Special Agent Johnson maneuvered their black skimmer into traffic. “Anything else of note?”
“Hmm…” Agent Smith thought for a few seconds before adding, “He stands with his weight evenly distributed on both feet and he moves exceptionally quiet.”
“And what does that tell you? Remember your training.”
“There is an eighty percent chance that our subject has studied the martial arts.”
Special Agent Johnson shook his head. “Wrong; one hundred percent chance trained, probably a martial arts master.”
“Where did you get that information? It’s not in his profile.”
“If you want to survive in this job Smith, use more than just the profile generated by Intel. Had you looked, you would’ve noticed that the two books in the lobby were ancient treaties on warfare; one in Japanese and the other in Chinese. Couple those with his occupation, the scar, the interface port, the way he moves and his association to Sgt. Major Spenton…now, what do you get?”
“A retired member of Strike Forces.”
Agent Smith frantically scanned through the files once more, looking for any reference to the military. It wasn’t there. Looking at his mentor, he cocked his head and asked, “But why wouldn’t that information be in his profile?”
“Now that is a good question. Pull up the file on Sgt. Major Spenton. Is there anyone listed in his last unit that is here in New Atlanta?”
The young fed scanned the related files before answering. “Just one, a Lt. Commander Charles Kristopher. He is now a lieutenant on the NAPD.”
“Then let’s pay this lieutenant a visit.”
Special Agent Johnson punched a few buttons on his controls and their skimmer shifted lanes.
* * * * *
The New Atlanta Police Department -- NAPD -- had its hands full on any given day. With a population of over sixty-seven million and the largest spaceport on the eastern seaboard, they had their fair share of crime. Police Officers of the twenty-second century had numerous advantages from their ancient counterparts.
First, with the advancements in biometric technologies, nearly every citizen of New Atlanta was hooked into the Core-Net. This was a great convenience to the citizens. It allowed them to surf the web on the go. However, it also allowed the government and the police to track their every move. Sure technology helped in solving crimes but not stopping it. That took manpower, lots of manpower.
The police fell into three major groups; Squints, Flatfoots and Bots.
Squints were the nickname given to all the technical people who monitored, tracked and shifted through the deluge of information of the Core-Net. They were the geeks who called on the Flatfoots to do the actual police work.
Flatfoots, also called grunts, were the men and women who felt the call to work long hours for low pay while trying to make a difference in their community. As part of their training, every cop was augmented to some degree. The lowest ‘aug’ required by the department was a simple memory backup that recorded everything an officer did during their shift. Its primary purpose was to protect the officer and the department when some lawyer decided to try and cut their teeth on the NAPD. More advanced augments were offered to the officers depending on their duty assignment from enhanced reflexes to enhanced senses, to the level of SWAT members with full combat augs. These select few men and women gained the highest level of augments available outside of the military.
The only problem was that there weren’t enough officers to really make a difference, enter the Bots.
Androids were completely synthetic beings that looked human but weren’t technically alive. They ran a complex series of programs and were extremely helpful in aiding the manpower shortage. Androids were cost effective, not needing time off from work for family issues, were ruthlessly honest and they operated within their programming. Nothing more and nothing less. Unfortunately the courts didn’t recognize their legal status and therefore would sometimes call their judgment into question in court. So, every android had a human partner, usually two; one for day shift and the other for night shift.
Androids didn’t solve the police department’s manpower issue but it did lessen it.
Lieutenant Kristopher’s day had gone from great to terrible in a manner of hours.
It had started great with the capture of Jagger Jax; the notorious smuggler and murderer wanted in just about every civilized port. He had been at the top of the NAPD wanted list for the last year after he had killed a prominent judge and raped his wife. Of course, it was a feather in the cap for whoever prosecuted the scumbag and his capture should’ve helped his standings with the administration. But shortly after returning from Starbase Alpha, the police commissioner had blasted him on the cost of the bounty hunter, completely forgetting their conversation a week earlier concerning the same subject. Never mind, that it was legal and he had approved the hiring of Spartan.
He had just been leaving the commissioner’s office when the distress call came in. Some gang banger had shot one of his men. Normally, when a ten-thirty call (Officer in Distress) goes out across the police band, it’s an all force alert with every able-bodied officer responding but since the officer in distress was an android, the Police Commissioner had called off the alert.
The commissioner was a former Squint who had gotten promoted through political connections and didn’t want to waste man-hours or the overtime involved and had called off the alert. Their ‘official’ position was that is exactly what the ‘Bots’ are for…to stand in front of the real cops. The lieutenant didn’t agree with administration’s stand but his hands were tied on the subject.
Additionally, Lt. Kristopher also had to juggle resources for twelve different bomb threats on the government buildings located throughout New Atlanta. Not to mention finding enough manpower for the increase in security for the upcoming Presidential visit. And now, his door opened to reveal two men in dark suits…Feds.
Lt. Kristopher tossed down the file he was looking at and gestured to an empty chair. “Have a seat gentleman. What can I do for the FSA today?”
The senior agent flashed his badge and credentials. “I am Special Agent Johnson and this is my partner Agent Smith, it has come to our attention that you know a bounty hunter that goes by the name Iaido Spartan.”
“Yes, I do. He is fully registered. The pickup was legal. I’ve seen the video on it. He identified himself, produced the proper documents and used only enough force to affect capture. Nothing the Feds need to worry about.”
Special Agent Johnson shook his head. “We are not here about the capture of Jagger Jax. Actually, I’m pleased that someone finally brought him in. We can mark him off our list.”
A puzzled look crossed Kristopher’s face. “Then what do you need to know?”
“What can you tell us about this bounty hunter?”
“Why do you need to know?”
“He is somehow involved in a recent murder-suicide.”
Picking up the file he was looking at when they entered, Kristopher gestured with it. “I was just reading the official report of the Sgt. Major’s murder. There doesn’t seem to be any reason for Federation involvement.”
“The murder-suicide was…unusual. Judging from their psych profile and prior service records, their deaths caught our attention. But, I am not here about the Sgt. Major. I am here about Iaido Spartan. I understand he served with you during the war?”
Lt. Kristopher moved to a small refrigerator and poured himself a glass of orange juice before asking, “Special Agent Johnson were you in the war?”
The senior agent nodded. “Fleet. I served five years on the Yorktown, battleship class.”
“Then you understand some of the horrors of war but Fleet had it easy compared to Strike; no offense intended. Now, don’t get me wrong, I would’ve hated Fleet. Your whole life in the hands of the ship’s captain and if you got holed, you were dead men.” Lt.. Kristopher shook his head, “No, I didn’t want your job but Strike had to get up close
and personal.”
“I have heard this argument before.”
“Good, then you understand how deadly men in Strike can be. Well, in a time when kills were a judge of a man’s merit, Iaido was king.”
“What did his duties involve?”
With a shrug of his shoulders, Lt. Kristopher snickered. “What didn’t they? It was war. It was nasty business. Officially, he was a member of Omega Squadron.”
The younger agent heard the sharp intake of breath from his partner. Glancing between the NAPD lieutenant and his partner Agent Smith asked, “What? What’s so special about Omega Squadron?”
Lt. Kristopher turned his attention to the young federal agent. “What do you know about the Mars Incident?”
Agent Smith shrugged. “Only what I learned in school. Some terrorists took the college students hostage and when the military was called in, the terrorists blew up the spaceport killing themselves in the process and releasing a toxic chemical that killed every living soul on the base.”
Lt. Kristopher shook his head. “That is what the media was told. That is not what happened.”
“So, what really happened?” the senior agent asked.
“You really want to know this?”
Both feds nodded.
“Okay, part of your story Agent Smith is correct, the starport was destroyed and everyone on the base died or should I say were killed. However the starport wasn’t blown up by them, it was destroyed by us. I was a young ensign assigned to Omega as a handler when we got the call. Blasting out of Starbase Alpha we were in Mars’ orbit within forty-eight hours. The official story was that some scientists had been developing a virus to use against the bugs but there had been a containment breech and the entire base was infected. Our battlecruiser the Agamemnon bombed the starport on approach destroying the three transports docked there and killing an unknown number of civilians. Landing our shuttles, we stepped into chaos. The civilians were going crazy. They were attacking anything that moved. It was like a scene out of those late twenty-first century zombie films. Omega Squadron had orders to ‘pacify’ the population.”
Special Agent Johnson found his voice first and asked, “How…how many?”
“There were ten thousand registered students and almost one thousand staff member plus some odd numbered visitors or workers. Moments after we landed the three hundred members of Omega went hunting. A small squad of regulars stayed with our ship commander, Major McDowell. I was among them. It was a long night. I can’t tell you which was worse, the screams or the silence that followed. At dawn, the men returned covered in gore and blood. There wasn’t a living soul on the base. Within the hour, a UNCF HazMat team arrived and we blasted off to another part of the war. During that terrible time, if there was a job too messy for other units, we were sent in. Omega Squadron never failed a single mission, not until…”
Special Agent Johnson finished the sentence in a quiet voice. “Gilese.”
Lt. Kristopher nodded his head. “Then you know.”
Looking back and forth between the two veterans, the young agent nearly screamed to get their attention. “What was Gilese?”
Draining his orange juice, Lt. Kristopher reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of Kentucky bourbon. Filling his glass, he poured a second glass for the older agent. The two war veterans raised their glasses in a silent toast before draining their drink in one gulp.
Lt. Kristopher said in a quiet voice, “The end of the war kid.”
Special Agent Johnson explained, “Gilese Delta is basically an M-Class exo-planet, nearly twice as large as Earth but with a similar climate. It was the first planet settled by the UNCF outside our solar system. During the war it was the home base of the Confederacy. What we didn’t realize at the time was it was also one of the homeworlds of the bugs.”
Lt. Kristopher picked up the story.
“It was thought that a major strike at the heart of the Confederacy would break their spirit, sort of like the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in WWII or the decision to use neutron bombs on Baghdad and Tehran during the Arabic Wars. Following a massive bombardment from space, the commanding General ordered all the troops to land at a single staging point before beginning the final assault. He chose a small beachhead on Gilese’s western coast which is surrounded on two sides by mountains with only one pass to guard. The fool General thought he and his men were safe. At least until the call came in that the Fleet armada was under attack by Confederate warships and an army of bugs were heading toward the landing. The General sent Omega Squadron to hold the pass until the regulars could be organized.”
Lt. Kristopher paused before continuing, his voice seemed far away as if he was lost in the memories.
“There were so many bugs, you couldn’t see the horizon. There must’ve been a million or more charging down on us. I know there were Confederate Regulars in there somewhere but there were so many bugs that it didn’t matter.”
Special Agent Johnson said, “Landing craft were pulling troops out as fast as they could but it takes time to evacuate a quarter million troops with only five operational landing pads. As far as I know, no troops were ever sent to support Omega but if they hadn’t held the pass the whole assault force would’ve been engulfed and destroyed.”
Agent Smith asked, “How...how long did they hold?”
“Eight hours,” replied Lt. Kristopher. “It was the longest eight hours of my life. We were out of ammunition after the first two hours. By then the bodies were stacked so tall and the ground yellow with bug blood, that only ten or twelve bugs could attack us at any one time. The Confederates had fallen back to try to snipe us during the fighting, they weren’t very effective but they did cause some difficulties. We stood in ranks of ten against the bugs’ onslaught, when one soldier fell; another would step in to fill the hole. We fought them blade to mandible. No mercy asked and none given. It was barbaric. It was medieval. It was bloody. We fought that way for what seemed to be an eternity. Logically I know it was only a few hours but it didn’t seem that way at the time. We fought and we died. Knowing our duty. Knowing we would hold the pass until the last man fell.”
“How did you survive?” asked the young agent.
Lt. Kristopher shrugged his shoulders. “We would’ve died if not for the airstrike.”
“The Yorktown executed the airstrike,” Special Agent Johnson added. “If I remember correctly, it was to be a three stage bombardment. We were to blanket the area with firebombs followed by a tactical nuke to finish off those that fled and then a full spread of nukes on every suspected Confederate stronghold and fortification.”
“How did you guys survive the airstrikes?” asked Agent Smith.
“Luck mostly. Outside of that it was the determination of one man, Iaido Achilles Spartan. We’d lost communications sometime during the fight, so we didn’t know the airstrikes were inbound. By that time, we had been pushed back into the pass about a hundred feet. We were down to our last fifteen men and were fighting in shifts, ten on the line with the other five resting or binding wounds. Of those that were on the line, only Master Chief Kirk survived and he lost his legs to the firebombs…they were burned completely off.”
“The concussion from the bombings also collapsed the pass on those of us resting. Luckily for us they dropped the nukes further out to catch any fleeing bugs or we wouldn’t have survived at all. As it was, only four members of Omega Squadron survived the pass; Sgt. Major Spenton had a punctured lung, Master Chief Kirk had no legs and I had a severe concussion, only Iaido Spartan was fully operational. He gathered up the three of us, dragged or carried us twenty clicks outside the blast zone where we made camp on a small island which became our home for the next year until a survey vessel came back to the area and rescued us.”
“You guys were stranded on that rock for a whole year? There couldn’t have been much left alive after the blanket-nukes. How did you survive?” asked Special Agent Johnson.
“You want to know
about Spartan? He is the most resourceful and dangerous man alive. He is a true galactic hero even though the Coalition wouldn’t recognize him as such and he is my friend, now and until I die. If he ever needs me, I’m there.”
Lt. Kristopher fixed the older agent with a stare. “Now gentlemen, unless there is something else, I must get back to work. It has been a busy day.”
“One last question. How was your reception when you returned to Coalition controlled space?”
Lt. Kristopher pointed toward the military awards hanging on his wall. “The Sgt. Major and I received the Medal of Honor; the Master Chief was medically retired and transferred to Walter-Reed Hospital for rehabilitation and received the Purple Heart and the Silver Star.”
Special Agent Johnson asked, “And Spartan?”
“He was sent to New Leavenworth on Pluto.”
“And why should you three be honored and Spartan sent to prison?”
“Ask the General who ordered the airstrike,” Kristopher said softly.
“And where would we find him?”
“The White House.” Lt. Kristopher signaled their time was over by turning his back to the two agents.
Standing, Special Agent Johnson nodded his head thoughtfully and walked out of the office with his young protégé in tow.
CHAPTER 6
Diana watched the Feds leave before returning to her desk. She spent the better part of the next hour hacking into the federal database and downloading all information on their investigation. When she backed out, she double-checked her trail to make sure there was nothing leading back to Spartan Investigations. There wasn’t any nor was there any indication that she had been inside their database.
Clicking a button that securely locked down the office, Diana moved deeper into the sanctuary guessing that Iaido would be in the dojo. She was right.
He was busy pounding on the heavy bag. Twisting his upper body slightly, Iaido pivoted his front foot which acted as his base while simultaneously twisting his hips shooting his rear leg at the target. Shaping his foot, with the toes pulled back so he was striking with the ball of the foot, Iaido concentrated all the speed of the kick and the mass of his body into a two-square inch area. All this took less than a second to happen, the resounding thud on the heavy bag echoed in the dojo. Even though his back was to the door Iaido asked without pausing in his workout.
The Last Spartan: Different Paths Page 4
