Uprising (Gateway Series Book 3)

by Brian Dorsey

  “Yes, Master Gunnery Sergeant,” replied the recruit before he turned and began trudging his way up the hill.

  “Don’t say another word to him on the way up, Sergeant,” said Mack. “If he makes it on his own, then we know he won’t quit.”

  “Yes, Master Guns,” replied the sergeant.

  “Are the Marines giving hugs instead of ass-whippins nowadays?” said Martin, walking toward the two Marines.

  “Attention!” shouted Mack as he and the sergeant snapped to attention and saluted.

  “At ease,” replied Martin, returning the salute.

  “It’s the new Marine Corps, don’t you know, Paladin Martin,” replied Mack. “They can’t all be natural-born killers like a certain cadet I once knew.”

  “Good to see you Master Guns,” replied Martin.

  “And you too, Ma’am,” answered Mack. “But what brings a Paladin down to see the best warriors in the galaxy…except of course for the Guard, Ma’am?” asked Mack with a smile.

  “Of course,” answered Martin. “And that’s why I’m here. I need you on my team, Master Guns.”

  “You’re going after Stone again?”

  “Yes.”

  “Permission to speak freely?” asked Mack.

  “Like you need permission…go ahead.”

  “That whole traitor thing never set right with me. He isn’t the kind to betray his people. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll follow orders just like any good Marine, but if you know anything—”

  “There is a lot I have to tell you Master Guns,” replied Martin. “But that’s for later. I just need to know if you’re in.”

  “Fuck yeah, I’m in, Ma’am. Can’t let the Guard have all the fun.”

  “Welcom aboard, Master Guns.”

  Chapter 7

  Martin looked down at the watch on her new hand.

  “Late,” she huffed, looking back toward the busy flow of people on the street below. Standing on the edge of raised platform created for First Family members and high ranking officers, she watched hundreds of people scurry and push themselves along the rolling wave of humanity that made up the lower level streets of Mt. Castra. A small laugh escaped her mouth. Most civilians had no concept of time and promptness, and her cousin, Aria, was no exception. In fact, most interactions with civilians left her either confused, frustrated, or both. She’d almost turned down the invitation for lunch with Aria, but family was family.

  Peering through the crowed mass of pedestrians, Martin saw her cousin. Aria weaved around an old man, trying not to make contact with him. She looked up and their eyes met.

  “Emily!” she shouted as she forced her way through the pack to Martin.

  “Aria,” replied Martin, pulling her cousin onto the platform. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Aria. “It’s only five after.”

  “Early is on time and on time is late,” replied Martin, only half joking.

  “What?”

  “Never mind,” she laughed. “So where are we eating?”

  “Oh!” snapped Aria, unable to control her excitement. “I got us a table at Primum.”

  “What’s that?”

  “One of the hottest new clubs in Mt. Castra. It wasn’t easy but my director knows a Senator and—”

  “Do they have steak?” interrupted Martin.

  “Uh…I’m sure they do, Emily.” Aria paused, staring at Martin. “Why did you wear your uniform?” she continued.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” replied Martin. “What else would I wear?”

  “Maybe something that shows off your form a little?”

  Martin knew the world her cousin lived in and how important looks were to her success. Aria was one of the best-known dancers in Mt. Castra. She was as much of a natural at dance as Martin was at combat and in her own way had done well for a commoner—well enough to rub elbows with lower-level First Family members and beautiful enough to get the attention of everyone.

  “My form,” said Martin, shaking her head, “doesn’t have anything to do with us having lunch…or my job.”

  “Oh, never mind,” said Aria with a deep sigh. “Guess you’re just…well…you.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s just…how are you ever going find a husband—”

  “A husband?” laughed Martin. “Seriously. A husband and moving up the Humani social ladder are the least of my worries.”

  “Everyone needs to improve the status of their family, Emily. And now that you have been given this high rank, you—”

  “That rank comes with a mission I have yet to complete, cousin Aria. And that is my priority.”

  “I was just saying…”

  “I know what you were saying. Can we just have dinner without talking about our family status? I’m starving.”

  “Sure,” huffed Aria. “It’s just around the corner.”

  Aria stepped back toward the edge of the platform, waiting for a window to reenter the mass of humanity.

  Martin placed her hand on her cousin’s shoulder. “We’re not going back down there,” she said.

  “But I’m a common—”

  “And I am a Paladin,” interrupted Martin. “We stay up here.”

  Martin and her cousin leisurely made their way across the platform. After a few hundred meters, Martin felt a tug on her arm.

  “It’s right over here, Emily,” said Aria, pointing down a cobblestone path lined with well-trimmed bushes. “This club is the talk of all the Mt. Castra First Families.”

  “Fantastic,” replied Martin, her opinion of the place plummeting.

  “There,” said Aria, almost panting with excitement. “See that beautiful classical architecture?”

  Martin looked toward the two-story structure. Terra Cotta-tiled angled roofs were supported by massive white pillars surrounding the open-air restaurant. From the entrance there extended a long line of people waiting to enter.

  “Nice,” said Aria, stopping at the back of the long line. “It’s not too bad today.”

  From their place in line, Martin peered her head outward, looking down the long, winding row of patrons. It was at least 25 meters long. “This is a short line?” she asked, reminded of the lines the enlisted stood in on the battlecruisers and orbital destroyers.

  “Yeah,” replied Aria with an anxious smile. “It usually runs down toward the end of those shrubs. Or at least it has every time I have walked by.”

  “This is stupid.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What time is your reservation?” asked Martin.

  “Well…now, but everyone has to wait—”

  “Come on,” said Martin, grabbing her cousin’s wrist.

  “What are you doing?” asked Aria as Martin pulled her out of the line.

  “I’m gonna eat,” she replied.

  “We can’t—”

  “Watch me,” replied Martin as she—with Aria in tow—walked past the line toward the entrance of the club. As she moved down the line, she noticed at least four colonels and an admiral in the line.

  Martin stopped next to a small marble podium, giving a forced smile to an Intelligence Corps colonel. The colonel, next in line, was accompanied by a beautiful blonde woman young enough to be his daughter.

  “May I help you?” asked the hostess, her silky raven hair done in a combination of a tight bun and loose braids falling to her shoulders.

  Another tug at her shoulder turned Martin’s attention to Aria. “We can’t—”

  “Shh,” interrupted Martin, placing her finger to her lips.

  “We have an appointment for now,” stated Martin. “We would like our seat.”

  The hostess, her eyes wide, nervously glanced toward the colonel and then returned a blank, anxious stare.

  “Emily,” said Aria. “We can’t just—”

  “It’s no problem,” said Martin, staring into the hostess’s eyes.

  The hostess l
ooked toward the ground. “I…the colonel—”

  “I’m sure the colonel won’t mind letting a Paladin be seated before him,” interjected Martin. “Now would he?” she added, shifting her gaze toward the colonel.

  “Of course not,” grumbled the tight-faced colonel.

  “Why do we have to wait for this woman?” huffed the girl on the colonel’s arm.

  “Quiet,” fumbled the colonel, his face red with embarrassment. “She’s…”

  “Because,” replied Martin, stepping toward the girl. “This woman answers only to the ProConsul.”

  “Yes. Yes. Of course,” stammered the hostess. “I only see an Aria Martin and guest on the reservation. It did not reflect…I’m sorry, Paladin…of course, we will seat you immediately.”

  “Excellent,” replied Martin, smiling and giving a wink to Aria. “Immediately sounds nice.”

  “Yes. Just let me…” The hostess froze, the anxiousness returning to her face. “There…I…”

  “What is it?” asked Martin.

  “It appears that Regional Magistrate Varus requested a last-minute table, and since the reservation was under the common name Martin and he is the cousin of the Pro—”

  “Sequentis Varus?” asked Martin, her skin beginning to boil.

  “Yes, Paladin, Magistrate Sequentis Varus.”

  “It’s okay, Emily,” pleaded Aria, her face flush.

  “Fucking Sequentis Varus!” blurted Martin as the repressed rage of Varus’s treason on Golf 2 so many years ago exploded into the present. “There is no way I am giving up my seat to that traitorous coward.”

  “Emily!” gasped Aria. “You can’t say—”

  “Where is he?” demanded Martin.

  “I don’t know—”

  “Where!”

  The hostess jumped, startled by Martin’s explosion. Raising a trembling hand, she spoke. “Over there…table seven.”

  “Thanks,” answered Martin as she turned and strode toward the man Stone had stopped her from killing years ago.

  “What are you doing?” begged Aria as she tried to keep up with Martin. “Why are you making such a scene? It’s just a table.”

  “It’s our table and I’m just getting it for us,” answered Martin flatly.

  Martin turned the corner as she passed the roaring laughter of the bar. Directly ahead of her was Magistrate Sequentis Varus. Although older and fatter, Martin instantly recognized the coward she knew caused the death of too many of her men on Golf 2. He had a wide, privileged grin painted on his face as he sat across from a well-dressed couple with a beautiful blonde woman hanging on his shoulder. Behind the table stood a sour-looking man with a sidearm attached to his military-style clothing. No doubt he was Varus’s personal bodyguard.

  With each step, her mind went further back to that day when Varus was under her blade.

  Only a few meters away, Martin saw Varus look up from his revelry. His vain smile instantly turned to a scowl. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  “You’re sitting at my table,” answered Martin, coldly.

  “Your table?” replied Varus with a laugh, although Martin could see tiny beads of sweat begin to form on his forehead. “This establishment is for First Families and their guests, Major, not for commoners.”

  Martin’s skin grew hot. “That’s Paladin.”

  “No matter,” he replied. “It’s not for my cousin’s hunting dog either.”

  Martin locked her eyes onto Varus’s, wanting him to remember just how much she hated him.

  Varus swallowed hard, his discomfort beginning to show. “You should move along, Paladin Martin, and let us return to our meal,” he said calmly, but Martin saw his hands clinched in tight fists.

  “You’re in my seat,” she replied, her gaze locked on Varus.

  “Emily, what are you—”

  “Shut up, Aria,” interrupted Martin, her hand now resting on her sword. She turned back toward Varus. “You are in my fucking seat,” she said mechanically.

  “You can’t talk to me like that!” shouted Varus with a glance toward the security guard.

  The guard stepped forward and Martin responded likewise, gripping her sword. “You stay right where you are or I’ll make sure you’re carried out of this place,” warned Martin.

  The guard paused. He glanced toward Varus, his clinched jaw betraying his apprehension.

  “Do something!” ordered Varus.

  “Yeah,” added Martin, tapping her fingers on the handle of her sword. “Do something.”

  The guard stood motionless.

  “This is what I pay you for!” shouted Varus, his voice cracking.

  Martin turned toward Varus and smiled. “That’s the difference between fighting for money and fighting for a cause; your hired gun isn’t going to die for you.”

  She placed her hands on the table and leaning down toward Varus. “Either you get up from this fucking table or make sure we have another one in the next thirty seconds or I will cause you more pain than you have ever felt in your miserable, privileged life,” she whispered before standing erect. “And no one in here can stop me,” she added.

  Varus stared up at Martin from his chair. That was as close as she could get to giving this asshole a way out. Martin knew she would never get away with killing a magistrate, especially a Varus, regardless of how much she wanted to bleed him out on the floor of the shrine to First Family excess and privilege where he sat. But she was betting Varus thought she just might kill him anyway.

  After a long pause, Varus spoke.

  “Waiter!” yelled Varus.

  Almost instantly a thin, young waiter rushed to the magistrate’s table.

  “Yes, Magistrate,” said the waiter, giving him an accommodating smile.

  “Please tell Mr. Finny that Paladin Martin needs a table immediately,” said Varus. “And tell him no excuses,” he added sternly.

  “Yes, Magistrate,” replied the waiter with a nod before he scurrying away.

  “Wait!” shouted Varus, stopping the waiter in his tracks. “And tell Mr. Finny the table will be on the other side of the club.”

  Varus glanced toward Martin. She could see the hatred radiating from him. She’d let her emotions almost push her too far, and in the process most likely rekindled a long-dead rivalry with Magistrate Varus. But she couldn’t just walk away; that wasn’t her style. Even knowing it would be the end of her, and of the plan to save her people from the Xen and the First Families, it still took everything she had not to gut him where he sat.

  “Thank you, Magistrate,” said Martin, pasting a sarcastic smile on her face.

  “Of course. You should follow the waiter and find your table.”

  “I’ll have to thank you personally next time we meet,” replied Martin. “And I’ll thank your guard too,” she added with a glance and a smile toward the guard.

  “I’m sure our next meeting will be…very exciting,” said Varus, “but for now, you should go.”

  Martin stood motionless, starting at Varus.

  “Now,” added Varus.

  “Until then, Magistrate,” said Martin, breaking the silence.

  As Martin turned to walk away, she was met by a short, round man with a bald head in an expensive suit. “I am Mr. Finny, the manager of Primum,” he said, his voice cracking. “Paladin Martin, so very sorry for the confusion. Please allow me to show you to your table.”

  “Sure,” replied Martin.

  The manager led Martin and Aria to a small table at the opposite end of the club as Varus had requested. At the table, the manager pulled out a chair for Aria.

  “Ms. Martin,” said the manager.

  Next, he reached for Martin’s chair.

  “I got it,” said Martin, taking the chair and positioning it so she could see anyone approaching the table. “Thanks.”

  “Yes. Of course,” said Mr. Finny. “Please let me tell you about our specials. We have a—”

  “Do you have steaks?” interrupted Mar
tin.

  “Uhm…yes, of course. We have the best cuts from several different species and—”

  “How ‘bout you give me your biggest cut of the meanest animal you have hanging back there, burn the outside, and bring it on out,” interrupted Martin. “I’m fucking starving.”

  “Uhm…” stammered Mr. Finny. “I…yes, Paladin…and you?” he asked, turning toward Aria.

  Aria shot a frustrated glance toward Martin. “I would like a salad—dry with…what accents do you have?”

  “We have shali berries, waterfowl sprouts, and seeds from the dragonflower tree.”

  “They all sound so good,” said Aria with a smile. “I’ll take all three.”

  “Of course, ma’am,” replied Mr. Finny, “I will get your orders in immediately.”

  “You eat like a rabbit,” joked Martin as Mr. Finny shuffled away from the table.

  “No,” snapped Aria, “I just don’t eat like a highlands bear. And why did you have to make such a scene before? You almost attacked a First Family member—again. I would have thought what happened when we were young—”

  “That little prick had it coming, and…fuck the Varus family,” replied Martin, leaning toward Aria. “They’re nothing more than vultures living off the slowly dying carcass of the Humani people.”

  “I had hoped you had outgrown your animosity toward the First Families. And to say what you said to Magistrate Varus, he is—”

  “I know exactly who he is,” snarled Martin through her teeth. “If he is what you call the best of our society, then we should be wiped from the face of this planet.”

  “You can’t say—”

  “I can say whatever I want, cousin. And that traitor to our people caused the deaths of good men.”

  “I can’t believe a Varus would—”

  Martin interrupted with a laugh that turned to a scowl. “You have no idea what happens out there, outside the safe confines of our protected planet and your shiny lie of a life you live. Out there, all these niceties and titles don’t mean anything. Everyone back her is just a prisoner of your delusions.”

  “I’m not the one living a lie, Emily,” snapped back Aria. “You talk down on the very society you claim to fight for and treat everyone here like they are less than you because they want security…security you so proudly claim to provide. So you spout on about your defense of the Humani people and then look down on us for enjoying it…that’s very convenient, Paladin Martin. You put on this big show when I think you’re actually afraid of having to live with real people because you’ll see just how much your hatred for the First Families and the constant violence of your life has changed you. I wonder if you’re even the same species anymore.”