Uprising (Gateway Series Book 3)

by Brian Dorsey

  “Well,” replied Graves laughing weakly. “You broke my spine, so they only have half as many ways to hurt me.”

  “Unfortunately, my brave warrior, that will be more than enough.”

  “I still won’t talk,” she said. “They’ll be wasting their time.”

  “I know.”

  “Who are you?”

  “The name’s Artemis,” he replied as he pressed his pistol to Graves’s temple and fired.

  ***

  Martin slowed her pace to a walk, placing her hands on top of her head. Her heart pounded as she sucked in a few deep breaths. Slowly walking around the track, she noticed the gymnastics room to her right. A smile came to her face as she left the track and walked to the room.

  She beside the balance beam, running her hand across the beam as she went. She closed her eyes, remembering her days a gymnast before Nia took her father’s pride and warfare took her innocence. Glancing around to ensure no one was watching, she kicked off her shoes and jumped onto the beam, pushing herself to her feet. Feeling the beam with her toes, she raised her hands into the air, cocking her head back. Leaning forward, she gripped the beam with her hands and twisted her torso, bringing her body into a perfect handstand. Turning again and shifting her weight to her right hand, she rolled back to her feet, again standing.

  Again she closed her eyes; she could almost hear the cheering crowd. For a moment, it all faded away. She took a deep breath and exploded forward in a series of cartwheels and flips. At the end of the beam she leapt into the air, twisting her body into two tight spirals before her feet hit the ground.

  Martin took in a deep, relaxing breath. She was ready for what tomorrow would bring.

  Chapter 18

  Martin leaned against the wall of the elevator, lost in her thoughts. Tomorrow would be the dawn of a new era for her people and a day of reckoning for her enemies—if the plan worked.

  The bing of the elevator told Martin she had reached her floor.

  She instinctively placed her hand on her sword as the doors opened to a group of men waiting on the other side.

  “Captain Cresius,” said Martin, acknowledging the officer among the men.

  Behind Cresius stood three other Praetorians, fully armed.

  “Good evening, Paladin Martin,” replied Cresius as he and the others saluted. “The ProConsul requests your presence immediately.”

  Martin returned the salute. “It’s late, Praetorian,” she replied. “Is it urgent?”

  Martin saw a slight twitch of Cresius’s lip.

  “I am afraid it is, Paladin,” he replied. “We were sent to get you immediately.”

  “What’s with the backup dancers, Cresius?” quipped Martin as she cast a mocking look toward the guards behind him. “And they’ve brought all their toys.”

  Martin saw Cresius’s completion grow red and sweat begin to form on his forehead.

  “ProConsul orders, Paladin,” he responded. “She has some…” he paused again.

  Martin knew something was wrong.

  “…some security concerns she needs to discuss with you.”

  “Fine,” replied Martin, feigning her typical irritation with orders from Astra Varus. “Tell her highness I will be there as soon as I change,” she added as she stepped past Cresius toward her quarters.

  “Stop!” ordered one of the guards sternly as Martin felt another grasp her arm.

  Martin turned back toward Cresius.

  “You might want to teach your minions some damn respect,” warned Martin.

  “You need to come with us now,” replied Cresius.

  Martin turned her head toward the guard holding her arm. She looked directly into his eyes and smiled.

  “You are about to make the worst and last mistake of your life, Praetorian,” she warned.

  She saw the blind pride and self-righteousness in the Praetorian’s eyes. “Shut up, traitor,” he ordered.

  They knew.

  Still returning the guard’s glare, she spoke again.

  “Cresius… last warning. Walk away. You don’t want to die for a lie.”

  Cresius returned Martin’s gaze. “Take h—”

  Before Cresius could finish his order. Martin struck.

  She grasped the arm of the guard holding her, twisting it violently outward and upward. As the guard let out scream, Martin stepped in close and landed a powerful left hand directly on the man’s nose. She gripped his head by the hair and threw him to the ground, her sword flashing in the light as she quickly pulled it from its sheath. She spun to her left, deflecting a pistol pointed toward her head by another guard and driving her sword through his throat to the hilt.

  She lost her balance as the third Praetorian slammed into her, lifting her into the air with his arms locked around her torso.

  As the two fell to the floor, Martin wrapped her right arm around the guard’s neck. She grunted loudly as her back slammed into the floor, but kept her arm locked around her opponent. Quickly wrapping her legs around the man’s waist, she reached for the pistol she knew was still in the guard’s holster. Grasping the weapon, she withdrew it and turned toward Cresius, who was standing above her preparing to drive his sword into her. A round from the pistol disintegrated Cresius’s knee and he fell to the ground.

  Martin then twisted her body to the right and toward the first guard. He had just regained his footing when she sent a round into his shoulder, knocking him to the floor again.

  On her back with her hold on the guard above her still locked in, Martin turned back toward Cresius. He had pulled himself to his hands and one good knee.

  “Pssst,” sounded Martin as she looked down the sights of the pistol at his head.

  Cresius looked up toward her.

  “Warned ya,” she said as she pulled the trigger and sent him toppling over with a bullet through his forehead.

  “Off!” shouted Martin, shoving the pistol against the ribs of the man on top of her and firing two rounds into his torso. The body went limp on top of her, and she pushed the corpse onto the floor.

  Jumping to her feet, Martin scanned the area. She saw the final wounded guard scramble to his feet and rush down the passageway.

  “Where are you going?” she shouted as she sprinted after him.

  In an instant she was on him.

  “Stop!” she ordered as she sent a round past his head.

  The man stopped and slowly turned around to face her. Martin could see his left arm dangling limply from the damage to his shoulder and elbow.

  “I won’t beg,” declared the proud Praetorian.

  “I won’t beg,” mocked Martin. “But you’ll run,” she added. “Such a brave little Praetorian.

  “Screw you, traitor,” he spat.

  “That’s such a funny word…traitor,” answered Martin. “Against whom? Against the Humani people? The precious First Families? The Xen? The Senate? Fucking Astra Varus? Seems like traitor is a tricky word nowadays.”

  “You’re a crazy bitch,” said the guard.

  “Bitch…definitely. Crazy…maybe,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “But this crazy bitch can promise you that you’re not leaving this hallway alive.”

  “Then shoot me,” dared the guard. “Bring the final shame to your family…just like your whore of a mother who left you and your alcoholic father who disgraced our order.”

  A shot echoed through the passageway and the Praetorian fell to the floor.

  “Fuck,” she cursed as she paced in a small circle, trying to calm herself and contemplate her next move. Was it just her they were after? Or was her whole team in danger? “Damn it.” Either way, she had to act. She walked back to the elevator, her body still radiating rage from the words of the Praetorian.

  Entering the vestibule, she saw Cresius and another guard sprawled on the floor, blood pooling around their bodies. The third guard was also dead but had fallen to his knees with Martin’s blade still embedded in his neck. She took a deep breath, gripped her sword, an
d quickly pulled it from the man’s neck.

  She had to warn the others, if they were still alive. With her sword in one hand, she grabbed a rifle from one of the fallen Praetorians with the other and rushed toward her quarters where she could prepare herself and contact the others…and the Akota fleet that was about to appear in Humani territory. With a quick glance toward the carnage she had left behind, she rushed toward her quarters.

  A few meters from her room, she came to an abrupt stop.

  That same gut feeling that had kept her alive on countless missions sent warning signals rushing through her body. She slowly moved to her door and, taking cover against the wall, activated the hatch. The door slid open followed by a barrage of gunfire.

  Martin spun away from the opening and curled her body against the wall as dozens of rounds slammed into the wall opposite the door. From her protected position, she pulled the grenade she had taken from one of the dead Praetorians from her pocket, activated it, and tossed it into her quarters.

  “Grenade!” she heard someone shout from the room as a Praetorian bolted through the doors.

  Martin was ready and sent a volley tearing through his body just as the grenade detonated and the man evaporated in a wave of fire. The blast magnified by the confined space, Martin felt the heat and pressure against her body as the energy was focused though the open door. Quickly recovering, she entered her quarters.

  Dust and debris floated to the floor of the smoke-filled apartment. Looking down the barrel of the rifle as she scanned the room, she saw a Praetorian rise from the rubble that used to be a bar. She felt the recoil of her rifle and saw the man disappear from her sights. Looking around the room, she saw the bodies of two more Praetorians among the wreckage.

  And the remnants of a smoldering communications station.

  “Son of bitch!” cursed Martin as she threw her rifle to the ground. She would have to find another way to warn the others.

  Stepping over the rubble in her path, Martin moved to the door of her bedroom. She kicked the door open with an angry grunt. The room was unaffected by the explosion and Martin headed directly to her weapons safe.

  She punched in the combination—her commissioning date—and the door slid open to display an assortment of weapons and gear.

  Martin quickly grabbed a tactical vest already prepared with two knives, handgun ammo, Humani exchange cards, and a medical kit on the back. She drew her sword from its sheath on her belt and slid it into the one attached to the back of her vest.

  Next she dropped her belt and grabbed another with another knife, more ammo, and a pistol at each side. After affixing the belt to her waist and clamping both holsters to her thighs, she grabbed several clips of rifle ammunition and stuffed her cargo pockets.

  Martin then grabbed for an assault rifle but stopped. At the top of her weapons case was a row of photos. There was one of her at her commissioning with Stone and Jackson. Another of Jackson and her at their wedding. She exhaled a heavy, pained breath when she saw the last picture. A picture of her when she was six, held by her father in his full-dress Praetorian uniform.

  “I hope you’ll understand it’s for the good of the people,” she spoke to her father’s image as she pulled the rifle from its latch, shoved a magazine into it, and depressed the charging button to send a round into the chamber.

  She turned away from the safe and let out another long breath before stepping into the wrecked main room.

  Martin saw movement as she entered the room and instantly brought her rifle to her shoulder. Looking down the barrel she saw a young, frail Mt. Castra constable holding a pistol. His eyes were opened wide and his gun-hand was shaking.

  “St-Stop right there!” he shouted as he placed a second hand on his pistol in an attempt to steady his aim.

  Martin lowered her rifle.

  “You’re Paladin Martin,” he stated.

  “I am. Now let me pass,” she warned.

  “I-I can’t. They passed on the comms circuits you are wanted for treason,” he replied in a voice almost as shaky as his hands.

  The constable jumped and fired a round several feet from Martin’s head as she brought her rifle to the ready at her waist.

  Martin jerked slightly and closed her eyes for a moment before opening them. She stared into the eyes of the skittish constable.

  “Kid,” she warned as she let her rifle drop to her side, suspended by the sling attached to her vest. She slowly drew her sword. “You realize you’re screwing with the top of the food chain here. I don’t have time for this, so move aside or I will gut you where you stand and leave you to die alone holding your own insides,” she added as she walked toward the constable.

  The shaking had expanded from the constable’s hands to his entire body as he lowered his weapon and held his head toward the floor, refusing to look into her eyes.

  “Good choice,” said Martin as she took the pistol from his hands and threw it across the room. “I’ll need this too,” she added as she pulled the portable civil security comms radio from his vest.

  The constable kept his gaze locked on the debris-covered floor.

  “Who else are they going after?” asked Martin.

  “The rest of your team.”

  “Shit. Who else?”

  “A bunch of First Family members, ten or twelve I think. And a bunch of their supporters.”

  “What are the names?”

  “I don’t know?”

  Martin kicked the back of the constable’s leg and drove him to his knees. Gripping his hair, she placed her sword against his neck.

  “Tell me the names,” she demanded. The smell of ammonia in the air told her he had wet himself.

  “I don’t know!” he sobbed. “Civil Security was just assigned to block off key routes and pick up secondary suspects. I wasn’t even supposed to be here…I heard the gunfire and came to investigate while I was going to meet up the team apprehending your father.”

  Martin slammed the man onto his back by his hair and pressed down hard on his chest with her boot.

  “My father?” she asked in a calm tone that still betrayed a torrent of rage and violence that lay just below.

  “I’m just following orders,” pleaded the man.

  Martin placed the tip of her sword on the constable’s chest and slowly pushed the blade slightly into his flesh. “The day has come when that’s no longer an excuse…for any of us.”

  “Please,” he begged. “Don’t kill me.”

  “My father...?”

  “We were supposed to take him into custody and bring him to the Praetorians at the ProConsul’s estate.”

  “Fucking Astra Varus!” she exclaimed as she crashed her boot into the constable’s temple, knocking him unconscious.

  Martin quickly slid her sword back into its sheath and dug in the constable’s pockets for the keycard to his patrol shuttle. Two thoughts consumed her—saving her father, and then unleashing years of pent-up wrath on Astra Varus.

  Placing the keys in her pocket, Martin raced out of her quarters and took a sharp right toward the stairway. She moved quickly down each floor until she burst through the door on the ground level. Martin held her rifle to her shoulder as she quickly scanned the area for any threats and for the constable’s shuttle. Moving around the corner of the building, Martin saw the constable’s car. She quickly checked her flanks for Praetorians or other constables and sprinted across the small grass area to the car.

  She jumped into the shuttle and inserted the keycard to activate the shuttle’s thrusters and electronic equipment. Her heart raced and tears flowed freely at the thought of her father in Capro prison. She pressed the controls of the shuttle mand it lunged forward and quickly accelerated.

  As she sped toward her father, Martin listened to the chatter over the Civil Security frequency.

  Everything was coming undone. The constables had been placed under direct control of the Praetorians by order of the ProConsul, and were setting up checkpoints throughout Mt. C
astra. The same was happening in other cities throughout Alpha Humana. She slammed her fist against the dash in frustration. “Come on!” she shouted over the radio chatter, trying to will the shuttle car, already at top speed, to move faster.

  Before long, she saw the retirement facility come into view. Her focus centered on the front door to the facility where three patrol shuttles were parked immediately in front of the entrance. She saw a door open on one of the shuttles and a constable step out, fully armed. Her vision tunneled as she bore down on the constable.

  The man looked toward the approaching shuttle. Assuming it was another of his companions, the man raised his hand.

  But Martin continued at full speed. She saw the constable’s expression turn to surprise as she drove straight for him. He tried to swing his rifle toward the shuttle but it was too late. As he opened fire, Martin slammed her shuttle into the parked vehicle, crushing the man in a twisted wreck of metal.

  Shaking off the impact, Martin grabbed her rifle and jumped from the wrecked patrol shuttle.

  The constable was still alive, his screams reverberating against the nearby buildings. Martin ignored his screams and rushed toward the entrance of the retirement facility. As she neared the door, two more constables rushed out to investigate the sound of the crash and gunfire.

  “Hal—”

  The constable’s order was cut short by another blast from Martin’s rifle as he and the other man tumbled backwards onto the ground.

  Martin continued moving forward.

  One of the constables was still alive and reached for his pistol. Martin fired a round into the man’s forehead as she rushed past him and burst into the main lobby of the facility.

  She scanned the room as orderlies and nurses scattered and dove for cover. Moving past the front desk, she turned down the hallway toward her father’s room. She sensed movement behind her and turned to see a large orderly rushing toward her with a metal object in his hand. A single round to his leg dropped him to the floor and she turned back to the hallway.