by Piers Platt
“I see six of them,” Dasi whispered, standing next to him. “They’re seated at some kind of control station. Looks like a makeshift tactical operations center.”
“That’s a long walk from here,” Beauceron noted, glancing back at the crowd of officers waiting down the stairwell.
Dasi appeared to stare past him at the wall, and for several seconds, she seemed lost in thought. Then she met his eyes again. “I can get us there,” she said. “There’s a route behind the check-in counters that will get us within twenty feet of them, without exposing us.”
“You’re sure?” Beauceron asked, hesitating.
“A hundred percent,” Dasi said, nodding.
Beauceron frowned. “Okay,” he said. “Lead the way.”
Dasi turned and pointed at ten officers in turn. “On me,” she mouthed. “The rest stay.”
Dasi cradled her auto-rifle in her arms and slid onto her stomach on the terminal floor. Then she crawled forward from the edge of the stairs, heading for the nearest check-in counter. Beauceron, Emeka, and the ten officers followed closely behind. When they reached the check-in counter, Dasi pulled herself up to a crouch and hurried forward, bent over at the waist, keeping below the counter-top. At the far end of the counter, she dropped to a crawl again, and they made their way across an open aisle to the next check-in area.
They crossed two more aisles, and then arrived at the final check-in counter. The officers spread out behind the consoles at Dasi’s hand signal. She pointed through the desk behind her, and then held up five fingers, then four, then three, counting down. After the last finger, she gave them the thumbs up, and they stood en masse, swinging their rifles over the top of the counter.
“Drop it,” Emeka growled, at the startled Jokuan captain, who had grabbed instinctively for his sidearm.
Reluctantly, the man complied. Beauceron hurried around the desk, and collected the soldiers’ weapons, as several officers began to handcuff the captured Jokuans.
“Nice work, Private,” Emeka told Dasi.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Terminal clear,” Emeka spoke into his radio mic. “You guys on the stairs, come on up.”
Beauceron set the weapons in a pile on the floor, then turned to inspect the operations center. It consisted of a cluster of field desks and some office chairs, which looked to have been stolen from the spacelines’ check-in counters. Atop the field desks, Beauceron found several computers, which displayed maps of Tarkis, and a detailed architectural diagram of the spaceport complex itself. He also found a bulky, green-painted electronic device, which he assumed was some kind of long-range, military communications system. The Jokuans had situated their operations center not twenty feet from the terminal’s main entrance doors, which stood in the glass façade of the building. They had shut off the terminal’s exterior lights – Beauceron could not see outside.
“Come on,” he told Dasi.
He hurried over to the front windows and knelt below one, peering out into the darkness. Dasi followed, and took a knee beside him. The terminal’s entrance doors opened out onto a wide, semi-circular cement platform – the drop-off area for departing passengers. To the left and right of the raised platform, he could dimly see a pair of vehicle ramps that connected the raised departures area to the ground level, allowing ground cars to access the platform. But Beauceron could see the dark bulk of several armored trucks parked across the top of the ramps, their heavy weapons pointed out and down the ramps. And arrayed in a semi-circle around the outside edge of the platform, the rest of the unit’s vehicles sat looking outward over the spaceport’s wide parking lot.
“Sixteen armored trucks and four jeeps,” Dasi whispered. “We’ve basically got a mechanized infantry company out there. Probably a hundred and twenty soldiers.”
Beauceron shied away from the window instinctively, and glanced back at the lights of the operations center.
“It’s okay,” Dasi told him. “This glass is tinted – they can’t see in.”
Colonel Emeka joined them. “What’ve we got?” he asked.
“A whole lot of heavily armed Jokuans outside,” Dasi told him. “I think we outnumber them, but … taking those trucks is not going to be easy.”
“I don’t think stealth is an option anymore,” Emeka agreed. “And if we take too long figuring out a plan, someone’s going to wonder why their command center is no longer answering the radio … and come inside to investigate.”
“Perhaps we should ask them to come in,” Beauceron mused, rubbing his chin.
“What?” Emeka and Dasi asked, in unison.
Beauceron ignored them, and hurried back to the command center desks. He found the Jokuan captain seated on an office chair, under the watchful gaze of two officers. Beauceron pulled the tactical radio off of the captain’s belt, and held the microphone up to his mouth.
“I want you to radio your men, and tell them to come inside,” Beauceron said.
“Fuck you,” the captain said.
“Tell them to come in, and we’ll let your men live. Otherwise, we’ll be forced to fight them,” Beauceron explained. “You have the chance to save their lives, Captain.”
“They’d rather die for Jokuan,” the young officer told Beauceron defiantly.
“It’s a needless waste,” Beauceron insisted.
“It’s their duty,” the man spat back.
Beauceron shook his head in disgust and straightened up. He turned to face Dasi and Emeka. “Get your men ready, Colonel,” Beauceron said. “It looks like we’ll have to do it the hard way.”
“Hang on,” Dasi said. She had that faraway look in her eyes again, Beauceron noticed. She pushed Beauceron aside distractedly, and took a seat at one of the computer stations. Beauceron watched her type for several seconds, and a chat window opened up on the screen.
“I thought they might have a vehicle-to-vehicle messaging system,” she said, over her shoulder. “They do – I can send them whatever message we need.”
“That was good thinking,” Beauceron told her, his eyebrows raised. He pointed to the gathering crowd of officers, who had joined them from the stairs. “I need twenty men to take up positions on either side of the main entrance. Wait until each group of Jokuans comes in, stay down, let the doors close, then hit them with stun rounds. We move the bodies out of view, rinse, and repeat. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” a patrolman nodded, grinning.
“Okay,” Beauceron said. “Get over to the doorway. Everyone else get out of view.”
The officers hurried to comply.
“Dasi,” Beauceron said. “Pick one of the vehicles and tell them that they’re to report here at once – the captain needs to brief them on a special mission.”
Dasi typed on the screen. Her finger hovered over the Send button for a second, and then she swore.
“What?” Beauceron asked.
“Almost sent that message in English,” Dasi said, deleting it hurriedly. “Hang on, I’m running a translation program in my internal computer so I can send it in Jokuan.”
Beauceron smiled, shaking his head. “You’re putting that computer to good use,” he said.
Dasi blushed. “Yeah,” she agreed. “It comes in handy from time to time. Okay, first vehicle crew should be en route.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, Beauceron stepped through the spaceport’s main entrance and out into the cool night air. Colonel Emeka walked up next to him, and Beauceron saw him extend his hand. Beauceron took it, frowning.
“Congratulations, Detective,” Emeka said, smiling. “You just captured a spaceport without firing a shot.”
Behind them, the Tarkis police officers hurried out of the terminal and split into groups, jogging over to the now empty Jokuan vehicles. Beauceron watched as they clambered aboard, taking up positions in the gunners’ hatches and drivers’ seats. Other police officers spread out between the vehicles, kneeling behind the low concrete wall lining the platform, and setting up their weapons and amm
unition.
“We captured it,” Beauceron agreed. “Now we just have to hold it.”
17
Jace Hawken felt a hand on his shoulder, and then the lights in the chief of staff’s office came on. He rubbed his eyes, squinting against the sudden brightness, and rolled over on the couch. His suit jacket slid off onto the floor – it had been serving as a makeshift blanket.
“Sorry to wake you, sir,” he heard a young patrolman say.
“I’m up,” Hawken grunted, blinking. He took a mug of coffee from the patrolman, and sipped at it, gratefully.
“Did Beauceron and his team arrive at Jokuan already?” he asked, yawning.
“I don’t know, sir,” the patrolman said. “General Childers just told me to come get you, sir. Senator Foss is in the war room.”
Hawken felt himself come fully awake. “What?” he asked, standing suddenly. “Foss is alive? Did they find any other survivors at the blast site?”
“No, sir,” the patrolman said. “Senator Foss wasn’t at the Senate Chamber when the attack occurred.”
“Well where the hell was he?” Hawken asked.
“I don’t know, sir. He’s back now, though, and he’s called another emergency meeting.”
“Fuck me,” Hawken swore. “Of all the senators that could have survived ….” He looked at the patrolman self-consciously. “You didn’t hear me say that.”
The police officer grinned. “No, sir.”
Hawken set the coffee down and hurried down the hall, pushing open the door to the conference room. Foss stood at the head of the table, and the rest of the emergency council sat, bleary-eyed, around the room. They turned to look at Hawken as he entered.
Foss eyed Hawken haughtily. “Mr. Hawken,” he said, inclining his head slightly.
“Senator,” Hawken replied warily. “I’m relieved to see you safe, sir.”
“Thank you. This committee was just briefing me on what has transpired here since the attack.”
Hawken nodded. “It’s been a busy day. But we think we have a plan that—”
“I’m sure General Childers can bring me up to speed,” Foss cut in. “I was just about to share with the committee what progress I’ve been able to make in my negotiations with the Jokuans.”
“With the …?” Hawken frowned. “You’ve been negotiating with General Yo-Tsai?”
“Of course,” Foss said. “Why do you think I wasn’t at the State of the Federacy Address with my unfortunate peers? The Intelligence Committee tasked me with contacting General Yo-Tsai. I was on Jokuan during the attack, doing everything in my power to prevent it. But alas, Yo-Tsai’s plan was already in motion. We may yet be able to negotiate a truce, though.”
“A truce?” Hawken asked. “But we have agents heading to Tarkis now to try to stall the invasion.”
Foss arched an eyebrow at him. “Is that so? Well, I’ll deal with that issue in due time.”
“You’ll deal with it,” Hawken repeated. “You’re aware that this committee charged me with leading the Federacy?”
“And I thank you for your leadership during the government’s hour of need. But your services are no longer required, now that I’m here.”
Hawken’s eyes narrowed. “You’re dismissing me?”
“No, I’m arresting you,” Foss said. He gestured at General Childers. “See to it, General.”
“You’re arresting me?” Hawken asked, incredulous. “Foss, we’re at war! This is no time for petty power struggles!”
“I am fully aware of the urgency of the situation. That’s precisely why we need experience at the helm right now, young man,” Foss said.
General Childers stood reluctantly, and pointed at the patrolman who had woken Hawken. The district attorney felt the officer take hold of his hands, and pull them behind his back.
“I’m sorry about this, sir,” General Childers told Hawken.
“On what grounds are you arresting me?” Hawken asked, keeping his eyes locked on Foss.
“Treason,” Foss said.
Hawken snorted. “That’s absurd.”
“Is it?” Foss asked. “Where were you when the attack occurred, Mr. Hawken?”
“At the Senate Chamber,” Hawken said.
“And what were you doing there?” Foss asked.
“Arresting your subordinate,” Hawken shot back. “For conspiracy to commit murder.”
“Conspiracy, eh?” Foss observed. “That’s a telling choice of words, considering your involvement with the conspiracy to attack the Federacy.”
“What? I had nothing to do with the attack,” Hawken protested. “I nearly died in it myself.”
“Nearly,” Foss agreed. “And yet, somehow, you did survive. In rather extraordinary fashion, I might point out. And until I came back, you found yourself the senior-most surviving official in Anchorpoint. What an interesting coincidence.”
“Circumstantial evidence, all of it,” Hawken argued. “Any competent judge would laugh you out of the courtroom.”
“Perhaps,” Foss said. “But it’s quite compelling evidence when you consider that the Jokuans have named you as an accomplice in their plans. I heard it from General Yo-Tsai himself.”
The room went silent, and Hawken felt a shiver of fear run down his back.
“That’s a lie,” Hawken said. “And you know it.”
“Take him away, please, officer,” Foss said, addressing the patrolman. “This traitor has done enough damage to the Federacy, I think.”
18
In the abandoned public restroom on the transfer station, Atalia checked her holophone for the fifth time in as many minutes. She caught the leader of the police tactical team watching her, and turned the phone’s screen back off.
“It’s gotta be soon,” Captain Murson opined, keeping his voice low. “It’s been almost three hours now.”
“Yeah,” Atalia agreed. “I just hate the waiting.”
Murson shrugged. “Happens to us all the time. Get the call, drop everything and gear up, then spend six or seven hours waiting before we get the green light to assault. If we get the green light at all. Most times they just send us home.”
“We’re going to be assaulting this time,” Atalia promised him.
“Yeah,” he said. He repositioned himself on the countertop next to a sink, trying to get comfortable. “Still, this is the first time I’ve ever waited for a mission inside a ladies’ restroom.”
“I figured the Jokuans on the station might try to use a men’s room,” Atalia explained.
“No, it’s a good hiding spot,” Murson said. “Just kinda funny, that’s all.”
Atalia’s phone chirped at her, and both of them looked down at it. Atalia brought it up to her ear.
“il-Singh,” she said.
“This is Dasi,” Dasi replied. “We have control of the objective.”
“Any trouble?” Atalia asked.
“No,” Dasi said. “Not yet, at least. But the city’s swarming with Jokuan troops.”
“Well, we better make sure you can get some reinforcements, then,” Atalia said.
“Yeah. Good luck,” Dasi told her.
“You too.” Atalia hung up, and looked at Murson. “They seized the spaceport,” she reported. “Let’s roll.”
Murson stood up, and around the cramped room, the rest of his team readied themselves. Atalia pushed her way to the front of the group and selected an EMP grenade from the bandolier across her chest. At the bathroom door, she turned and looked at Murson.
“Ready?”
He nodded, and gave her a thumbs-up. Atalia triggered the grenade, and then pushed open the door, glancing both ways down the hallway to ensure it was empty. She started down the corridor, and the tactical team followed, weapons at the ready. They passed an empty handbag store and a coffee shop, and then Atalia paused – just ahead, the corridor opened out onto a large atrium at the center of the station’s shopping mall. The atrium was dotted with couches and chairs for travelers, and the wall
s were lined with other luxury stores and restaurants. Atalia, kneeling, felt Murson take a knee beside her.
“That escalator on the far side should take us up to the control station level,” she whispered.
He nodded. “I think I can see the security door at the top.”
“Do you guys have breaching charges?” Atalia asked.
“If we need them,” Murson said. “But I’ve also got some electronic lock-pickers. Better to sneak in if we can.”
“Roger that,” Atalia agreed.
She stood up, and with a final glance around the atrium, headed out into the open, her auto-rifle at the ready. Murson and the team followed close behind her. They reached the bottom of the escalator without incident – it was still running, Atalia saw. She stepped onto the moving stairs, keeping her rifle pointed upward at the second level. Then she heard a bark of laughter from below.
Atalia looked back – the rest of the tactical team was in the midst of joining her on the escalator, but the laugh had not come from them. Their attention was turned to one of the shops on the ground level. Atalia’s stomach dropped as she saw a full shopping cart emerge from the store’s entrance, loaded with bottles of liquor. Two Jokuan soldiers were pushing the cart ahead of them, laughing, but at that instant, both of them saw the tactical team across the atrium and froze.
“Don’t move!” Atalia shouted, but one of the soldiers was already reacting, bringing his rifle up to bear on the tactical team. Four different police officers opened fire. The Jokuans were killed instantly: their bright red blood sprayed across the sparkling white tiles of the atrium floor, mingling with liquor spilled from a broken whiskey bottle.
“Go! Go! Go!” Murson yelled, and the team took the escalator stairs two at a time, with Atalia in the lead. When she reached the second level, she dashed across the balcony and slammed into the security doors, pushing ineffectually against them.
“Locked!” she reported.
“Breaching charge!” Murson ordered. “And give me two men for rear security at the top of the escalator.”
“Fuck,” Atalia swore.
