Hard Strike

by Eric Thomson

  “What?” Joubert’s voice rose by an octave while his eyes threatened to bug out. “Has Magda gone completely around the bend?”

  “She went around the bend long ago, Colonel,” Decker said. “But I’m disappointed to see you crewing her ship of fools, although it explains a few things.”

  “Magda thinks blaming the Locarno operation on offworlders Cortez and Yorik, who’ll be subsequently unmasked as Talyn and Decker, Fleet officers, will help increase tonight’s chaos and ease her assumption of power.”

  “An unnecessary embellishment. How did you come to capture them?”

  “We walked right into Hadar’s office this morning,” Decker said. “And lunched with the lovely Magda Annear at her country estate.”

  “Shit.” Joubert turned to Wilborg. “What the hell was Magda thinking? You should have shot them back at the lodge. Think about it. They didn’t stumble into your office by accident. I found out just before leaving Howard’s Landing that their Constabulary friends from the Professional Compliance Bureau were quietly inquiring about Alek Mannsbach, his Alasdair Malter incarnation, and Magda.”

  “I told her it would be best to kill us at the lodge but did she listen? No. You’re working for someone with serious mommy issues, folks. And that won’t end well. It never does. We know about her plans except for the Locarno MHX bomb’s location. Do yourselves a favor and back away. Let us disarm it and arrest Magda. It’s the only way you’ll enjoy another sunrise.”

  “As you can see, Colonel, he’s full of wind and fury with no substance behind it. I’ll be happy to see him in your hands.” Wilborg gestured at Collette. “Transfer the prisoners.”

  Collette stood and offered Joubert a small control tablet.

  “Please apply your thumbprint to assume control of their shackles.”

  “I’m curious. How can a senior Gendarmerie officer contemplate killing hundreds of people?” Talyn asked in a conversational tone.

  Joubert’s shoulders twitched with a dismissive shrug.

  “Third-rate politicians with no vision, profiteers with no conscience, social manipulators, and assorted sociopaths? I consider it cleansing the Rim Sector of those holding us back.”

  “What about the townspeople? Surely they’re innocent bystanders in this vendetta?”

  “Gone on paid holidays elsewhere for the duration of the conference, courtesy of Cimmerian taxpayers.” He pressed his thumb against the tablet and then took it from Collette’s hand. “There.”

  “What about your Gendarmerie men, the National Guard troops, and all those civilians working at the conference center? Are they to become collateral damage?”

  “Sadly, Major, it’s an inevitable sacrifice for the greater good. I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept.”

  “Did you ask them whether they agreed?”

  “Do you ask cattle whether they consent to enter the slaughterhouse?”

  Decker turned to his partner.

  “You know, the general attitude of Magda’s minions is really getting up my nose.”

  “If Joubert, our buddy Hadar, and the others were nice people, they wouldn’t do her bidding.”

  “Time to step off.” Joubert pulled a large-caliber blaster from the black, shiny holster at his hip and gestured toward the door. “You first, Major.”

  “Don’t forget their things.” Allyson handed him both travel bags.

  A man they’d never seen before waited on the hangar floor, weapon at the ready. He wore what Decker liked to call the security consultant role-playing costume. Black trousers tucked into combat boots, black tactical vest over an equally black roll-neck sweater and opaque glasses. He carried an example of the snub-nosed carbine favored by private military corporations and likely wore both a throat mike and an earbug.

  “Couldn’t corrupt a few gendarmes, Joubert?” Decker asked, giving the silent goon a dismissive glance.

  “He probably works for CimmerTek,” Talyn said. “Just like Collette, Allyson, Gudrun and every other goon-for-hire we’ve seen.”

  “CimmerTek. Right. Louis Sorne’s bunch. A senior police officer such as you associating with rent-a-cops of dubious quality? What’s the galaxy coming to? I understand they made a hash of trying to replace your lot as station security on Aquilonia.”

  “Were you born tiresome, Major, or did they teach it in basic training?”

  “Ouch.” Decker winced. “Kudos for being wittier than Hadar Wilborg, even if that isn’t hard to do.”

  The silent man in black pointed at an open door.

  “In there? Sure. Tell me, Colonel. How do you intend to blame obliterating Locarno and killing most of the sector’s elite on us?”

  “Why do you care? You’ll be dead by the time it happens.”

  They entered a room furnished with only a few chairs and tables. Behind them, the flyer came to life once more while the hangar doors reopened, then the sound faded as it backed out onto the tarmac and lifted off.

  “Sit. We’ll be here for a while,” Joubert said, pointing at the chairs against one wall.

  Talyn and Decker obeyed while keeping their eyes on the treasonous Gendarmerie officer.

  “Do you mind if I run a few scenarios past you?” Decker asked.

  “Yes. Now shut it.”

  “You probably didn’t have many friends growing up either, just like Hadar Wilborg, and as many chances of making up for that lack before you die. But I’ll run a scenario by you anyway, since you can’t afford to blow my head off just yet. Shortly after Locarno goes up in a great ball of fire at the height of the opening cocktail party, you’ll call Gendarmerie HQ telling them you’re in the neighboring valley and just killed two suspects last seen racing away from the convention center. They not only refused to stop for an ID check but shot at you. When forensics examines our bodies, they’ll find traces of MHX-19 on our hands and conclude we’re the mass murders everyone has been looking for. How am I doing so far?”

  “Judging by the look in his eyes,” Talyn said, “you’re scoring ten out of ten.”

  “Don’t you just hate dealing with amateurs? In what universe will anyone believe that explanation?”

  “Shut up, Major.”

  “That’s what Hadar said.”

  Joubert dropped their bags on one of the tables and watched them for a moment as if weighing a decision.

  “You look like a man wondering whether one CimmerTek goon and a police desk jockey are enough to watch two SOCOM operatives,” Decker said. “Why didn’t you bring more people?”

  “Because Wilborg was supposed to deliver a pair of DSA stooges, pencil-necked zealots without the training or gumption to fight their way out of this. Had I known about you two, I’d have brought additional muscle.”

  “Of course. Dear Magda making decisions on the fly and telling no one ahead of time. I always hate it when my boss does that.”

  “I can hear you, Major.” The intense irritation in Talyn’s tone caused Joubert to stare at her for a few seconds.

  Then, he upended Decker’s bag and shook out its contents. The Shrehari blaster landed on the metal tabletop with a thud, followed by the Pathfinder dagger. Joubert held both up.

  “Nice. This should be enough help confirm your identity as a SOCOM officer after I shoot you.”

  “No one will believe we’re responsible for the atrocity you’re planning.”

  “They’ll believe it long enough to generate added chaos. A lie travels light years while the truth is still putting on its boots.” He placed the weapons to one side, then emptied Talyn’s bag before examining her blaster and stiletto. “Not quite as distinctive, but it doesn’t matter. I’m beginning to think Magda made the right decision in reassigning the role of scapegoats.”

  “Hurray for Magda.”

  Joubert picked Talyn’s communicator from the pile and studied it.

  “Disappointingly ordinary. The sort anyone can buy from a vending machine. I expected something a little more high speed, low drag, as you people
like to say.”

  “Who says it’s ordinary under the skin?” She replied.

  “Oh?” Suspicion clouded his gaze.

  “Undercover work means our tools are disguised as well.”

  “Are you telling me there’s a military-grade communicator inside this shell?”

  He shook the device.

  “Certainly. In his too.” She nodded at Decker.

  “How do you access the hidden functionality?”

  Decker chuckled.

  “I bet he’s thinking of adding our talkies to the evidence pile and goose that lie into traveling a little faster. Guns and blades are nothing beside genuine classified Fleet-issue communicators keyed to their owners.”

  “Won’t do him much good if they’re not properly unlocked. Try to force them, and the insides self-destruct, leaving nothing more than a lump of fused electronics, impossible to identify as Fleet-issue.”

  “How do you unlock this?”

  Decker and Talyn exchanged looks, then the latter said, “Go pound sand, traitor.”

  After a moment of hesitation, Joubert tried to switch the communicator on, without success.

  “It needs a power pack, genius.” Decker rolled his eyes in mock derision. “Although it won’t do you any good.”

  Joubert searched through their belongings until his hand closed on a thin stick. He found a matching slot on the communicator’s side and slammed it home.

  — Forty-Two —

  “Here we are.” Maras pointed at the valley unfolding beneath the aircar as it crossed over the last ridge and began descending toward the convention center’s forecourt. “I gather you never came here?”

  “No, sir. Too rich for my blood.” Her communicator chimed once more. “Pardon me. It’s Arno again.” She held it to her ear. “Yes?”

  “Chief, the tracking signal from Commander Talyn’s communicator came back a few minutes ago.”

  “Where?”

  “About two kilometers from your current position. The Locarno aerospace terminal, hangar number three.”

  “Makes sense if they were indeed prisoners aboard Magda Annear’s flyer. Let the Marines in orbit know.”

  “Already done. Major Boldt will land a team to investigate.”

  “How long?”

  “An hour, give or take.”

  Morrow turned to look out the window. She spotted hangar three, one of five white, pillow-like structures lining the black tarmac in the distance.

  “Hang on, Arno.”

  “What is it?” Maras asked.

  “For some reason, the tracking signal from Commander Talyn’s communicator is back online. If you’ll recall, we lost both hers and Major Decker’s at Magda Annear’s lodge.”

  “And that signal comes from Locarno.”

  “Yes, sir. One of the terminal’s hangars.”

  Maras tapped the passenger compartment’s intercom.

  “Please take us on a loop around the aerospace terminal at the lowest allowable altitude, Warrant Officer.

  “Wilco.”

  “What are your thoughts, Caelin?”

  “If I assume Talyn and Decker are missing persons, my first instinct is to investigate. Perhaps you could drop Sergeant Bonta and me off before proceeding to the convention center. Both of us are armed for once.”

  “Are you sure it’s a good idea?”

  “It’ll be at least an hour before the Marines land, and something tells me my friends aren’t here to enjoy the recreational facilities. Time may well be of the essence.”

  “Gut instinct?”

  “Screaming. I’d be a piss poor cop if I didn’t listen. There was a time, well before I joined the Firing Squad, when, as a Constabulary liaison officer, I jumped out of perfectly good shuttles from low orbit with folks like Major Decker and Commander Talyn. Those days taught me to listen whenever my gut yelled loud enough to drown out what I thought was my common sense speaking.”

  “Do you want me to find whoever’s in charge of the Gendarmerie task force and ask them to send backup?”

  Morrow shook her head.

  “No. If I see the situation is beyond what Bonta and I can handle, I’ll simply keep eyes on them and wait for the Marines.”

  “You don’t trust our planetary colleagues?”

  “If Magda Annear’s at the center of this mess, she’ll have helpers in every branch of the Cimmerian government, including the Gendarmerie. We’re in a trust no one situation.”

  “Be careful.”

  “No worries. I plan on living long enough to see how many people show up at my retirement party. Besides, my winger is almost unbeatable. Sergeant Bonta won the annual Rim Sector combat shooting competition five years running now.”

  Maras stroked the intercom again.

  “Please land us by the terminal’s main door. Chief Superintendent Morrow and Master Sergeant Bonta will disembark. You and I will head for the convention center once they’re off.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  After a single circuit which revealed nothing of use, the aircar swooped down for a smooth landing in front of the building before disgorging both PCB officers. With the townspeople gone and the day’s conference attendees already in their rooms, the area felt eerily deserted. Morrow pulled out her service-issue sidearm and checked the power pack before chambering a copper disk. Bonta imitated her example

  They made their way along the service road toward hanger number three, weapons in hand, muzzles pointing downward, eyes and ears alert for anything that might betray Decker, Talyn or the people holding them.

  Morrow and Bonta reached the hangar without encountering anyone and stopped just before the first of several wide windows looking out onto the street. She briefly moved her head forward to glance inside but saw nothing more than an empty office. The next one showed another unoccupied room, this time with crates stacked haphazardly against the walls.

  She crept up on the third and pulled back the moment her brain understood what her eyes saw. Talyn and Decker, shackled, sitting on chairs against the far wall under the watchful eyes of a gun-toting man in black tactical clothing.

  It took her synapses a bit longer to process the sight of Colonel Joubert of the Cimmerian Gendarmerie wearing a gold-trimmed blue uniform and half sitting on a table while he studied one of the agents’ communicators. She backed away almost out of reflex and motioned Bonta to come closer.

  “You found them, Chief?” She asked in a whisper, her lips a few centimeters from Morrow’s ear.

  The latter nodded and replied, in the same tone, “Prisoners. Shackled. One guard, one Gendarmerie officer. Joubert.”

  “Fuck.”

  “We figured the bad guys had insiders.”

  “What do we do?”

  “Two against two. Do those odds work for you, Sergeant? If they don’t, we wait for the Marines.”

  Morrow risked another glance only to stare straight into Talyn’s eyes. She must have seen her first look through the window. Talyn’s gaze briefly shifted to Joubert and back again, and then her head moved minutely but in an unmistakable nod.

  “I think Commander Talyn just invited me in,” Morrow whispered at Bonta.

  When the sergeant nodded in acknowledgment, Morrow dropped into a crouch beneath the windowsill and waddled below toward the door. Bonta, because of her greater height, was forced into a leopard crawl to the detriment of her service grays.

  They reached the hangar’s roadside door without raising any alarms and stood. Bonta fished a small sensor from her tunic pocket. She stared at its screen for a few seconds then gave Morrow the all-clear sign. No active intrusion detection system.

  **

  “Very interesting. A fine piece of technology. Too bad it didn’t do you any good.”

  Joubert finally placed Talyn’s communicator back on the table after studying the device’s hidden functions. He retrieved his gun and aimed it lazily at a spot halfway between the prisoners, elbow resting on his thigh.

  Once he’d s
witched her device on and reactivated the tracking signal, she’d given him the means to unlock it and study the complex electronics as a way of buying time in the hope Morrow’s people were still monitoring the Navy satellites. The chief superintendent’s unexpected and mercifully brief appearance on the other side of the window proved she’d made the right choice.

  “How about a verse of Blood on the Risers to cheer us up, Zack?” Talyn asked, warning him something was about to happen.

  “Which one?”

  “He counted long, he counted loud, he waited for the shock,” Talyn sang in a soft voice.

  “What are you talking about?” Joubert asked, frowning as he stood.

  “Just a joke between fellow professionals,” she replied. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Why?”

  Decker let out an exasperated sigh.

  “Because you’re not a fucking professional, mate. A pro would put a damned blaster bolt through Magda Annear’s brain the moment she waxed poetic about bringing forth social justice through mass murder. Were you born dense, or did they hammer it into you during Gendarmerie officer training?”

  An angry sneer twisted Joubert’s face.

  “You’re hardly in a position to talk, Major. Walking into Magda’s trap like beginners isn’t likely to win SOCOM any awards for its personnel selection process.”

  “It wasn’t exactly her trap, you know. Hadar Wilborg did most of the heavy lifting. I daresay he wouldn’t be standing there like a useless lummox, kibitzing with prisoners instead of watching his six.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did you really think we walked into Magda’s so-called trap like a pair of beginners? We did it to find out where the DSA planned to commit its next act of terrorism. Now we know. Last chance, my friend. End this and you might survive. Otherwise, your name won’t even appear on the Gendarmerie’s memorial wall.”

  One of the room’s two doors opened with a loud crash, and a disembodied voice hidden in the hallway’s shadows said, “I recommend you take Major Decker’s suggestion, Colonel. Drop your weapon. The same goes for you, Mister CimmerTek muscle.”