by M. R. Forbes
He would see about that.
The shuttle’s landing pads tapped lightly on the ground, the craft dipping and settling. The hatch opened and a ramp extended to the surface. Olus stood, straightened his suit, and moved toward it, sticking his hands in his pockets to make himself more casual. He was going to make a statement, too: None of this scares me, so save your bullshit and get to the point.
“Captain Mann,” Omsala said as Olus emerged from the shuttle.
Two guards, Olus noted. Both in lightsuit. They wouldn’t be a problem.
“General,” Olus said, saluting lazily.
Omsala grunted before returning the salute. Olus was being disrespectful, and they both knew it. So what?
“How was your trip to Feru?” Omsala asked.
“Uneventful,” Olus replied. “Although it is disappointing that I didn’t get a chance to speak with Mars Eagan again. I had a lead I believed she could clarify for me. I’m afraid I’ll be starting back a few steps.”
“You have a gift for understatement, Captain,” Omsala said. “Mars Eagan is dead. So is Emily Eagan. But I’m sure you already knew that?”
“Of course. It’s my job to know. The fugitives from Hell. My people tell me they’re calling themselves the Rejects.” Olus smiled.
“I’ve informed the Council of the events. They’re eager to hear more about your exploits, and what you’ve learned regarding the attack on Eagan Heavyworks.”
“That’s why I’m here. I figured it would be more efficient to deliver my report in person so that I could respond to any questions the Council might have.”
“Are you sure that’s the only reason?”
“For now.”
General Omsala began walking back toward the building, each of his steps heavy and strenuous. He didn’t complain at all, even when his breathing started to become labored.
The strain vanished as they entered the building, the regulators in the floors averaging out the gravity differences to even the field. Olus could feel the slightly lighter pull enough that he adjusted his gait to compensate, taking longer, bouncier steps.
“I received a report on my way down that there may have been a conflict in the Fringe,” Olus said. “My sources said Anvil was under attack. It turns out that one of our fleets was also assaulted near Anvil. Another patrol confronted by the Fire and four other ships like her.”
“I’ve read the same reports, Captain,” Omsala replied. “Do you have a theory? Your Rejects again, perhaps?”
“One crew of fugitives against a planet? I don’t think so.”
“But who would have done such a thing, do you think?”
“That’s the question of the millennia, isn’t it?”
They entered a tube, heading up to the tenth floor of the building. Omsala led him toward his office, the guards staying close.
“The Committee believes they are part of a larger contingent from the Outworlds, one that intends to push us into war and let us beat one another up for a while. Then they’ll move in like vultures to snatch the remains.”
“An interesting theory,” Olus said. “But why attack both Outworld and Republic assets simultaneously if that’s the case? Your larger contingent is making enemies of two very major powers.”
“We haven’t corroborated the attack on Anvil as being related to the Fire and Brimstone,” Omsala replied. “The Outworlds have attacks like this too often to be surprised. It’s the downside of being so loosely controlled.”
“Those attacks occur one hundred percent of the time on planets with populations of less than two hundred thousand.”
“I suppose there are always outliers.”
They reached Omsala’s office. The door opened ahead of them, and the General led him in. He had a sparse desk at the back of the room; a second desk positioned caddy-corner to it. A young human woman was sitting in it, doing something on her terminal. She stood and saluted when she saw them.
“General,” she said.
“At ease, Vee,” Omsala said.
The door closed behind them.
“You don’t know Vee, do you, Captain?” Omsala said. “Corporal Vee, this is Captain Olus Mann. Captain Mann, my assistant, Vee.”
Vee saluted. Olus saluted back. “A pleasure,” he said, turning back to Omsala. “What happened to Yellin?”
“She was killed in the same accident that took General Soto’s life. A tragedy, to be sure.”
“Should I leave the room, General?” Vee asked.
“No, Vee. The Captain is accustomed to my assistants. Aren’t you, Olus?”
Olus smirked. This wasn’t the first time he had been to Omsala’s office to discuss things. Meeting with members of the Committee was part of the job. That Yellin had been killed and replaced with Vee? He trusted that about as far as he could throw the General.
Omsala circled his desk, sitting in a wide, thick chair specially designed for his frame. Even so, it creaked under the pressure of his reduced-gravity weight while his skin spread around it.
“General Soto assigned you with figuring out who took the Fire and Brimstone and getting the ships back,” Omsala said.
“She did,” Olus agreed.
“Yet we have no progress in that regard.”
“We have quite a bit of progress, General,” Olus said. “As you well know. The question is, what are we going to do about it?”
Omsala huffed, Olus’ translator suggesting amused respect. “You don’t waste time, do you, Captain?”
“You’ve wasted enough of my time already,” Olus said. “So yeah, let’s just cut through the bullshit and get down to the real business.”
“Very well. I have two options, Captain. You know what they are. My concern is that your people in the OSI won’t accept either of them.”
“That’s what happens when you build a web of respect over a number of years,” Olus said. “People learn to trust you. There was a time when I believed the Committee had the Republic’s best interests in mind. But did it ever? I’m not sure now. My people have the Republic’s best interests in mind, and there’s nothing you can do to change that.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Captain.” Omsala leaned forward in his seat. “I respect you for coming here. I imagine you had to know you weren’t going to just walk out.”
“I needed to be here as much as you needed me here. I need information that my people don’t have direct access to. Information that would get them killed. I won’t ask them to do anything I won’t do.”
“But you will,” Omsala said.
Olus saw Vee in the corner of his eye. She was pretending to be working at her terminal. She glanced at him, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
Timing was everything.
“Will I?” Mann said. “I don’t have a problem killing traitors. Even in a hardened building.”
“Even if you were able to make good on that threat, it won’t do any good. You don’t know how deep this goes, Captain. And I’m not talking a few years.”
“Did you know what was going to happen on Feru?”
“No. But I knew something was coming. You can be part of the past, or you can be part of the future. I’ve seen the future, Olus. I know where I want to be next year. Do you?”
“Yes,” Olus said, putting his hands in his pockets again. “I’m going to stop you.”
Omsala smiled. “You and what army? Your Rejects? No. Sorry, Olus. If your goal is to see how much of the Republic Armed Services is in the Gloritant’s pocket, you’re going to be in for the shock of your life. You don’t have a friend left on the Committee, and the Council will be dealt with soon. A few more accidents and the balance of power will have turned completely. Now, you’re going to resign. We’re going to record it and send it along with our pick for Director of the OSI. Then you’re going to disappear. Whether that disappearance includes your loss of the ability to breathe depends on your resistance to the idea. So, what do you say, Captain?”
“Wha
t can I say?” Olus said, pulling his hands out of his pocket. He held out his right hand, raising his middle finger. “How about that?”
Omsala grunted again. “The fearless Killshot.” His eyes shifted to Vee, widening when he saw the knife sprouting from the woman’s eye. “What?”
“Sleight of hand,” Olus said. “And good aim. I realized on the way here that you don’t need to cut off a Venerant’s head to disable them, only kill them. Destroying brain function is enough to keep them in line.”
Omsala tried to stand, to reach for the panic button that would summon the guards outside. Olus slipped a hand under his jacket, producing the gun and pointing it at Omsala.
“The knife is too light to get through your fat ass,” he said. “Bullets, not so much. Touch that button, and I put a slug in your head.”
Omsala paused and looked at him. Then he leaned forward again.
The noise of the shot was suppressed, preventing the guards outside from hearing it. The force of the bullet through the thick Fizzig skull was enough to change Omsala’s direction, and his hand landed next to the button even as he slumped out of the chair and fell to the floor.
“I’ve decided,” Olus said, circling the desk. “I like you much better this way.”
4
Olus stood with his legs straddling Omsala’s body. He pulled one of the buttons from his jacket, attaching it to the General’s terminal. Then he leaned over, lifting the heavy Fizzig and getting him back in the chair. He ducked behind him as he activated the terminal, placing Omsala’s meaty hand on the palm scanner and positioning his head for the eye scanner. The terminal accepted the inputs and unlocked.
Olus looked over at Vee, checking on her. He wasn’t completely sure that she was a Venerant like Emily Eagan, but the fact that the muscles in her hands were expanding and contracting and making her fingers wiggle was enough of a reason to believe she was. Either way, she wasn’t innocent. She also wasn’t about to lock him in place.
He pushed the chair away from the terminal, and Omsala with it. He could see the data flowing in front of his eyes, passing from the micro-extender to the TCU, and from the TCU to the lenses he was wearing. He had access to everything. Had the General been as stupid as Ms. Eagan and left evidence of his relationship with Thraven? He hoped so.
He navigated through the terminal, into Omsala’s personal account. He scanned it quickly, using tools stored on the TCU to send a query, looking for Thraven’s name, for Emily’s name, and for Iti’s name. He didn’t get any hits on the first two. The third turned up a few messages centering around her untimely death, the accident, and Omsala’s assumption of her assignment to find the Fire and Brimstone. It was painful to read, but it also wasn’t anything incriminating.
His eyes passed to Vee again, just to be sure. She was still static, the end of the knife poking out of her eye. It had been a long time since he had used that trick. He was glad he hadn’t lost the muscle memory or his aim.
He was still for a few seconds while he considered the problem. Omsala had claimed the Committee was already compromised, but the Council was still in play. The members of the Council were all elected, and they had three years left on their terms. The only way to replace them would be to kill them, assuming their secondaries were on Thraven’s side. If that happened, he would be able to tear the Republic apart from the inside, reallocating funds, repositioning units, and subtly destroying the Republic’s ability to defend itself. It would take more time to claim victory, but he had a feeling Thraven was patient.
He had to figure out who on the Council was still loyal to the Republic. He might not be able to prove anything, but he had some ideas on how to deduce that information. He resumed his search, using each of the Council member’s names to guide him. Major alterations to Republic policy required three-quarters affirmation. That meant that at a minimum there were eight members of the Council who Thraven hadn’t reached. By checking Omsala’s communications with them in turn, he quickly built the list of suspects.
Eight individuals. He couldn’t protect them all. Not on his own. He had to at least warn them, and get them surrounded with those he could trust. His team at the OSI. He memorized the list and backed out. Then he turned back to Omsala’s corpse. The General had been careful not to speak to Thraven through official channels. That didn’t mean he wasn’t speaking to him. He was sure to have a private, portable communicator somewhere on him.
Olus checked his wrists first. Then his ear. Then his collar. Then the shirt below his jacket and his buttons. There were so many styles of communicators, including implants. He hoped it wasn’t an implant. It would make the search so much messier.
He patted Omsala down, grateful when he found the device tucked into the General’s pocket. It was an older, card-based model.
It was blinking.
Olus didn’t hesitate. He pulled the extender from the base terminal and stuck it to the communicator. He didn’t waste time breaking into it. He only needed to check one thing right now.
It was sending, not receiving.
“Damn it,” Olus said. “We have to do this the hard way, don’t we?”
He shoved the card in his pocket, pulling a different weapon from his pocket. An edged wire. An assassin’s tool. He couldn’t leave the Venerant alive to hunt him.
He approached her, getting behind her and putting the wire over her head. He looked the ends in his palms a couple of times, and then pulled, using the enhanced strength of his suit to help bring the wire into the neck, through the bone, and out the back.
“Not so hard to kill after all,” he said. Only because he had caught her off-guard.
He dropped the bloody wire and then straightened his suit, heading for the door.
It opened ahead of him. The two guards who had been with them before were gone, replaced with a new pair in unmarked black lightsuits.
Inside the fragging Pentagon?
He stepped to the side as the first soldier fired, the bullets whipping past him and shattering Omsala’s desk behind him. He didn’t give the man a chance to recover, kicking the gun with enough force to tear it away from his grip, bringing his other knife to his hand and driving it hard into the soldier’s neck, above the armor of the suit. He gripped the body, turning it in front of him at the same time the second guard started shooting, the bullets tearing into his shield, the range allowing them to go through. He could feel the localized stings as his suit caught the remaining energy and prevented the slugs from reaching his flesh.
He shoved the body forward and into the second guard, who tried to move aside. Olus followed close behind, grabbing the soldier’s hand and pulling it up, kicking him in the gut, turning him and kicking him in the back of the knee, the force breaking his leg. He ripped the rifle from the soldier’s hands, turning it and shooting him once in the back of the head.
He looked down the corridor. The two original guards were on the ground, dead. He glanced up at the cameras positioned there. A small jamming button was attached to them. They were the kind an assassin would use.
An assassin like him.
He wasn’t surprised. He had known this wasn’t going to be pretty. He had to get out and turn off Omsala’s distress beacon. Thraven’s forces could track him until he did.
First, he had to get out of the Pentagon.
He dropped the rifle and tidied himself up again, walking down the corridor as though everything was fine. He reached the intersection and then turned right and headed for the tube. It was coming up as he neared, and he looked through the transparency in time to see a pair of guards rising to meet him. They were each in a Republic MP lightsuit, not blacksuits. He stuck his hands back in his pockets, standing in front of the tube to wait.
It stopped and opened. The guards walked out. Their weapons were holstered.
“Sir,” one of them said, noting the hardware on Olus’ chest. “We got a signal that two of the cameras are offline up here.”
Olus smiled. “I don’t know
. I was just in a meeting. I’m heading down to the cafeteria to grab a bite.”
“Have a good day, sir,” the soldier said.
“You, too,” Olus replied.
He slipped into the tube, counting in his head. He had about forty seconds before the two guards discovered all of the bodies.
What would they think of the soldiers in the black lightsuits? It probably didn’t matter. Thraven’s cronies would make those corpses disappear.
The tube reached the bottom floor. Olus stepped out. He could see right away that the transport he arrived in was gone. He would need to procure his own transportation.
He knew where to find it. He crossed the open space quickly, still counting down. He wasn’t going to make it.
He was on three when the guards at the front of the building stiffened up. A few seconds later, one of them turned around, finding him.
“Sir,” the soldier shouted. “Sir, hold up, please.”
Olus stopped. He didn’t want to kill the soldier, and he didn’t want the soldier killing him.
“Is there a problem, Private?” Olus asked.
“Sir, there’s been an incident on the eighteenth floor. Private Galal said he passed you near the tube there.”
“What kind of incident?” Olus said.
“General Omsala is dead,” the soldier replied, just as a soft tone sounded. “There’s the alert now. We’re putting the building on lockdown.”
“Of course you are,” Olus said. “Sorry about the headache, Private, but I have to go.”
“What?”
The Private didn’t have a chance to react. Olus’ fist caught him in the temple, knocking him to the ground. He reached the door and put his hand on the biometric scanner. Omsala hadn’t revoked his clearance before their conversation. It was a stupid mistake.
“I’m getting too old for this,” he said as he bounced down the stairwell. “Why couldn’t all of this shit happen after I was gone?”
He went down four of the twenty underground levels. It was as far as these stairs would go. The deeper floors were beyond even his clearance level, home to emergency bunkers and backup systems to keep the Republic Armed Services functioning in the event of a catastrophe. Instead, he arrived in an underground garage, one most of the building’s employees didn’t even know existed. It was filled with unmarked cars, each resting on small skids to lift them up for easy entry. He went to the nearest one, putting his hand on the side of it. It read his credentials and unlocked.
