Called

by Ell Leigh Clarke

  The priestess smiled knowingly. “Are you not saving this boy’s life?”

  Molly shifted the carrier onto her hip. “Er… Yeah, I guess.”

  She glanced into the room where the boy lay. It looked like his mother was praying now. Molly kept watching through the window as she spoke, distracted. “I, er… I dunno if the energy field has been compromised.” She gestured at the carrier.

  The priestess smiled knowingly at her. “The organ has been well protected. Thank you for your service, Molly Bates.”

  Just then the door behind her opened and a couple of doctors rushed in. Molly’s attention came back to the little room. She completed the necessary retinal scans and took their signatures. As soon as that was done, she handed over the carrying case to one of the doctors.

  She turned to leave, then glanced at the priestess. “I’ll just, er…” she pointed at the door, indicating her intent to get far away from the situation. “So, er…good luck,” she muttered, and then hurried past the doctors without making eye contact again.

  Tell me there were a world of odd things about that conversation.

  Yes. I was confused as to how she might know your name.

  I’m wondering if this is one of those ‘seeing’ priestesses that Paige was talking about.

  Possibly. No way to hack that kind of circuitry to find out, though.

  You mean her brain? No, Oz, you cannot hack a person’s brain. She paused. Can you? she thought mostly to herself.

  Molly shook her head, smiling at the parallel thought processes she and Oz shared. She wouldn’t admit it out loud, but hacking a physical brain was something she had often contemplated how to do.

  Let’s check in with the others. Then I need a bloody strong mocha. And a rest.

  Sure. Closest location for what you could term a ‘decent mocha’ is in the cafeteria. Sean is just about to breach the building where the empty case was taken.

  And Joel?

  Two, maybe two and half hours out from Spire at their current velocity.

  Looks like we’ve got some time to kill then. Which way to the cafeteria?

  Abandoned Warehouse, Dvergasteinn

  The place was like a war zone. Injured people were strewn throughout the warehouse and gathered in front of the building. Ambulances were still arriving to whisk away those in the most need of medical help.

  Not everyone was going to be leaving for the hospital in an ambulance, though.

  The transporter of the empty organ case sat in the back of an ambulance. He was one of the lucky ones. A police sergeant was making notes on his holo while recording the testimony in real-time for evidence in the courts.

  “He came in and then death just started happening,” the Ogg stammered, shock starting to set in as his body temperature dropped. “Once he’d thrown me to the floor, guys with guns started shooting at him, and he was like boom, boom, boom!” He pulled the foil-lined sheet around him tighter and shivered. “I don’t think he missed a single shot.”

  The lanky police sergeant stood next to him at the ambulance door while a paramedic took care of the patient. “And where were you when this was happening?” the sergeant asked.

  “On the floor by the door. I mean, that’s where I started, but then he was shooting, and the guys were shooting back at him. I didn’t want to get shot, so I just crawled on my belly to get behind the tables in there. “He gestured feebly in the direction of the warehouse he’d been pulled from just minutes before.

  The officer nodded professionally, careful not to convey any sense of sympathy. “And then what happened?” he asked him, making a note on his holo.

  “Well, some others popped out,” the Ogg muttered, reliving the event in his mind’s eye, “but they didn’t have weapons, so he tied up two of them. Then even more guys with guns came down. You know, Doork’s guys. They must have been upstairs. Anyway, he shot some of them in like their kneecaps and stuff, then took some of them out.” The transporter’s eyes slid left and right, remembering the event and relaying it as best as his scrabbled brain would allow. “He dragged them into the other room. I didn’t see what happened then. There was like, screaming and talking. And maybe another few gunshots.”

  The police office looked up from his holo briefly. “How many?” he asked.

  The transporter shook his head. “Dunno. One, two. Maybe three. I was panicking. I thought for sure he was going to come back and finish me off.”

  The sergeant continued interviewing the survivor while his partner debriefed Sean.

  Sean sat in the back of the squad car, calm as a lion facing a squirrel.

  The squirrel sat in front, but had turned around in his seat to talk to Sean. Each of them had their door open. It was more just a place to have a quiet conversation that wasn’t out in the open than a formal interview.

  The officer asked Sean his questions. “So you didn’t have anyone else on the ground to help you?”

  Sean answered flatly. “No. Just me here. I had team support for the other elements of the operation, though.”

  The officer looked confused. “Ok. So, just who are you working for?”

  Sean looked a little bored, but answered the question. “Company is called Framan. I’m sure if you call your boss he’ll tell you I’m free to go. This was all pre-authorized.”

  The officer nodded congenially. “Yes, yes, I’ve already spoken with him. We’re not charging you. I just want to understand… I mean…with respect…who the hell are you?”

  Sean smiled a little. “Sean Royale. Former Space Marine.”

  The officer seemed to recover his balls for a moment. He shook his head, smiling. “Yeah. Not buying it. You’re something else as well.”

  Sean flashed a mysterious smile. “Well, that’s a story for another time.” He enjoyed being able to get locals all curious—one of the perks of his job. He’d noticed that the General enjoyed doing the same on occasion. And heck, if it was ok for the General, it was ok for him.

  Sean got out of the squad car. “Well, if there’s nothing else you need me for, I have to go provide support for the final part of this op.”

  The sergeant got out of the car too. “Yeah. Sure. I can’t keep you, I guess.” He walked around the door and held out his hand.

  The thirty-something-year-old police officer looked at Sean in admiration. “When I grow up, I wanna be just like you,” he said, half joking but half not. He grinned at his own corniness.

  Sean extended one hand and gave him a pat on the shoulder with the other. “Keep eating kale and pepperoni pizza and you’re halfway there, kiddo,” he said.

  Sean strode away to collect his bike from its hiding place.

  The officer watched him leave, wondering.

  Oz interrupted his thoughts via his auditory implant. “Sean, I have a suggestion.”

  Sean typed into his holo, LEMME GET MY HELMET ON AND I CAN TALK TO YOU.

  He arrived at his bike and grabbed his helmet out of the storage box. “Ok, shoot,” he told Oz.

  Oz delivered his update. “Framan is happy to retrieve the bike from this location. They need to send someone anyway to smooth things over with the local police. Relationships and all, I believe. I’ve been advised by ADAM that there is something else they want you to do before you rendezvous with the team in Spire.”

  “Oh, ok.” Sean responded, a little surprised at the sudden deviation from their well-crafted plan.

  Oz’s voice was enjoying the mystique, almost as much as Sean had done with the police officer. “Yes, it’s a little errand,” he explained, cryptically. “But you’ll need to take the pod, so I suggest dropping Crash at the Spire hospital, and then zipping off to do this quietly.”

  Sean answered slowly. “Er. Yeah. You wanna fill me in?”

  “Of course,” Oz agreed cordially. “Let’s get Crash dropped off first.”

  Sean couldn’t believe it— this was coming from an AI! “You’re deliberately keeping me guessing, aren’t you?”

 
Oz sounded happy. “Yes, I’m learning the art of suspense.”

  Sean didn’t answer.

  “Sean?” Oz prompted.

  More silence.

  Oz tried again. “Sean?”

  “What?”

  Oz sounded almost irritated. “Why didn’t you answer?” he asked.

  “I’m mastering suspense too,” Sean replied flatly.

  “Dickhead,” Oz retaliated.

  “Right back at you, binary bitch!” Sean chuckled.

  Oz was quiet again. Sean could almost feel him whirring in his audio implant.

  Finally Oz responded. “Touché, Sean Royale. Touché.”

  A moment later Crash’s Pod arrived. Sean hopped in and filled him in on the plan, at least what little he knew about.

  The police sergeant who had been debriefed by Sean was headed back to the building to see how the documentation of the scene was going when he sensed movement behind him. He swung around just in time to see the Pod lift about fifteen feet and then disappear above the tree line.

  He shook his head.

  Damn alien tech. Wish I could get in on that, he thought, turning back to the mundane job in hand.

  He walked past his partner, who was still interviewing the transporter.

  “And you picked up the organ from Edgewater Hospital?” he was asking.

  “Yeah. That’s right. I had no idea I was being followed. I mean, we’re trained on that. I have no idea how this guy tracked me. He must have moved like a ghost or something…”

  Johnstone Residence, Spire

  The police scanner chattered away in Maya’s implant.

  “Be advised. We have made contact. No need to send reinforcements.”

  Her apartment was dimly lit and the curtains were drawn against the daylight. Maya preferred to work in the half-light. She had a theory that the blue light from her holos and equipment overstimulated her brain, making it difficult to focus and achieve deep concentration.

  “What do you mean?” the controller asked.

  “Situation is under control,” replied the officer at the scene.

  Maya cocked her head, listening for any details that might help explain what the hell was going on.

  The controller spoke again. “Hang on, Sergeant. The Captain wants to speak with you.”

  The line crackled, and then a third voice came on the line. It was older and smacked of authority. “What do you mean you don’t need reinforcements? What’s going on?”

  The sergeant’s voice was even, as if he wasn’t even trying to comprehend what had just happened too. He relayed only what he knew for fact. “It looks like one guy took them all out.”

  The Captain paused, then asked: “What? You mean he killed them?”

  “Not exactly, sir. Some are dead. Very bloody and very dead. But he left three alive.” He paused to catch his breath a little. “We’re questioning them now. Will know more in a few hours. But by all accounts, this guy is dangerously efficient.”

  That has to be Royale, Maya thought to herself as she listened, excited by the revelation.

  The Captain noticed the admiration in his voice. The sergeant continued, “First look says he’s left us everything we need to shut this operation down for good.”

  The captain waited to make sure his sergeant didn’t have anything else to report, then said, “Well that is good news. Keep me posted.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “I’ll advise Lato,” added the Captain.

  “Very good, sir.”

  The call ended.

  Maya Johnstone looked up from the console at her little desk, then played back the recording for the umpteenth time and listened again before scribbling some more notes into her holo.

  This one smacks of the off-world clandestine crew, she thought to herself. Plus it looks like the algorithms for the police scanners are working.

  She checked the location. It was a day’s drive from here. No way she could get there before everything had been wrapped up.

  But… she opened another holoscreen, I wonder if this is related to anything else going on?

  She checked the location of the squad car that had made the call to Control, then opened her custom data channels and started inputting keywords: Dvergasteinn, Lato, Molly Bates, Sean Royale…

  Hopefully something will come up. She hit Search, then remembered her contact at the Spaceport.

  She opened the message app on her wrist holo and typed: GREETINGS NED. HOW ARE YOU?

  SEND.

  Some days she loved her job. And even though she wasn’t officially working right now, today was one of those days.

  Besides, she reasoned, it’s not like answers were just going to show up on her doorstep.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ArchAngel III, Yollin Space

  The General rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger as he reclined in his ergonomically-designed antigrav control chair.

  “It’s times like this I wish I had Bethany Anne’s processing power to whip through this,” he grumbled crankily.

  >> Yes, I’m sure that would be advantageous, although I do perform a large portion of the heavy lifting for you these days. <<

  The general dropped his hand to the arm rest and took a deep breath. “Yes, and I appreciate your efforts, ADAM.” He glanced out the window into space. “Ok, two more items, then I’m heading to my quarters to have dinner with Patricia. She’s cooking Earth food tonight, and I for one am ready to call it a night.”

  >> Very well, Sir. The next item is our friend in Sark.<<

  The general brought his gaze back into the room, paying closer attention now. “What’s she done now?” he asked, a hint of frustration in his voice.

  >> She’s…persisting. Her success threatens our entire operation in that sector. <<

  Lance exhaled and closed his eyes. “Yep, you’re right.” He started to sit up again. “I recommend termination.”

  >> You would. <<

  Lance tilted his head. “It can be that simple,” he said flatly, teasing the ancient AI.

  >> Your actual orders, sir? <<

  “Ok, let’s wrap it up. Have Sean bring her in. She clearly knows too much at this point.” The General rocked a little in his chair. “Last item, then I’m out of here.”

  Ascender-Grace Hospital, Spire

  Molly sat alone in the deserted hospital cafeteria. The harsh metal and the hard surfaces made it feel clinical without being sterile. She nursed her second mocha, her eyes focused on a spot of old food dried onto the table in front of her.

  Looks like dried mashed-up meat.

  Maybe stew.

  Could just be lumpy gravy.

  Her thoughts drifted, no longer seeing the debris. Or the table. Her mind churned through the events of the last several days: Bethany Anne’s image on the ship, the hangar deck, the ops room, the General, and frickin’ ADAM.

  She absentmindedly shook her head.

  She realized that on some level she was grateful to have been able to sit and just be for the last few hours. And Oz had strangely left her alone, apart from a few moments ago when he announced Crash’s arrival at the hospital. She wondered briefly what Oz was up to, he went so quiet.

  There was movement by the door on the other side of the cafeteria. Crash came marching in, glancing over at the empty displays and the handful of busy kitchen staff clearing up.

  He arrived at Molly’s table. She made an effort to focus and meet his eyes.

  “Hey,” she said.

  He put his hand on the seat opposite her. “Hey. You managed ok?” he asked.

  She nodded and pushed the almost-empty mocha cup away. “There’s mocha in those pots over there. It’s not fresh, but not terrible.”

  Crash sat down, looking in the direction of the self-serve. “I’ll pass,” he decided. He glanced around the cafeteria again, aware of the number of people around and the distance from each, just as he’d learned in the Space Marines. Then he peered at Molly, noticing she hadn
’t lifted herself out of the contemplative mood she’d been in when he arrived. “The boy in surgery?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” Molly looked at her holo. “Should be out soon, though. Wanna head down there?”

  Crash nodded, pushing his chair back. “Sure.”

  Molly took one last look at her cup and reached for it, but then decided to leave it. She got up and followed Crash out of the cafeteria, watching the space on the floor between her feet and his heels.

  Crash stopped and turned to her as they stepped out of the cafeteria. “So you know that Sean had to go do something?” he checked, aware that she still wasn’t quite herself.

  “Yeah,” she answered, this time not looking up, but tracing her path with her eyes. She looked tired. Mentally tired, rather than physically. Her eyes were a little hollow and dark around the sockets.

  “Secret mission for the General?” he asked.

  She pulled a little face and did a mock-serious voice. “Empire business.”

  Crash had a hint of a smile as he turned to continue down the corridor with her, relieved that the old Molly was still in there somewhere.

  The pair wandered through the labyrinth of clinical-feeling corridors and found their way to the waiting area for the ward where Molly had found the boy a little while ago.

  They chose their seats, and slumped down. Molly leaned over in Crash’s direction briefly, too tired to actually turn and look at him. “Your day go ok?” she asked, making the effort.

  Crash bobbed his head. “Yeah. Was good. Got the bad guys.” He paused, then corrected himself. “Well, Sean got the bad guys. Singlehandedly,” he added. He leaned in her direction too, nudging shoulders, before sitting up straight again. “Why don’t you lie down and get some rest? You look beat.”

  Molly grunted, but stayed still, almost catatonic.

  Crash flicked up his holo and started reading, or surfing, or whatever the hell pilots did when they had time to kill.

  A short time later there was a clatter outside. The doors to the ward whooshed open, and Paige came stumbling in, followed by Joel, Pieter and Brock