Virion_The Black Cell

by R. L. M. Sanchez

  “Sir, the frequency,” Durant said.

  Hardy spoke calmly, as if he were only having a bad day and as though there wasn’t a military grade explosive device rigged to destroy a sixteen billion credit bio-dome. “This is Chief Warren Hardy, Mars Colony Police. To whom do I have the pleasure?”

  Tariot felt a wave of relief come over him as he saw the strike team exit the building. He smiled, but the relief was short. He turned away from the security console and stared at the two security officers he had killed earlier, gently pinching his lip with his hand. Tariot examined his good work on the floor and realized he may have a chance.

  He would negotiate. If Hardy had been willing to back off and clear the building of his police, maybe he’d do a bit more haggling. Tariot had to act quickly or else Hardy might call his bluff and send in every strike team he had. His cue came when Chief Hardy’s voice came through the office speakers. He spoke into the microphone with confidence this time.

  “Okay Hardy, listen and listen good!” Tariot snapped. “My name ain’t important. What’s important is what I want. I-I want a shuttle on the back landing pad, a fast one too! And don’t get cute either, I want orbital defenses shut down!”

  Tariot held his hand over the microphone and let out a long exhale, quickly taking in some air. He had never gotten into such a heated negotiation before, especially one that involved high explosives and thousands of hostages. “I don’t want anyone in or out of this dome unless I say – that’s cops and civvies. You have one hour. Good day, Hardy.”

  He slammed the console off and turned to his left, where there was a feed of the rear landing pad behind the dome. It was straight down the hall and out the door, a mere hundred feet to his freedom. All he had to do was wait.

  Durant broke the silence that occurred after the entire force just heard the psychopath speak over the PA.

  “Sir, the patrol who got the visual of this guy also got a facial scan from his helmet visor,” Durant said as he looked to his OPIaA. “I’m pulling a profile from Pluto Correctional. Name: Tariot, Marcus; Wanted on thirteen colonies…” He paused to look at Hardy who only frowned. “Fourteen colonies now, for various crimes.” Durant continued to scroll through the document on his OPIaA as Hardy listened. “Long history of mental disturbance, sir. This is definitely the guy we’ve been on, the harvester. Also he may or may not have an explosive device rigged to blow the dome, along with thousands of—”

  “I was here, Captain, we all were,” Hardy said.

  “Of course, sir. Sorry, sir.”

  “How the hell did this creep get on my colony, Captain? How’d he make it past customs?”

  “We had an individual from Earth check in at the beginning of the month, very wealthy, he must have paid to bypass bio-metrics. I think that was our guy.”

  “Earth Council policies,” Hardy scoffed. “We let the rich waltz right in if they’ve got the credits. What a crock of shit.”

  “Orders?”

  Hardy stroked his thick mustache, pondering the situation. “What’s your take on these explosives, Captain?” he asked.

  “Honestly, sir, if he was wealthy enough to get past customs I would say he could’ve easily got some type of explosives in. Whether it’s military grade or not, I couldn’t say.”

  “We can’t discount the possibility.”

  “Your plan, sir?”

  Hardy’s options were limited to prevent over eight thousand people flying into the atmosphere. Hardy clasped his forehead reviewing the delicate situation in his head. The bomb could be a bluff. In his record, Tariot was responsible for many illegal activities, and while explosive attacks were never one of them as according to his file, the threat was too great. The clean and sweep tactics Hardy was used to applying would be of no use. He needed to play a much better card.

  “Special Units, sir?” Durant said, very eager to diffuse the situation. “I can have Ananke squad kitted and ready to go in ten.”

  “That prick has control of security, remember, Captain? Each one of these domes has biometrics, motion sensors, thermals, closed circuit monitoring. State of the art. He’d fish out infiltration units before they even turned the knob on the door.”

  “That’s assuming he knows how to operate advanced functions on our security consoles—”

  “There’s a goddamn manual right next to it, we have to assume he can read,” Hardy barked.

  “So, then what, sir? It sounds like he’s got our balls in a vise.”

  Hardy looked around at the four dozen or so officers around the area, many trying to keep civilians at bay, the crowd growing by the minute. Many had loved ones inside the dome and were frantically trying to get past police lines. Several off-duty officers were also present, but Hardy noticed one man who was not.

  “Where the hell is McKenna?” Hardy asked as he looked around the crowd, not necessarily asking Durant.

  “McKenna, sir? Just what the hell is he going to do?”

  “You’re going to start giving me tactical advice, Durant?”

  “No, sir,” Durant said, taking a deep breath. “He turns off his OPIaA when he’s off-duty, but he’s probably at Dome Three, sir. He’s fond of the little jazz-bar there. But Chief, McKenna isn’t a plan, he’s what you use when a plan fails.”

  Hardy motioned his arm to the breach team, currently running back to the squad cars empty-handed with no defusing of the situation having taken place. Durant shook his head, then hopped in the driver’s seat of a nearby police cruiser and sped off. Hardy turned his gaze back towards the dome and waited for his ace.

  4

  ON CALL

  Detective Alan McKenna sat on the comfortable bar stool inside the Nova Jazz Bar & Lounge within Dome Three, officially off duty with no outstanding cases to worry about. A local artist was performing towards the back of the bar, mainly big band and classic jazz tunes. While the bar was clean, puffs of cigarette smoke constantly clouded certain sections. A gentleman bartender in a neatly pressed black tuxedo approached McKenna from behind the counter.

  “One Old-Fashioned, sir,” the bartender said with a strong English accent as he handed McKenna his drink. McKenna replied with a nod and waved a tip to the bartender with his OPIaA. He certainly enjoyed the occasional glass, and he took a slow sip of the mix.

  “I hear Harry Kemper is the only human able to stand against his Auroran counterpart,” said the bartender.

  “Mhm. He’s also the first to attempt it. All hype. Gotta sell tickets.”

  “All the same, it should be interesting to see how he fares.”

  “He’d have to play dirty to even stand a chance. This fight was over before it began.”

  “Fair point, sir. Perhaps if he partook in the upcoming Red Sector games? Limited rules, maximum punishment?”

  “Hm. A smart man wouldn’t even be there.”

  The local news broke in on the viewing terminal in place of the Saturn Boxing match that was currently on the air. Alice Desjardin appeared, a pretty newscaster and regular on the Mars colonies news broadcasts. In the background a video feed could be seen of Dome Seventeen and the surrounding police.

  “Let’s hope it’s important,” McKenna said.

  “I pray so, sir,” the bartender said as he wiped down glasses and handed them to the service bot behind him, also dressed in a tuxedo, for sorting. It was a basic service model with treads, hands, a torso and not much else.

  Desjardin opened the interruption with a typical breaking news introduction. “This just in: A terrorist, presumably acting alone, has attacked Dome Seventeen. The MCP has sealed off the building and has taken proper security precautions. The terrorist, whose name has so far been concealed from the press, has claimed that he will detonate high explosives unless he receives his demands. An estimated eight thousand residents are still trapped within. No further details at this time.”

  The reporter flickered on screen and the scheduled program resumed. Two fighters onscreen, a human and the Auroran contender,
were fighting in front of thousands of attendants. While they weren’t fights to the death, accidents did happen.

  McKenna held the glass in his hand for a few seconds, pondering on the situation before taking another swallow of his drink. He no longer paid any mind to the match he’d been waiting for.

  “Are you required elsewhere, Mister McKenna?” The waiter asked.

  “I’m off the clock. More of a job for tactical teams by the looks of it.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  McKenna had been serving on the MCP since the Mars Colonial Navy was disbanded almost ten years ago, and he always got the job done no matter what. Normally he would’ve been commended several times over given his successful record, but his actions during his time in the Navy ensured his future would always be questioned and receive mixed feelings.

  McKenna and Hardy both served in the Navy together, Hardy an Admiral serving on the Dreadnought MCN Fortuna’s Gambit and McKenna as a young Captain in the Shock Regiments on the ground. After the war Hardy recruited McKenna as a detective to help with the newly formed MCP, knowing his skills were unparalleled, mostly giving him assignments and cases directly. McKenna had few friends on the force, but he did his duty and kept his life to himself.

  Durant walked through the airlock and removed his helmet. He took a brisk look around the lounge and spotted McKenna sitting at the bar, then walked over to him with purpose.

  “Captain McKenna,” Durant said quickly. “Have you been watching the news?”

  McKenna turned his head slightly to acknowledge Durant but did not make eye contact with him. “Captain Durant. Can I buy you a drink?” McKenna said coldly.

  “Real cute, McKenna. And as much as I’d like a Shirley-fuckin’-Temple right now, almost the entire force has got Dome Seventeen on lockdown. This guy is serious. He plans to blow the whole dome if he doesn’t get passage off-world.”

  “Alright. Sounds like you do need a drink, Captain. Why else would you come to a bar in such a crisis?” He smiled.

  “For you actually. The chief wants you on-site.”

  “What for? Not for this fiasco I take it. It seems like a normal breach and clear. Why not use those young guns of yours, Ankle Squad? Annie Squad?”

  “Ananke Squad. This guy has control of security. He’s holed up in the office. If he sees anyone approach those doors, boom.”

  “Well…” he said as he took another sip of his drink. “That changes things.” McKenna had overheard talk between detectives Chase and Richter, the two assigned to the case, regarding the harvester. The perp had been doing a good job at keeping a low profile but got anxious somewhere along the way, leading to the situation he was in now.

  McKenna didn’t see the police as the ones out of options, but rather the harvester himself extinguishing his own. “A bomb. Over eight thousand hostages. Control over security systems…” McKenna mumbled.

  “This guy is certifiable. We can’t test his fuse, McKenna. But Hardy seems to think you might be able to come up with something, even though you’re mostly the powder keg to a fuse.” Durant shook his head.

  “And the security system detects breaches from the outside, right?”

  “And anyone trying to leave,” Durant added. “He’ll blow it if he sees either.”

  “And if he doesn’t see…?”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we had that luxury.”

  “We don’t, Captain. I’m just thinking aloud,” McKenna said as he finished his drink. He grabbed his old Martian Navy-issue brown trench coat and left the bar, tipping the bartender once again as good gesture with his OPIaA.

  The bartender caught the digital tip. “Most generous, Mister McKenna. Do be mindful out in the trouble,” the bartender said, the bot booping beside him and waving goodbye.

  “I’ll be back to catch that fight.” McKenna threw on his coat as he exited the pressure doors of the lounge with Durant. Durant followed him to the small parking lot around the building.

  “‘Catch the fight’, he says,” Durant scoffed. “So, what, you going to call one of the hostages and ask them to take the guy out?”

  McKenna paused and looked off into the cloudy horizon. “You feel that gust?” McKenna held his hand in the air, catching the wind.

  “What of it?” Durant asked.

  “Sandstorm. Can’t be more than thirty minutes out.”

  “Your point?”

  “Makes this a worse day.”

  “Come on, don’t be coy. If you’ve got a plan, out with it.” Durant reached his cruiser and hit a button on his OPIaA, unlocking the doors. “I hope you know what you’re doing. And the fact that you’re so calm is…” McKenna paused waiting for a delayed word to come out of Durant’s mouth. “Disturbing!”

  “You’re driving?” McKenna scoffed and got into the passenger side of the cruiser.

  Durant realized there wasn’t a point in talking to him any longer as McKenna shut his door. “Thank you, Captain!” Durant shouted. Durant walked around to the driver’s side and powered up the all-wheel drive cruiser, then set off towards the cluster of MCP units outside dome seventeen.

  ***

  Time was at a standstill for Tariot. It had been twenty-eight minutes since he shouted his demands to the entire populace in the area, yet still no shuttle. Still no way to tell if orbital defense was shut down from the standalone dome security office he was in.

  Do they think I’m bluffing? Tariot was watching the systems like a hawk, but the MCP hadn’t tried anything in the past half hour and he wasn’t keen on blowing himself to bits either. He wasn’t some martyr or someone trying to prove a point. He wanted credits and his organs.

  McKenna disembarked the cruiser with Durant and walked past numerous officers, hearing mumbles and whispers as they eyeballed him. Whether good or bad, he couldn’t tell.

  “Chief! I found him.” Durant said as he propped himself against Hardy’s cruiser.

  “Captain McKenna, what a goddamn surprise!” Hardy said as his massive hand shook McKenna’s with a tight grip.

  “Admiral,” McKenna said. “Didn’t want to go in yourself, huh?”

  “Not when I got you, kid. So, any thoughts on this prick?” Hardy asked as he turned to the dome.

  “Well, Durant here tells me he’s a grade above twitchy and that he’s got us in a bad spot.” McKenna turned to the dome as well, looking for more inspiration on a plan.

  “Damn right he does. I’m hoping you’re going to tell me something I haven’t thought of.”

  “That’s why you keep me around right?”

  Two more detectives approached them: Chase and Richter, the two homicide detectives assigned to the harvester case. Chase was a young man while Richter was the older of the two. Both were good at their jobs, but McKenna couldn’t help but think how this could have been avoided had they caught the harvester earlier.

  “Chief,” Chase said. “I hear our man is in there.” Chase saluted both Captains, McKenna and Durant, as he saw them. Richter, on the other hand, stayed motionless and silent as if he didn’t want to be there.

  “He is,” Hardy said. “Positive ID thirty minutes ago. Marcus Tariot. He’s got a rap sheet, all right.”

  “Yes, sir,” Chase said. “We got the notice once he was ID’d. What’s the plan then, sirs?”

  “We were just discussing that now,” Hardy said. He began running the situation over with Chase while Richter continued staring down McKenna, still and almost lethargic.

  As an older Navy veteran, Richter was privy enough to know enough about McKenna, and the tales stuck with him the most. Even as Richter lit a cigarette he never took his eye off McKenna, making him even more uneasy. The ugly stare started getting to McKenna, so he returned the stare straight back.

  “You got a problem, Richter?” McKenna said as he budged himself off the cruiser and approached.

  Richter’s face was best defined as simple disgust. “I found you, didn’t I?” Richter said. McKenna grabbed Richter’s colla
r. Chase and Durant immediately ran over to hold Richter and McKenna back to avoid a petty fight.

  Chief Hardy’s deep voiced boomed out of his mouth. “Hey, police yourselves! We got a madman in there ready to kill and the clock is ticking. You pick a fight, you do it off the clock!”

  “Lucky for you, Richter, I am off the clock!” McKenna said, as he squirmed against Durant’s hold across his chest.

  “Let’s see it, then! Come on, Murder McKenna!” Richter said, trying to provoke McKenna. It was a hate born from the war. All the officers present heard the nickname and took a moment to pause. The name had managed to stick with him even after the war; a name not chosen, but earned. McKenna felt his fist was tightened, but after hearing his other name, it loosened.

  “Cool it, Richter,” Chase said.

  “Get your hands off me, kid,” Richter said to Chase. “I said off!” Richter broke free but didn’t engage McKenna. Durant let go of McKenna, seeing him in control now. “I hope your plan to stop that maniac in there doesn’t involve this fuck-up, Chief,” Richter said as he spoke aloud for all around him to hear. “Personally, I think he should crawl back into the bottle he dropped out of.”

  “I bet I have more hooch left in my flask than yours, Richter, I can smell it on you from here!” McKenna shouted.

  “Richter?” Hardy said. Richter turned to Hardy in a delayed reaction.

  “Sir?” Richter asked.

  “Take the rest of the day off and clear out of here. Now.” Richter turned and walked off with an angered expression on his face.

  McKenna watched him as he walked off. “McKenna? You alright, kid?” Hardy asked. He received a simple nod as McKenna walked towards him. Hardy already knew the answer. McKenna took this kind of abuse almost every time he worked with others, as there were only a few rookie officers on the force who hadn’t heard the stories. And likewise, working with others left a sour feeling with him. The few attempts that Hardy tried to partner McKenna with another, McKenna simply avoided them entirely, usually completing a case on his own.

  “So, show me how we’re going to do this, kid.” Hardy said as Durant and Chase moved in closer to overhear what McKenna had to say.