The office itself was oval in design and reminded Richard of another oval office from Earth’s distant past. He wondered if the similarities were more than just superficial.
“Lorna,” he yelled over his shoulder, “is this office equipped with a safe room?”
He received no response.
With the desk firmly in place, he turned to ask the question again. The blank expression on Lorna’s face told him everything he needed to know: she was communing with that damned nanobotic monstrosity she called the Lord.
“Goddamn it, Lorna, snap out of it!” he shouted angrily. Richard started in her direction, thinking it might be possible to shake her back to reality. Before he’d taken more than two steps, the door handle rattled, followed immediately by a loud pounding.
“Free the chancellor and you will not be harmed,” a female voice sounded.
“No one’s home!” yelled Floyd Sullivant.
The pounding suddenly turned to loud slams as the security personnel on the other side tried to break through the heavy, wooden door. So far it was holding, thanks in large part to the desk.
Richard’s exasperated frown elicited a shrug from Floyd. The big man’s eyes suddenly went wide. He was looking in Lorna’s direction. Spinning around, Richard saw her lying on the floor.
“Lorna!” The next thing he knew he was dropping to his knees beside her. Lifting her head, he caught his breath. Rivulets of blood were trickling from her nose, ears, and the corners of her eyes. “Lorna! Speak to me!” In his alarmed state, Richard barely noticed that Ensign Milosevic had appeared opposite him and was checking Lorna for a pulse.
“Her heart’s stopped beating, sir. Place her head on the floor and I’ll try CPR.”
Richard did as he was told. Ignoring the persistent pounding and shouting in the background, he watched helplessly as the ensign attempted to save Lorna’s life. His stomach was tied up in knots, his emotions having gone from one extreme to another. He’d been so mad at Lorna over the deaths of Fletcher and Ogeto that only minutes earlier he’d wanted to throttle the life out of her; yet now he was beside himself with sorrow. As Milosevic began another series of chest compressions, he searched Lorna’s face for any sign of life. More blood trickled from her ears, nose, and eyes.
More crashes sounded against the door behind him.
Milosevic paused to check Lorna’s vitals. “She is unresponsive, has no pulse, and her pupils are dilated. I’m fairly certain the chancellor … is deceased.”
Staring into Lorna’s ashen face and cold lifeless eyes, Richard heard the truth in Milosevic’s words: Lorna Threman, chancellor of New Terra, was dead.
“Thank you, Ensign,” he said, holding his emotions firmly in check. Standing up, he glanced around the room. “Find anything you can use as a weapon,” he told the others. “When the door’s breached, we’ll fight. Our military training gives us an advantage. New Terra has an imposing security force, but they’re inexperienced in the art of hand-to-hand combat, so be ready.”
The pounding on the door came to an abrupt end. Sensing that something was up, Floyd and the young ensign who’d been helping him brace the door began to back away, which was a smart move on their part. They’d barely started to move when a one-foot circular section of the heavy wooden door was suddenly blasted inward, the jagged pieces barely missing Floyd’s shoulder.
Richard took hold of Ensign Milosevic’s arm and headed toward the balcony. “Fall back!” he ordered, catching a glimpse of spiky black hair through the hole in the doorway.
“They’ve killed the chancellor,” shouted the Minder who peered through the hole.
“Shit!” Floyd cursed as he and his shipmate rushed for cover.
Behind them, Richard saw the end of a stun-baton poke through the hole. “Hit the deck!”
Both men were diving to the floor when the stun-baton discharged with a dull, buzzing thump. Floyd landed on the pale-blue carpet and promptly went into a roll. His shipmate wasn’t so lucky. What with the stun-baton set to kill, the intense blast of energy struck the right side of the young man’s head, scattering his brains across the middle of the room. This was immediately followed by another blast of energy, which hit the spot where Floyd landed before rolling to one side. Carpet and hardwood floor erupted in every direction.
For a man of his bulk, Floyd was deceptively quick. Leaping to his feet, he dove through the air, tucked into a ball, and tumbled onto the balcony. An explosion of wood and glass followed in his wake.
Helping Floyd to his feet, Richard heard a series of blasts. The office door was once again under attack. Peering into the ravaged office, his gaze took in Lorna’s lifeless body and the gore from the young ensign, whose body was hidden by the balcony wall. Squeezing Floyd’s shoulder, he said, “I don’t know about you, but I’d rather go down fighting than be killed out here, caged in like cowering rabbits.”
“I’m all in, Commander.” Floyd gave him a conspiratorial grin before turning to Milosevic. “How ’bout you, Ensign? Are you ready to take on these Goth chicks from hell?”
Milosevic looked at him strangely and then began to chuckle. “I used to be one of those so-called “Goth-chicks” in my teens, so yes, I’m more than ready.”
Another blast sent a piece of the office door’s locking mechanism skittering across the carpet. At least they’re finally using their brains, Richard thought. The sound of stun-batons stopped; it was replaced by grunting and cracking. Their adversaries were attempting to push through the broken door. The desk would give Richard and his two companions a few more seconds to gather their courage before the security guards stormed the office.
“While they’re trying to push open the door,” Richard whispered, “we need to attack.” He spotted a piece of wood with a jagged shard of glass still attached and bent to pick it up.
A rumbling hum sounded behind them. The oddly familiar noise grew increasingly louder.
“What the hell?” Floyd exclaimed.
All three looked over their shoulders. What they saw made them blink with astonishment. A shuttlecraft was rapidly approaching their position. As it drew closer, the shuttle door began to descend. The vehicle was seconds from their position.
Catching movement from the corner of his eye, Richard saw Milosevic step across the balcony’s threshold and whip two shards of glass at the door. The glass shot from her hand like throwing stars and, by the sound of the injured cries, had struck its targets. Without a moment’s hesitation, she stepped back onto the balcony.
“That should give us a few more seconds,” she declared.
“Nice going, Ensign,” Richard said. “We can certainly use the time.”
The shuttle was in the process of pulling up to the balcony, its access ramp mere inches from the top of the concrete railing.
“Ladies first,” Floyd said, grinning proudly. He held out his hand intending to help Milosevic climb atop the balcony railing, but she waved away his assistance.
With an athletic grace that belied her physique, the stocky Serb gripped the railing, swung herself onto the narrow concrete perch, and landed in a crouch. She wasted no time climbing aboard the shuttle. Floyd was next, taking a few more precious seconds than Milosevic due to his size. Richard kept peering nervously over his shoulder as Floyd hefted his bulk atop the railing. The moment Floyd’s feet touched the access ramp, Richard started shouting for the pilot to move their ass. Scrambling up the steps and into the cabin, he breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed with a click and a hiss behind him.
Richard moved rapidly toward the cockpit. “Whoever’s piloting this bucket’s my own personal hero,” he laughed.
While Milosevic was busy strapping herself into a seat, Richard saw that Floyd was standing near the pilot’s station wearing a puzzled expression on his large, blocky face.
“So, to whom do I owe—?”
A loud thump sounded in the aft section of the shuttle causing the craft to buck. Richard was thrown violently against a starboa
rd bulkhead. Floyd pitched backward, bounced off the edge of an instrumentation panel, and landed in a heap beside Milosevic. Another loud thump sounded, causing the shuttle to buck once again.
Thinking quickly, the pilot banked, placing the building’s domed roof between them and their attackers. Clutching the edge of a nearby storage locker with a viselike grip, Richard’s memory flashed back to another time and place: an exploding space plane. An unwelcome surge of fear generated a soft moan in his throat.
“Are you hurt, Commander?” The pilot’s voice trembled, powerless to hide her anxiety over being fired upon.
The woman sounded vaguely familiar. An instant later, Richard realized who was piloting the shuttlecraft. The shock snapped him back to the present. With the craft leveling off, he climbed to his feet. Both Floyd and Milosevic appeared unscathed, though Floyd was rubbing the small of his back.
“That was quite a stunt you pulled back there, Dr. Levin,” Richard said with a hint of annoyance. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you showed up when you did. Thanks for rescuing us. However, I’m at a loss as to why you’re flying this shuttle.”
Mona sighed, “Take a seat, Commander.”
“Place it on autopilot, and I’ll take over the controls,” Richard said.
Mona eyed him suspiciously. “I’m doing just fine, thank you. I’ve set a course for the forest. We’ll have more light there to check the craft for damage—if there is any.”
“Great,” Floyd said with enthusiasm. “On the way there we can scan for Lt. Muldoon. She should be somewhere between the forest and the city.”
“Lt. Muldoon? But I thought she’d been killed.”
“Up until about an hour ago, we thought the same as you,” Richard noted. “That’s when we received a very alarming transmission from the lieutenant. She was alive at the time, but sounded like she was in trouble.”
The shuttle passed over the perimeter of the city, picking up speed as it went.
“Is it possible that Sol … um, Dr. Chavez and the others are still alive?”
“I can’t say, Dr. Levin,” Richard answered. “It’s possible, but don’t get your hopes up.”
A flicker of a smile crossed Mona’s lips. “As they say, ‘Hope springs eternal,’ Commander.”
“Hey, Doc,” Floyd inquired, “How on Earth, or rather New Terra, did you locate us?”
“I homed in on your SID’s positioning signal. There was interference, but I—” she paused to think. “If Lt. Muldoon still possesses her SID, the shuttle’s tracking equipment will have no trouble locating her.”
“Good idea, Doc.” Floyd pumped his fist enthusiastically as he moved to the communications console. “Computer, locate SID tracking signal for Lt. Gloria Muldoon.”
“Lt. Muldoon’s tracking signal is currently eleven-point-two miles due east of this vehicle’s position. She is traveling westward at a speed of one hundred thirty-seven miles per hour,” the computer answered, in its blandly impersonal monotone voice.
Floyd exchanged a puzzled look with Richard. “Computer, is she traveling in a vehicle of some sort?”
“There is insufficient data to produce a valid determination, Lt. Sullivant.”
Grunting unhappily, Floyd rubbed his lower lip. “Computer, establish a communication link with Lt. Muldoon,” he instructed.
The big man’s concern for his coldly efficient protégée was apparent. As they waited for Gloria to respond, Richard studied Floyd’s anxious profile and felt a surge of compassion for the hulking security chief. Floyd had lost all but one of his groundside crew, with the news of Lt. Fletcher’s death hitting Floyd especially hard. Therefore, learning of Muldoon’s survival was a definite boon. He wondered what was taking her so long to reply. “Computer, is Lt. Muldoon’s SID operational? Is it receiving the com-signal?”
“Lt. Muldoon’s interlink device is operational, Commander.”
“What’s our distance from New Terra?”
“Two-point-six miles, Commander.”
“Dr. Levin, swing this bucket of bolts around and head east, toward Lt. Muldoon. We need to intercept her before she arrives at the city,” Richard stated.
“I’m plotting the course now, Commander,” she informed him.
With the inertial dampeners finally engaged, the shuttle’s occupants didn’t feel a thing as the craft banked hard and sped toward the city. The shuttle was traveling faster than Lt. Muldoon, which meant they should intercept her well before she reached New Terra.
•
It’s the strangest feeling, Gloria thought, a near out-of-body experience for her to be racing across the planet’s vast green plain, eyes closed, wind whipping through her raven hair, riding Bram like an impossibly fast two-legged stallion. The experience was terrifying and exhilarating. With her arms clasping Bram’s neck and her legs encircling his waist, she kept her eyes closed for fear of dirt … and that she’d throw up at the rush of grass blurring by. If Bram tripped, they’d be dead. Yet she trusted him to stay on his feet. It was insane. The crazy bastard had yet to take a breather the entire time speeding toward the city, like an ancient jet-fueled racecar.
Gloria’s body burned from the strain of holding onto him. Her legs were especially affected, feeling like twin ropes of fire were scorching the inside of her thighs. All of a sudden, something felt different. Barely opening her eyes, Gloria noticed that Bram’s pace was beginning to slow. Approximately twenty seconds later, he’d reduced his speed to a trot.
“Why are we slowing down?” Gloria asked, throat dry and hoarse.
Bram decelerated further then stopped. “You can get down now.”
Gloria nearly fell to the ground, her leg muscles were trembling so violently. She bent over and clutched her knees to steady them, taking in great gulps of air. “The city’s still miles away, Bram. Why’d we stop?” she asked, starting to catch her balance.
When he failed to answer, she looked up and saw that he was staring straight ahead. With a grunt, she pushed herself erect and stepped beside him. From the intent expression on his face, there must be something (or someone) ahead of them. Gazing into the distance, she at first failed to spot anything out of the ordinary. However, after a few seconds, coupled with a fair amount of squinting, she saw a dark-gray speck above the horizon. It was growing rapidly in size.
She glanced nervously at Bram. “Should we be worried?”
A flicker of a smile crossed Bram’s unusually younger-looking face. “Not in the least.”
Gloria suddenly realized her SID was softly vibrating. Yanking the device from her pocket, she activated the talk mode: “Muldoon here.”
She heard an excited whoop, followed by, “Holy shit! You’re bloody fucking alive!” The distinctive Welsh voice belonged to Floyd Sullivant.
“You know me, Lieutenant,” she quipped. “I’m too mean to die. Besides, as they say, heaven doesn’t want me and hell is afraid I’ll take over.”
She heard several people chuckle. An anxious female voice replaced Floyd’s.
“Who’s that with you, Lt. Muldoon? Our scan is registering two biometric signatures.”
What had once been a gray speck above the horizon had taken on shape and was now only a few hundred yards away. She glanced over at Bram. He appeared troubled and was looking into the distance, beyond the shuttle’s approach.
“Who am I speaking with?” she asked.
“This is Dr. Mona Levin. Is Dr. Chavez with you?”
“Um, no, he’s not here …” Her response was met with silence. “I’m with Bram Waters.”
The next voice belonged to Commander Allison. “Thank you, Lieutenant. When we arrive, the two of you can debrief us on the details of your resurrections.”
Resurrections? Of course … they must have thought us dead, Gloria realized.
The shuttle landed, and its occupants streamed down the access ramp. Most were overjoyed to see them, though a few eyebrows did rise upon seeing Bram in his khaki shorts. Dr. Levin was the only one mi
ssing a cheerful demeanor. After a cursory greeting, she set about inspecting the shuttle for damage. Being first down the ramp, a delighted Floyd Sullivant strode over to Gloria and swept her up in a huge embrace.
“Ever the happy warrior, I see,” she grumbled. With a shake of her head, she extended Floyd a grudging smile. “It’s good to see you too.”
For the next ten minutes, she and Bram shared an account of what happened after their crash in the forest. Neither Floyd nor Commander Allison looked surprised when she told them about the savages who abducted her and the malevolent AI that controlled the city. Apparently Jeremy Fletcher (the news of his death nearly brought Gloria to tears) had discovered a series of files that explained everything. When it was Bram’s turn to give an account of what took place after his and Solomon’s forcible return to the city, she found his story almost too fantastic to believe: The AI was calling itself Athena? He and Solomon had been thrust into a dimension between time and space? Argus, the ravenous fungal entity, had helped them escape that dimension? Also, why was he being so evasive about Solomon’s fate? The entire scenario was making her head hurt.
During her and Bram’s report, Gloria had paid little attention to Dr. Levin, who, assisted by Ensign Milosevic, was busy replacing two heat-shield panels damaged during the shuttle’s escape from the city. When the subject of Solomon Chavez came up, however, Mona paused to pay closer attention.
“Is it true? Is Solomon really alive?” she asked, brushing the dust off her hands as she approached the group.
Bram nodded. “As far as I know, Dr. Levin.”
“That’s wonderful,” she said, gleefully. “Do you have any idea where he is? We can head there in the shuttle and pick him up. He isn’t in the city, is he? We might have to—”
“He’s not here, Doctor,” Bram stated.
Gloria’s pulse quickened, hoping that her father’s location was about to be revealed.
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