by William Cray
Cochrane’s gut twisted. It was a devastating delivery platform that could carry enough weapons to sterilize the largest Martian settlements from an Intruder occupation. But the political cost would be impossible, even against a population as antagonistic towards the Emperor as Mars…unless it could be done covertly. There was the bombing earlier today in New Meridian City. Maybe the Emperor already had an alibi if something unconscionable happened. A repeat of Phelman’s attack on the Power Dome maybe, or something far worse. IF there was an Imperial fast-attack already in orbit…and IF things got out of hand, the Emperor already had a platform in place to deal with it.
The Emperor had extinguished all life on at least one planet, with countless human hostages still held captive. The Intruder moon around Objective V had been pounded from orbit before that disastrous landing so many years ago, and when the mission had failed, the crater had been nuked even before the fires of its homeworld destroyed the moon. No, the Emperor had no compunctions about using the most awesome weapons in his arsenal to as a back up to failure. Rory Duran and his team would be given the opportunity, but if things got out of control, then the Emperor would act in a way he could plausibly deny. There was too much bad blood between Mars and Old Cannis to act unilaterally.
And things did seem to be getting out of hand below. First the drug epidemic, then the string of murders, a bombing in the city yesterday and now an incident in the Zone that created a disturbing chain of rising anarchy.
Prime Minister Mikoyan had ordered the city quarantined and a major law enforcement action was to be going to be initiated within hours. Not even the Prime Minister had been told there was a possible Intruder connection, so bitter were the relations between Mars and Singlon. Yes…things were getting out of control. If Duran failed, the Emperor would cauterize the situation entirely.
Cochrane tensed, “If it is a fast attack, could we drive it off?”
“Sir, you think it’s hostile?” Peligrew responded.
“I don’t know what to think. If it came down to it, Captain, do we have the assets to do it?”
“No.” Peligrew said after a moment’s contemplation. “We could track it, even make it break orbit, but we couldn’t kill it. We don’t have the assets to track it, much less for a coordinated attack. We would need help from Earth or Poseidon, but help from them is days or weeks away.” Peligrew looked over at Cochrane who starred at the display still showing the intersection track. “Sir, what are we dealing with? You seem to know something?”
“I’m not sure of anything.” Cochrane nodded then said, “Good work and thank you.” He started to leave but something else didn’t sit right. He turned back to Peligrew. “Flight Captain, I would still like to take a look into the city.”
Peligrew looked back at the monitor and he saw the hesitation. Peligrew didn’t want to divert the assets away from a search that could make his career. Commonwealth forces had never confirmed a track on an Imperial fast attack, but Peligrew smiled back. “Yes sir. I’ll have an overhead in about six hours.”
Peligrew called out again as Cochrane started to walk away. “Sir, if you hadn’t asked for us to move those antennas, we would never have known. Never in a million years.” Cochrane smiled as Peligrew continued, “Is there something we should know sir? Anything we should be aware of?”
“I wish I knew Flight Captain. Just stay alert, and find that ship. Oh…and my compliments to your crew. Fine work.”
Cochrane limped off towards his office. They wouldn’t need him in the command center. He was a knuckle dragger and fighting an orbital action wasn’t in his area of expertise. He would just get in the way.
Duran would need help, but Cochrane was a staff officer on a space station, not a command officer. He was a collator of data, a distributor of information. He had no troops to command, no landing force to put down. He hadn’t even been assigned a rifle when he arrived at the station, the ultimate insult to a rifleman at heart. The city was sealed off, so going down there wasn’t possible. Based on his conversation with Elijah Cole, Duran was alone and now on the run. As much respect as he had for Cole and the Constabulary, they were not trained or equipped to deal with what they could be facing. Perhaps no one was.
20
Radiation Exclusion Zone
Habitation Dome 11
Meridian City, Mars
Duran opened his eyes in the still room. The flames of the candles were extinguished, but their scent remained, filling each breath with a hint of flowers and Celeste. Duran could sense her absence. She was gone and the room was cold. The life and fires of the bedroom had left with her and he was alone.
Duran tried to sit up, but he failed on the first attempt as weakness and disorientation pushed back into the softness of the bed. It smelled like her hair and her sweat. He closed his eyes again, trying to allow sleep to swallow him back into its caress, but it wouldn’t come. The throbbing in his hand returned. He remembered the deaths in the club. Then the moon. He remembered the moon.
Duran rose up and stumbled in the dark towards the washroom, tripping on clothes haphazardly strung on the floor and banging hard into a table, almost knocking it over. The silver tray on top crashed to the floor, sharp needles and barbs scattered like a masochistic minefield. He rushed to the toilet, vomiting. He retched, but his body was starved and dehydrated and the heaves extracted only weak streams of stomach fluids and residual blood. His ribs ached and each violent spasm jolted him in pain. Tears streamed from his eyes and the veins on his forehead pulsed out of his skin as he looked into the mirror when the vomit had stopped racking his body.
His naked body was a masterpiece of colors, a collage of bruising and lacerations. Duran washed his face, cold water shocking him, but not cutting through the lethargy and pounding of his head. Duran looked back into the mirror, and the image in the reflection was one he no longer recognized. His wet face hid the dry tears.
The Intruder moon.
Making his way back into the bedroom, avoiding the dire prongs scattered in his path. Duran sat back down on the edge of the bed. He reached over to the bed’s edge, to the small oval nightstand perched on the left side. Duran felt for the heavy metal Talon. It was gone. He ordered the Talon to life through his modifications, but there was no response. OUT OF RANGE, flashed across his eye filament. Grabbing his holster, he found the remaining two magazines, and his last biogel pack.
Duran leapt to his feet, searching for light controls, grabbing one of the long crowned candle stems then finding the cigarette pack in his coat pocket. He touched the candle to the flare pad and the licking flames lit the room. Duran scanned the room with the light, looking for the black form of his gun in the shadows. Celeste’s thin, revealing outfit lay haphazardly on top of his own in an empty embrace. He kicked them with his foot in frustration, scattering them across the room. Duran stood and turned back to the bed. Tiny rivulets of dried blood were smeared into the sheets, streaking the expensive satins with paintbrush strokes of red. Duran examined himself. Dried blood spotted his torso and genitals. But it wasn’t his blood. Had he hurt her? He could recall brief images, but not what had happened.
Pulling on his pants with one good hand, he searched the apartment, room by room. Celeste was gone and she had taken his weapon.
Returning to the bedroom, he began to dress. He threw his torn and bloody shirt to the floor. Shirtless, he sat down on the corner of the bed to mold boots with one good hand. The pain in his ankle stopped him momentarily, but the machines had repaired some of the swelling.
She had used him and had stripped him bare. She would know everything about his mission, his capabilities and what his team would do when they arrived. She also knew his weakness. She had disarmed him as he slept in her bed. He had given her everything. He could still smell her on his skin, mixed with his own sweat and vomit. Looking at her elegant clothing on the floor evoked the image of her body against his. He couldn’t put her out of his mind.
But she had also given him
something. He knew what happened on the Intruder moon. The monster had come back with him to Mars. He had somehow glimpsed Celeste’s existence from her parents during the expedition. She was an Intruder, like him. This evil being that followed him back was not bent on political revenge or world domination. He was a sociopath, an outcast among his own people, a criminal. Duran knew what he was facing now.
He picked up his coat, grabbing the Percom from an inside pocket, and opened the queue. Four new messages flashed.
Duran opened the first message, from Swift. She would be arriving later today, but landing clearance into New Meridian had been denied, so she would have to re-route, through Phobos since she was on a Commonwealth military transport. She expressed her sorrow about Chief Hansen. Swift ended her message by saying, “Soon, the dogs of New Meridian will feed well on the dead of our enemies.”
A wicked smile crossed his bruised and battered face. If their enemies knew the angelic harbinger of death would hit dirt tonight, they would wail at their whoremothers, cursing them for bearing them into this world, covering themselves in shit to disguise their loosened bowels as they hid from her Swift wrath.
Duran moved on to the second message with Shogun identifiers. Finally higher headquarters had replied. The face of Thomas Anwar appeared on the viewer, his gaunt features and studious appearance gave him the look of a sadistic schoolteacher. That appearance dissolved the moment he broached his trademark toothy smile. But there were no smiles today. Only the face of a weary space traveler on a fast and uncomfortable ship. Anwar wasn’t like the rest of the team. He wasn’t born of the Emperor’s war machine. He was an analyst, a brilliant one whose instincts had put him in charge of the elite team.
Anwar began his message by relaying his sorrow on the death of Eric Hansen. “Everyone on the team will miss him greatly,” he lamented. “One day the Empire will know of his sacrifice and dedication.”
Next, Anwar addressed the question of clearing Elijah Cole on the nature of the mission. That answer was a flat and terse, No. Duran didn’t expect any other answer. Keeping the true nature of the threat secret from Cole was a mistake, but it wasn’t the first time politics had left him in a difficult position. Anwar followed this with the projected arrival time of the Shogun Reaction Force on Mars, still almost thirty-two hours out. They had one more major deceleration burn that would put them out of communication.
With his gear confiscated somewhere in a locker in LTC headquarters, he couldn’t encrypt or transmit to Anwar, just receive messages posted on the secure network. He was out of coms until Swift arrived with her gear.
The third message was from Colonel Cochrane. Duran chastised himself for forgetting to check the message last night. It was a plain text message in coded military format. The message read:
Request made from surface law enforcement for surveillance of NMC and surrounding areas for possible Tri-Lum dispersion fields. Request approved. Eighteen hours until surveillance assets in place.
Major police actions with military support, vicinity surface domes possible. Respond via secure only.
BIO,
Cochrane, J. Colonel, M.I.
The message was dated almost fourteen hours ago, so at least Cole had taken his enquiry seriously. Cochrane would be looking for a Tri-Lum dispersion field, but probably wouldn’t know what they were looking for until they stumbled across it.
The fourth and last message was also from Cochrane. It was only twenty minutes old.
Depot surveillance net discovered possible fast attack ship of unknown origin orbiting Mars. Requesting any information you may have on vessel’s origin or intentions. Speculation that the ship could be a secondary protocol to your mission.
Respond soonest secure only.
BIO,
Cochrane, J. Colonel, M.I.
Shit, Duran thought. Secondary protocol. If he failed in his mission, the Emperor wouldn’t hesitate to act. He had already destroyed one planet to cover up a lie. This was an end game the Emperor was playing.
He had gotten close to the Intruder twice and both times failed to nail him. He still had no idea what the Intruder was up to, or where he was building his machine. Whatever was going to happen would be soon and whatever it was, the Emperor would stop it cold even if he killed everyone in the city.
Selecting Colonel Cochrane’s ID, he hit the connect switch on his Percom. It was very early, even on the tethered station above him, but the line clicked over and Cochrane’s voice came over the com.
“Major. Can you contact me secure?”
“No, this is all I’ve got.” Duran said.
“Where are you?”
“Hab eleven.”
Duran could hear the stress on the other end of the line, like a heavy steel cable pulled tight. Duran continued. “Colonel, I know what happened six years ago. I remember everything. The same person who is responsible for the deaths of your men is here now. He is a criminal, a sociopath, and he’s responsible for the deaths here in New Meridian. He came back with us from the Vendetta, probably lying in a sleep tank right next to us the entire journey home and we never knew.”
Cochrane stuttered, “How…how is that possible?”
“He’s human or appears human anyway. I don’t know his intentions, but I believe he’s alone. We’ve got to find out if he’s constructing a Mind Control Array. That’s the priority.”
Cochrane gathered himself. “The people down there…an entire city.”
“If I fail Colonel…then the secondary protocol you mentioned may be the only recourse. He can’t be allowed to do whatever he has planned. He’s insane.” Duran said.
“Major, we are talking about one Intruder verses an entire city of nine million.”
“I know he’s here. I just have to get in range with a clear head.”
What can I do?” Cochrane asked.
“Make sure Lieutenant Braiselle gets down here. She should be in orbit or final approach now. I’m pretty banged up.”
“Will do. What else, Major?”
“Contact Cole, or whoever you have to. Convince him to call off the operation in the Zone. Threaten, lie or bribe him if you have to.”
Duran listened for Cochrane’s response but he was met with a momentary silence. “Rory, you should probably look outside.”
Duran ripped open the blinds, exposing the predawn domescape outside. Searchlights blared down along the long avenues of the dome like tendrils across a great carcass. They slithered across the streets, crossing over buildings and the suspended gridwork as they felt their way across the dark. Further into the dome, near its eastern border, a cacophony of lights and colors danced against adjacent buildings and the domes transparent slope. A massive collection of cruisers, trucks and haulers gathered beyond the buildings surrounded by radiation suited soldiers and police. Cyclo’s and transport lifters zoomed among the buildings and streets. It was an invasion.
Duran stepped out on the open balcony, looking into the orange sky of the rising morning. Outside the hazy dome shield, larger aircraft hovered at the edge, swinging around the Stratospire and perching over the transparent dome, peering inside like insects searching for weakness in the skin of the city. A cyclo traversed the street in front of him, a block down, its searchlights waving in anticipation of turning down his street.
Duran ducked back into the dark apartment, closing the doors behind him. Fuck.
He grabbed his clothes and dressed with one good hand. He tore open his last biogel pack, ingesting it. There was no time for slow assimilation. He had to feed the machines in his body to keep him operational as long as possible. The infusion would hopefully buy him enough time for Swift to arrive. But he couldn’t wait for her. His mission now was disruption. Whatever the Intruders plan, Duran would have to sting him, keep him off balance. He’d become an insurgent in the Intruders sick utopia.
First he needed guns. Any poor sap toting firepower would serve the purpose. Duran snapped up the pack of cigarettes. He pulled one of the ro
lled Tyks out of the pack and prepared to strike it. A small white card, folded in the center fell out. It hadn’t been there yesterday he was sure, and hadn’t seen it during the fumbling in the dark earlier. Duran removed the small white card, unfolding it. Written on the card in a flowing red script were a series of letters and numbers. Duran recognized the code as an address leading to the sublevels of the dome. The directions had been placed deliberately into the pack. He raised the card up, taking in the hint of the scent left behind for him.
It was either a trap or...Celeste was trying to help him. He wadded the card up in his hand, balling it in a clenched fist. He had spent enough time in her bed, caressed by the enemy. It was time to move.
“There…right over there. Down the alley. I saw one.”
“Just one?”
“Yeah, limping…turn here.”
The New Meridian City Police cruiser stopped short of the alley that ran between two mid-level ivory buildings that were stained with graffiti and trash littered streets. “This is Redmen territory,” the driver said, pointing to the red and green slash markings on the building façade.
“Just street punks, think they’re something special. Not much of threat. We should be OK.”
The Seargent extended the cruiser’s periscope to get a better look down the alley.
They were to supposed to run up ahead of the sweep force and scout things out, but the Sergeant ran some snitches in the area, so he wanted to snap up a few and see if he could get a lead on his boys. Maybe speed things up a bit.
The Sergeant swiveled the remote down the alley, until he found a hot lump on the thermal. “There, got him. Looks like that bad wheel of his finally crapped out and brought him down.” He linked to the trail car, “Ok Mike, lets go get this one.”
“Don’t let one of their scabby hookers scratch you Sarge,” the cruiser’s driver said as they exited.
An officer in the trail car climbed out, following the sergeant who headed in the direction of the downed vagabond, now huddling behind an incinerator. Each cruiser deployed a P-Tek and they motored into the lead, shock restraints unfolding as they closed. “At least he ain’t running,” the Sergeant said.
