" etched into the metal work. "Gonzalez, Xu, on the door." The men nodded and moved forward, lining up alongside the elevator door to see in when it opened. Sergeant Williams looked at his men, each ready for the moment of truth. With a glance and a nod at the security guard, sitting frightened on the other side of the room behind his desk, he gave the signal. The guard looked down and pushed the button that manually opened the elevator.
A quiet ding echoed in the room as Sergeant Williams drew his beath in, ready to yell at the man inside, the doors sliding apart to reveal an empty elevator car. Fingers half tightened on triggers slowly eased off and tensions relaxed. Suddenly, there was a metallic chink and two small metal balls dropped to the ground with an ominous thunk and rolled out of the elevator, wobbling oddly. It took a moment for any man there to recognize these objects for that they were.
"GRENADE!" shouted Xu, grabbing Gonzalez and throwing him into the elevator as he himself dived inside. The others in the strike team dove for the ground, rifles clattering wildly as body armor resounded off the marble floor. A pair of deafening explosions filled the room, shrapnel tearing apart anyone still standing near the elevator and destroying much of the lobby floor.
Sergeant Willliams rose shakily to his feet, scratched and bloodied but still alive. Half of his team was dead and his ears were ringing. Something wet was on the ground and he realized it was his teammates' blood. Son of a bitch, this bastard was going to pay. A thought struck him, that Xu and Gonzalez might have been saved from the blast by the elevator. He stumbled across the lobby floor and over to the elevator, dismayed to see that both were laying in puddles of their own blood.
Years of veteran work as a Justice told him something was wrong however, and he looked closer. Both men had holes in their helmets, far too large for any piece of shrapnel from the grenades. Instead, they looked like gunshots, possibly a large caliber round. But, what the hell could have caused- The sounds of scraping metal caught his attention and he looked up, making the mistake of not raising his rifle. Above him, in the opening of the removed ceiling panel he saw half of a face faintly outlined in red, the red emitted by a glowing eye. The gun shot was loud, not masked in the explosions like before, and it killed Sergeant Williams instantly.
****************************************************
I dropped back down into the elevator through the hole I'd ripped in the roof. The two grenades I'd taped to the doors had flawlessly done the job of clearing out the room, leaving the entire assault team too decimated to fight back. I stepped out of the elevator, pistol still at the ready, my boots crunching on the cracked marble. My gaze wandered over the guards laying on the ground, those still alive groaning in agony. Some would live, others wouldn't. The ones who did would tell horrible stories about what they'd seen, that much I was sure of.
The room itself was torn asunder in the blast area, and despite the openness of the lobby floor, the shockwave had cracked the glass that made up the front doors and wall. Without any fear of reprisal, I strode across the room, executing the security guard cowering behind his desk. I pulled another grenade from my belt and yanked out the pin, raising my pistol and emptying the remaining four rounds into the glass doors, fracturing them further before throwing the grenade through. Amazingly, they still held, the grenade simply removing a chunk of glass and leaving behind a hole.
Nice material, I thought, congratulating the owners on their choice before the grenade exploded out front, finally destroying the entire front section of the building and leaving the floor covered in a rainfall of glass shards. Outside, I saw news crews and Justices and the public gathered together behind barricades. A street Justice lay on the ground, his legs blown off and bleeding out onto the street. For the briefest of moments, they all stared at me, catching only a glimpse before I wrapped myself in the cloak and vanished from sight.
I disappeared back outside through a side door, the sounds of shouting crowds and furious Justices filling the night as I calmly walked away.
I would later learn that the explosion had filled the night sky with a glimmering rain of reinforced glass and flames, but all I experienced was the shockwave as I hurtled out into the open air and the deafening boom that quickly turned into the roar of air rushing past me. I twisted and turned, my cloak wrapped around me, struggling to get into a more manageable position as I grasped at the fabric. Finally, tension snapped into the fabric as I got a firm grip, allowing me to soar straight at the building opposite Zenatech's offices.
In just a few short seconds, I hurtled through another glass window that shattered around me, raining razor sharp shards upon me as I tumbled into a heap on the floor. "Son of a bitch, that actually worked," I muttered to myself as alarms began to go off around me. I was covered in cuts and scrapes now, my armor nicked in hundreds of places, and only getting worse as I got to my feet and brushed away the glass.
Below me, search lights turned onto the window I'd just crashed through, filling the room with a blinding light that I quickly walked out of, wandering through the maze of cubicles in search of an elevator. I stopped after a few seconds and turned back, kneeling at the window and pulling out my rifle. I fired, and the light went out. With that nuisance taken care of, I walked back towards the elevators, pushing a button and calmly waiting.
In less than a minute, the doors opened with a cheerful ding to greet me and I stepped inside. I pushed a button and leaned back against the handrail, looking around the ceiling and seeing a camera looking back at me. This would not do. Like the light outside, I blinded the camera with a gunshot.
The ride itself was rather pleasant, a nice quiet ride except for the whirr of the machinery as it lowered the elevator down to my floor. I double checked my pistols, wanting them to be full for when I got off, and began getting myself ready for my exit and disappearance. For a moment, the elevator halted in place before resuming its course down. I'd pushed the button for the fifth floor, but with the slightest hint of a smirk on my face I knew where the car was headed. Straight to the ground floor and the waiting Confederates.
****************************************************
The urban strike team waited, rifles drawn and aimed directly at the dull metal of the elevator door. Each team member nervously fidgeted in place, anxious for the moment when the doors would open and they'd be face to face with the psychopath who'd been tearing apart Zenatech. Their friends had been blown up numerous times by his booby traps, and they were each eager for revenge. Sergeant Williams was no exception, fingering the trigger of his unsafed submachine gun.
"Easy boys, we've got it on manual control: he's coming straight to us. Soon as the doors open, take him and be quick about it. And I heard he's wearing armor, so don't be afraid to shoot first." To be truthful, the sergeant had heard no such thing, even if it was true. He simply didn't think this scumbag was worth taking in alive, just to be executed by someone else after he'd been convicted. His mean deserved this, they'd earned it with blood and tears and lives paid.
The elevator came to a halt on the ground floor, the lights above flickering in the "L" etched into the metal work. "Gonzalez, Xu, on the door." The men nodded and moved forward, lining up alongside the elevator door to see in when it opened. Sergeant Williams looked at his men, each ready for the moment of truth. With a glance and a nod at the security guard, sitting frightened on the other side of the room behind his desk, he gave the signal. The guard looked down and pushed the button that manually opened the elevator.
A quiet ding echoed in the room as Sergeant Williams drew his beath in, ready to yell at the man inside, the doors sliding apart to reveal an empty elevator car. Fingers half tightened on triggers slowly eased off and tensions relaxed. Suddenly, there was a metallic chink and two small metal balls dropped to the ground with an ominous thunk and rolled out of the elevator, wobbling oddly. It took a moment for any man there to recognize these objects for that they were.
"GRENADE!" shouted Xu, grabbing Gonzalez and throwing him into the elevator as he himself dived inside. The others in the strike team dove for the ground, rifles clattering wildly as body armor resounded off the marble floor. A pair of deafening explosions filled the room, shrapnel tearing apart anyone still standing near the elevator and destroying much of the lobby floor.
Sergeant Willliams rose shakily to his feet, scratched and bloodied but still alive. Half of his team was dead and his ears were ringing. Something wet was on the ground and he realized it was his teammates' blood. Son of a bitch, this bastard was going to pay. A thought struck him, that Xu and Gonzalez might have been saved from the blast by the elevator. He stumbled across the lobby floor and over to the elevator, dismayed to see that both were laying in puddles of their own blood.
Years of veteran work as a Justice told him something was wrong however, and he looked closer. Both men had holes in their helmets, far too large for any piece of shrapnel from the grenades. Instead, they looked like gunshots, possibly a large caliber round. But, what the hell could have caused- The sounds of scraping metal caught his attention and he looked up, making the mistake of not raising his rifle. Above him, in the opening of the removed ceiling panel he saw half of a face faintly outlined in red, the red emitted by a glowing eye. The gun shot was loud, not masked in the explosions like before, and it killed Sergeant Williams instantly.
****************************************************
I dropped back down into the elevator through the hole I'd ripped in the roof. The two grenades I'd taped to the doors had flawlessly done the job of clearing out the room, leaving the entire assault team too decimated to fight back. I stepped out of the elevator, pistol still at the ready, my boots crunching on the cracked marble. My gaze wandered over the guards laying on the ground, those still alive groaning in agony. Some would live, others wouldn't. The ones who did would tell horrible stories about what they'd seen, that much I was sure of.
The room itself was torn asunder in the blast area, and despite the openness of the lobby floor, the shockwave had cracked the glass that made up the front doors and wall. Without any fear of reprisal, I strode across the room, executing the security guard cowering behind his desk. I pulled another grenade from my belt and yanked out the pin, raising my pistol and emptying the remaining four rounds into the glass doors, fracturing them further before throwing the grenade through. Amazingly, they still held, the grenade simply removing a chunk of glass and leaving behind a hole.
Nice material, I thought, congratulating the owners on their choice before the grenade exploded out front, finally destroying the entire front section of the building and leaving the floor covered in a rainfall of glass shards. Outside, I saw news crews and Justices and the public gathered together behind barricades. A street Justice lay on the ground, his legs blown off and bleeding out onto the street. For the briefest of moments, they all stared at me, catching only a glimpse before I wrapped myself in the cloak and vanished from sight.
I disappeared back outside through a side door, the sounds of shouting crowds and furious Justices filling the night as I calmly walked away.
Next Step, Part 13
Part 13
Bethany's office was littered with papers and data slates, all strewn about in a chaotic mess. Her cat had made himself a nest and settled down for a nap, pausing to look at the stranger that entered. Upon recognizing me, he hissed but did little else, watching instead his owner carefully to make sure no harm befell her. The security officer had settled down into her chair, still in the same state of disarray as her surroundings.
I made a point of looking around, silently voicing my recognition of the state of her affairs. It did not escape her own notice as she half-heartedly waved me towards a chair near her desk that I settled down into, keeping one hand near a pistol. "Sit, we've got a lot to cover and I can only buy us so much time downstairs." With that she tapped a panel on her desk, and a hidden speaker crackled to life. "This is Ms. Bethany E. Carasov. Tell the Justices to call off their assault team, my men have killed the intruder." She paused and glanced at me, adding as an afterthought, "Have a search team begin scouring the building for any more booby traps. Be thorough and careful." She tapped the key again and the comm-link disconnected.
"Well," she sighed, "here we are. I have some questions for you, and hopefully they'll be answered, not that it matters except for my own personal satisfaction. Similarly, I imagine you have some questions and I will be happy to tell you what I know."
I leaned forward, raising an eyebrow, still suspicious of her intentions. "No tricks, no lies, all offered freely?"
She nodded. "No tricks. No lies. All given freely," was her reply. Nothing about her demeanor indicated that she was lying, in fact this was the most confident and in control I'd seen her. For some reason, she was being completely honest with me.
"You'll understand if I'm a little apprehensive about you, considering how deeply involved you've been with this latest attempt on my life." My words dripped with venom, hopefully driving home my distrust with her. Even honest people have agendas and plans. "So tell me, why the sudden change of heart?"
For a moment, Bethany was quiet, staring back at me with a thoughtful gaze before leaning forward in her chair. Her hands came to rest in her lap, out of view, and I at first moved for my pistol, but when they didn't immediately reappear with a weapon I relaxed slightly. "You think you know the full system the Justices have in place. You think you do, but you don't." This caught my attention instantly.
"The Justices patrol the streets, enforcing the laws on every day citizens or anyone else who gets in the way. This everyone knows. Some people, the wealthy, the powerful, those with influence, they escape punishment because of that wealth and power." I nodded in agreement. Those in power typically escaped the Justices and acted above the law.
"Then we have the Operatives. Justices devoted to the cause so deeply that they work behind the scenes to get those who the Justices can't. Sometimes, for whatever reason, it's best if the public doesn't know they're being protected, or if a threat is just too great to be handled directly. People like those those in power...or you." This was also true, Operatives were a side of the law that few common people actually knew about.
"Now, what you, Joe Citizen, and even most Justices and government officials don't know about are the Gavels." My ears perked up; this WAS something I hadn't heard about. I nodded slowly, allowing her to continue. "Gavels do not exist, because they aren't sanctioned. In truth, they're more a secret order than anything else, willing to do anything to protect the law and order of the Confederation. Even if it means breaking those same laws."
Hesitantly, I asked, "What does this have to do with you, me, any of this?" As much as I wanted to hear the answer, I was worried by just what it would mean.
Bethany nervously licked her lips and drew in a breath. "The Operative hunting you is a Gavel. They're rather bold, really, in wearing the pin, but you'd have to actually know about them to even piece it together. Anyways, the Gavels have marked you as a target and sent Tratham after you." Tratham, so he had a name.
"Why me?"
She shook her head, clearly unsure about the reasons behind any of this. "I don't know, I was simply told that the Operatives had identified you as a dangerous person. I don't think they know that I know about the Gavels." She sighed again. "All I know is that if the Gavels usually influence events and manipulate people, they don't typically target individuals. They must really see you as a threat, but they want to keep it quiet at the same time."
I looked at her door, back at the destruction I'd left in my wake. "Well, I'm hardly operating below the radar now." Turning back, I looked her in the eyes and asked, "What else do I need to know? What else do YOU know?"
Her hands came back out from under the table, a data disk clenched in her hands. With a toss it landed in the pile of paperwork sitting in front of me. "That's a copy of everything I have on them and Tratham, do whatever you want with it. I've had enough of being manipulated and worked like some plaything. With the money I've got stashed away, I plan on disappearing and starting a better life on some other planet as someone else." She smiled, entranced in thoughts of some far off paradise not yet visited, "I'm sure they'll come for me eventually, but I don't care anymore."
As I looked over the data disk, finally pocketing it, she leaned back and ran a hand through her hair. For a brief moment, not as an adversary, but as just another person trying to get along in life. Then, as quickly as the moment arrived, it was gone, and she was just another obstacle. A silence settled over us, neither speaking until finally she raised her tired eyes to look back at me. "Why do you do it?" she asked.
"Why do I do what?" I replied, not to be mysterious, but simply seeking clarification.
"What it is you do, this hired gun business. You could have made an amazing soldier, doing great things fighting for the Confederation. Now you're just a weapon, dead inside and living only for your next mission." Her description seemed so, clinical.
"I'm no soldier, especially not for the Confederation. What I am is what the Confederation made of me. You people intruded into my life and started this. I'm simply ending it, and that means killing Confederates and destroying the Confederation." She didn't react at all to my statement, accepting it for what it was. I had no intention of telling her the whole story, this summary would suffice.
"It's not just that, though, is there? A lot of people want revenge for something that's been done to them, but with you it seems different. As if there's nothing left inside except this. I read the report Tratham had, and its as if all you do in life is kill and destroy, and you do it alone. What happened to connecting with others? With letting someone else in? You're so consumed by your mission you drive everyone else away." She had leaned forward, a curious expression staring at me from her eyes.
I rose to my feet, the cloak falling around me as I pulled the hood back over my head. Beneath, the gentle glow of my eye highlighted the edges of the left side of my face. "It's easier. Hate is easy, caring is hard. Better to focus on the mission than risk getting distracted. And if I can't feel anything, if I'm already dead inside, there's nothing left the Confederation can do to hurt me."
This left her stunned, though I expected that deep down she already knew what I was going to say. It's just different to actually hear it, really, to have someone actually say it. She fluttered her eye lashes, snapping out of her reverie and busying herself with the papers strewn about. "I see. Well, you won't hear from me again, I'm done with this. I wash my hands of it."
"See, that's where I can't say the same about me." She looked up, watching me affix explosives to her window panelling. "When I'm done here my name will be upon everyone's lips. I want to know fear is in their eyes when they hear my name, and terror in their hearts if they're even so lucky as to see me coming." I stepped back, admiring my handiwork for a moment and double checking the wiring. I'd used maybe more than I needed, but the point was to be seen and remembered. Bigger was better.
I looked at her, meeting her gaze one final time. "I'm letting you live so that you can pass on a message when they finally do come for you. I want them all to know. My name is Laemkral, and the Confederation burned my world and destroyed my life. I'm just returning the favor."
My gaze turned back towards the window, some hundred odd stories up. This was going to be one hell of a drop. Bethany spoke up, interrupting my thoughts, "That's it? That's all you give me? They'll want to know more. I want to know more!" I ignored her pleading. The time would one day come to tell my story, my whole story, but this wasn't the time.
"You may want to leave the room. The glass should fly outwards, but then again I have been holding you hostage and you did just fight your way away from me and flee towards a comm-box in another room." I heard her start to move, gathering up Figaro in her arms as she fled, but I was already running towards the window. Shortly before I was about to collide with it I flipped the switch on the detonator.
Bethany's office was littered with papers and data slates, all strewn about in a chaotic mess. Her cat had made himself a nest and settled down for a nap, pausing to look at the stranger that entered. Upon recognizing me, he hissed but did little else, watching instead his owner carefully to make sure no harm befell her. The security officer had settled down into her chair, still in the same state of disarray as her surroundings.
I made a point of looking around, silently voicing my recognition of the state of her affairs. It did not escape her own notice as she half-heartedly waved me towards a chair near her desk that I settled down into, keeping one hand near a pistol. "Sit, we've got a lot to cover and I can only buy us so much time downstairs." With that she tapped a panel on her desk, and a hidden speaker crackled to life. "This is Ms. Bethany E. Carasov. Tell the Justices to call off their assault team, my men have killed the intruder." She paused and glanced at me, adding as an afterthought, "Have a search team begin scouring the building for any more booby traps. Be thorough and careful." She tapped the key again and the comm-link disconnected.
"Well," she sighed, "here we are. I have some questions for you, and hopefully they'll be answered, not that it matters except for my own personal satisfaction. Similarly, I imagine you have some questions and I will be happy to tell you what I know."
I leaned forward, raising an eyebrow, still suspicious of her intentions. "No tricks, no lies, all offered freely?"
She nodded. "No tricks. No lies. All given freely," was her reply. Nothing about her demeanor indicated that she was lying, in fact this was the most confident and in control I'd seen her. For some reason, she was being completely honest with me.
"You'll understand if I'm a little apprehensive about you, considering how deeply involved you've been with this latest attempt on my life." My words dripped with venom, hopefully driving home my distrust with her. Even honest people have agendas and plans. "So tell me, why the sudden change of heart?"
For a moment, Bethany was quiet, staring back at me with a thoughtful gaze before leaning forward in her chair. Her hands came to rest in her lap, out of view, and I at first moved for my pistol, but when they didn't immediately reappear with a weapon I relaxed slightly. "You think you know the full system the Justices have in place. You think you do, but you don't." This caught my attention instantly.
"The Justices patrol the streets, enforcing the laws on every day citizens or anyone else who gets in the way. This everyone knows. Some people, the wealthy, the powerful, those with influence, they escape punishment because of that wealth and power." I nodded in agreement. Those in power typically escaped the Justices and acted above the law.
"Then we have the Operatives. Justices devoted to the cause so deeply that they work behind the scenes to get those who the Justices can't. Sometimes, for whatever reason, it's best if the public doesn't know they're being protected, or if a threat is just too great to be handled directly. People like those those in power...or you." This was also true, Operatives were a side of the law that few common people actually knew about.
"Now, what you, Joe Citizen, and even most Justices and government officials don't know about are the Gavels." My ears perked up; this WAS something I hadn't heard about. I nodded slowly, allowing her to continue. "Gavels do not exist, because they aren't sanctioned. In truth, they're more a secret order than anything else, willing to do anything to protect the law and order of the Confederation. Even if it means breaking those same laws."
Hesitantly, I asked, "What does this have to do with you, me, any of this?" As much as I wanted to hear the answer, I was worried by just what it would mean.
Bethany nervously licked her lips and drew in a breath. "The Operative hunting you is a Gavel. They're rather bold, really, in wearing the pin, but you'd have to actually know about them to even piece it together. Anyways, the Gavels have marked you as a target and sent Tratham after you." Tratham, so he had a name.
"Why me?"
She shook her head, clearly unsure about the reasons behind any of this. "I don't know, I was simply told that the Operatives had identified you as a dangerous person. I don't think they know that I know about the Gavels." She sighed again. "All I know is that if the Gavels usually influence events and manipulate people, they don't typically target individuals. They must really see you as a threat, but they want to keep it quiet at the same time."
I looked at her door, back at the destruction I'd left in my wake. "Well, I'm hardly operating below the radar now." Turning back, I looked her in the eyes and asked, "What else do I need to know? What else do YOU know?"
Her hands came back out from under the table, a data disk clenched in her hands. With a toss it landed in the pile of paperwork sitting in front of me. "That's a copy of everything I have on them and Tratham, do whatever you want with it. I've had enough of being manipulated and worked like some plaything. With the money I've got stashed away, I plan on disappearing and starting a better life on some other planet as someone else." She smiled, entranced in thoughts of some far off paradise not yet visited, "I'm sure they'll come for me eventually, but I don't care anymore."
As I looked over the data disk, finally pocketing it, she leaned back and ran a hand through her hair. For a brief moment, not as an adversary, but as just another person trying to get along in life. Then, as quickly as the moment arrived, it was gone, and she was just another obstacle. A silence settled over us, neither speaking until finally she raised her tired eyes to look back at me. "Why do you do it?" she asked.
"Why do I do what?" I replied, not to be mysterious, but simply seeking clarification.
"What it is you do, this hired gun business. You could have made an amazing soldier, doing great things fighting for the Confederation. Now you're just a weapon, dead inside and living only for your next mission." Her description seemed so, clinical.
"I'm no soldier, especially not for the Confederation. What I am is what the Confederation made of me. You people intruded into my life and started this. I'm simply ending it, and that means killing Confederates and destroying the Confederation." She didn't react at all to my statement, accepting it for what it was. I had no intention of telling her the whole story, this summary would suffice.
"It's not just that, though, is there? A lot of people want revenge for something that's been done to them, but with you it seems different. As if there's nothing left inside except this. I read the report Tratham had, and its as if all you do in life is kill and destroy, and you do it alone. What happened to connecting with others? With letting someone else in? You're so consumed by your mission you drive everyone else away." She had leaned forward, a curious expression staring at me from her eyes.
I rose to my feet, the cloak falling around me as I pulled the hood back over my head. Beneath, the gentle glow of my eye highlighted the edges of the left side of my face. "It's easier. Hate is easy, caring is hard. Better to focus on the mission than risk getting distracted. And if I can't feel anything, if I'm already dead inside, there's nothing left the Confederation can do to hurt me."
This left her stunned, though I expected that deep down she already knew what I was going to say. It's just different to actually hear it, really, to have someone actually say it. She fluttered her eye lashes, snapping out of her reverie and busying herself with the papers strewn about. "I see. Well, you won't hear from me again, I'm done with this. I wash my hands of it."
"See, that's where I can't say the same about me." She looked up, watching me affix explosives to her window panelling. "When I'm done here my name will be upon everyone's lips. I want to know fear is in their eyes when they hear my name, and terror in their hearts if they're even so lucky as to see me coming." I stepped back, admiring my handiwork for a moment and double checking the wiring. I'd used maybe more than I needed, but the point was to be seen and remembered. Bigger was better.
I looked at her, meeting her gaze one final time. "I'm letting you live so that you can pass on a message when they finally do come for you. I want them all to know. My name is Laemkral, and the Confederation burned my world and destroyed my life. I'm just returning the favor."
My gaze turned back towards the window, some hundred odd stories up. This was going to be one hell of a drop. Bethany spoke up, interrupting my thoughts, "That's it? That's all you give me? They'll want to know more. I want to know more!" I ignored her pleading. The time would one day come to tell my story, my whole story, but this wasn't the time.
"You may want to leave the room. The glass should fly outwards, but then again I have been holding you hostage and you did just fight your way away from me and flee towards a comm-box in another room." I heard her start to move, gathering up Figaro in her arms as she fled, but I was already running towards the window. Shortly before I was about to collide with it I flipped the switch on the detonator.
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