“I had to take it out."
"Shit!“
"Are more coming?“ He frantically refastened one the panel’s first corner. The bots were likely to pick up on anything that appeared out of place, even a single bolt.
“I can’t see anything,” Zora said. “One second.”
A moment’s silence passed as he fumbled with another bolt.
“Are you ready, Clio?”
“Ready and waiting.”
“A swarm of five is heading your way,” Zora said, clearly trying to remain calm. “They‘ll be there in a minute or two. You have to get out of there.”
He fumbled with the last bolt driver and almost dropped it. "Shit! Almost there."
"Now, Taza. Get out!“
He fastened the final bolt and opened the channel to his exogear. “Now, Clio!”
The data package transferred slower than he would have liked and he cursed the need to upload it manually, but the Sentinel updated its codes every few seconds.
Engines roared above, and light glistened just as the package complete.
Taza quickly slid into the maintenance access tunnel on his back. He shimmied until the rest of his body was inside, and as his head went through, light filled the primary shaft. He pushed on, hoping the jammer was enough to stop them from coming after him.
“Taza, are you there?“ Kora made no effort to conceal her panic.
He cleared his throat. "I'm here. All good.“
“That was close!” Clio said.
“Damn, you had us scared there for a minute,” Zora added.
“You were scared? You should try shimmying through a maintenance access tube with shift running down your leg.”
“Hurry back,” Zora pleaded.
"Going as fast as I can, trust me,“ he said, progressing mere inches at a time.
He tilted his head back to see lights still moving about the tunnel opening several yards away.
Only another mile to go.
THE FORMER ADMIRAL
Grimshaw reclined in the soft armchair so comfortable he was ill at ease. Having spent most of his life in the Confederation, he wasn’t accustomed to such lavish surroundings, but former-admiral Rickard Foster’s home was, by every stretch, a small palace.
Before Grimshaw, Mr. Foster’s shaking hand hovered above the chess board resting on the elegant coffee table as he carefully considered his next move.
According to public records, the former-admiral was well into his sixties but looked twenty years older on account of a tropical disease he had contracted on Simoray during the Kragak War. Like Grimshaw, he’d seen his share of action on the front lines. He still sported a full head of snow-white hair, and a finely manicured beard adorned his mandible, softening a face creased by decades of hard service to the Confederation Fleet. His frame may have grown weak with age, but an almost-palpable power emanated from his eyes.
Former-admiral Foster committed to his decision and moved his black bishop diagonally across several squares, making the mistake Grimshaw had hoped he would make.
“Check,” the old man said.
“What do you mean check?” Grimshaw sat forward suddenly and scanned the board, trying to work out what was going on.
“Distracting your opponent until you have him cornered is an effective strategy, don’t you think, Captain?”
The Former-admiral was right. Grimshaw was clearly no master of the game, but even he could see that every possible move would eventually lead to his queen falling to the older man.
“You’ve bested me again, sir.”
“My body might be failing me, Captain, but a man’s true strength resides here,” he said, tapping his temple. “All you have to do is watch most politicians coming and going at Sentinel Square. Many are barely fit enough to walk, yet they obtain power because they keep their most important muscle in tip-top condition.”
“I should probably practice more,” Grimshaw said, sighing.
“You certainly should, Captain,” the former admiral flashed his blinding white teeth. “It teaches one how to solve problems and, if everything living thing in the universe has one thing in common, it’s solving problems. Life is one long string of them, after all.”
“That’s one way of looking at it,” Grimshaw said, taking in the luxuries around the room.
“It’s the only way of looking at it,” the old man gestured to a nearby window. “Out there, the less fortunate toil. They seek solutions to the problem of survival daily. They aren’t too shy about protesting about it either. They imagine that the rich have no problems but, I can assure you, we have them in spades.”
“I don’t doubt that at all, sir,” Grimshaw assured him.
“I’ll give you an example. My family is frustrated with my refusal to join the tal’ri replicant program. As a younger man, I was always fascinated by the idea of living forever, but now I understand that the purpose of living is to die.”
Grimshaw nodded, not knowing how to respond to such an outrageous claim.
“The Replicants believe they have mastered eternal life, but all they offer is the illusion of eternity. Unfortunately, the rest of my family don’t see it that way. Did I tell you that I had to invest in a special legal seal to ensure none of them can access my body when I’m gone? I have to pay someone to make sure I stay dead when I die. How absurd is that for a problem?”
“It’s unusual, for sure, sir.”
“People fight to stay alive until the very day they die,” the old man cackled. “And here I sit, fighting for the right to die on my own terms.”
“Do you fear death, sir?”
The former admiral laughed. “A man my age—in my condition—long for death’s sweet embrace.” He erupted into laughed again, and Grimshaw feared the old man might rupture something. Eventually, he regained control of himself. “Since we’re onto serious matters, may I speak plainly, Captain?”
“Of course, sir.” Grimshaw tried not show that he was taken aback. The former admiral had never been so forthright on any of his other visits.
The old man drew a deep breath and exhaled as he rested his chin in his right hand. “I’ve grown fond of you over the months, but don’t think that I do not know why you are here.”
“I don’t understand, sir.”
“Let’s be gentlemen about it, Captain. Once upon a time, I sat in your very position. It’s uncannily like reflecting on my younger years. Friends don’t hide their true intentions from each other. Let’s put our cards upon the table.”
“Originally, my sole intention was to curry favor with you to gain leverage over your son.”
“That’s more like it,” the old man said with the gleam of victory in his eyes.
“Although, that hasn’t changed,” Grimshaw said, fearing he’d been too direct, “I must admit, I’ve come to enjoy our sessions.”
He cupped his chin in his hand again. “In exchange for your honesty, I’ll tell you something, Captain. Petter is a young man, and such youth carries with it a measure of ambition.” He stared into nothingness as he thought about his words. “And Petter has always been among the most ambitious.”
“He’s as at least as old as I,” Grimshaw said. “Hardly what anyone would call young.”
“He is young for a Galactic Council minister, especially since we don’t live half as long as some of the other races. Petter’s predecessor, Minister Jackson, was sixty-seven when he joined the Council, may the universe watch over him.” His eyes burrowed into Grimshaw’s. “What are you hoping Petter will do, Captain?”
“I want him to grant us access to the North Star.”
“Ah, the ship you love so much.”
Grimshaw was about to object, but the old man had proven himself one not so easily fooled. “The very one.”
“I fear that as much as I would like to help make that happen, I cannot.”
“You don’t think it could help our mission?”
“On the contrary, I agree that it would help a grea
t deal,” the old man sighed and looked down at the chess board. “Things have gotten complicated lately. I rarely see Petter these days. His duties keep him distracted. And I’m afraid the last time we spoke, we had something of a disagreement, and not a minor one either.”
“Is it something I can help with?” Grimshaw offered.
“I’m afraid not, Captain.” The old man looked up from the chess board again. “I can’t be sure, but I suspect the sudden sense of power has gone to Petter’s head and corrupted his heart. It was all he could talk about last time he was here. He seemed like an entirely different person. I fear this thirst for power has changed him, and like all who have followed the path before him, he’ll seek more.”
Grimshaw set upright. “He’s already one of the most powerful men in the galaxy. Why would he want more?”
“Ha!” the old man chuckled. “I gave up on figuring that puzzle out a long time ago.”
Grimshaw thought carefully before asking his next question. “Do you think he’s dangerous?"
“I think Petter is more than dangerous.” The former admiral tugged on the end of his beard. “That is the real reason I cannot speak to him on your behalf. You’d be wise to drop the subject of this North Star, and hop on the next ship back to human space.”
“You know I can’t do that. I’ve got a mission here, promises to uphold.”
“That’s what I figured you’d say. You know you’ll become just another obstacle for him to overcome?”
Grimshaw kept his eyes fixed on the old man’s and nodded.
“When it comes to chess, I’m a lousy apprentice compared to my son. I’ll never forget the look of determination in his eyes the first time he beat me,” Former-admiral Foster gazed into nothing as he relived the memory. “He was nine years old at the time.”
“It sounds like the odds are stacked against me.” Grimshaw rubbed tiredness out of his eyes.
The old man scratched a bushy white eyebrow. “Likely more than either of us realize.”
“I’ll have to take my chances, sir,” Grimshaw said.
“If you insist on continuing down this path, Captain, understand that if you don’t defeat Petter, he will without a doubt beat you.” He flicked the white queen piece with a wrinkled finger, and she struck the wooden board. “There exist only two outcomes. It’s that simple.”
“Any tips on how to defeat him?”
“You already know the answer to that question, my friend,” he laughed, playfulness returning to his expression. “Practice.”
Grimshaw turned as footsteps sounded from behind.
“Is Mr. Foster still burning you ear, Captain?” Bernice pursed her lips and shook her head. “You know one of these days you’re going to talk your guests to death, Mr. Foster.”
“Former-admiral Foster has been schooling me in battle tactics and strategies, as usual. But you know how I love to talk shop.” Grimshaw winked at the old man.
“Well enough schooling and talking, or whatever it is you boys do,” Bernice demanded. “It’s time for Mr. Foster’s medication.”
“I already had my medication today.”
“Don’t you start. The doctor increased your dose, and they won’t work how they're supposed to if you don’t take them on time,” she tapped her exogear to make the point.
“Fine, you win,”
“I always win,” she countered as she helped him cross the room.
“There’s another lesson for you, Captain.” The old man groaned as Grimshaw helped him out of his chair and handed him his walking stick. “Chose your battles wisely. And never pick a fight with a woman. They always win.”
They climbed the ramp to the primary hallways, and Grimshaw made for the exit.
“You’re okay to let yourself out this time, Captain?” Bernice nodded to the door.
“Of course.” He bowed his head and bid them farewell. “Thank you again for your time Former-admiral. As always, I enjoyed our chat.”
“Always my pleasure, Captain” The old man waved his walking cane, and Grimshaw thought he was going to tumble over, but Bernice maintained a tight grip on his other elbow.
Grimshaw reached for the exit’s control panel when someone outside knocked.
He looked back to the former admiral. “Are you expecting someone, sir?”
“Must be those cookie kids. My guards know to let them pass when they come by.” The old man mockingly lifted his hand to the side of his mouth as though it would hide words from Bernice. “I do love my cookies, but this one won‘t let me have them.”
“They‘re bad for you,” she said, rolling her eyes.
The knock came again, only louder.
Grimshaw slid his blaster from his hip holster. “You two should make your way to one of the rooms. To be on the safe side.”
Bernice was about to object when something slammed into the old door, rocking its hinges.
“Go now,” Grimshaw shouted, “And lock the door.” His suit’s defenses activated and a nano-particle helmet spread across his face. He checked his scanners, but whoever was attacking had them jammed.
The door banged again and folded inward.
“Whoever you are, stand down!” His hairs stood on end as his shield activated. Straiya had given him the advanced Aegis suit a few months before, but he had hardly worn it and only had it on then to grow accustomed to it before the ceremony.
Grimshaw backed further into the foyer and activated his ghost-drive. He rounded a carved pillar, keeping his blaster pointed at the door.
The panel exploded off its hinges and landed in the hallways, but no one was there.
Shit. I should have stayed with Foster.
Grimshaw turned after them, and something smashed into his face.
An almost-invisible figure straddled Grimshaw as he lay exposed on the floor, pounding down on him with massive fists. His kinetic shield deflected the worst of the blows, but the levels in his visor dropped quickly. He activated his suit’s close quarter control measure. A bright blast erupted upward, slamming his attacker into the wall and scattering bits of broken plaster everywhere. Grimshaw scrambled to his feet and found that his CQCM had damaged the invader’s stealth drive, exposing a black non-descriptive suit: a hired killer.
Grimshaw aimed and emptied half a clip in the towering assassin. The shots barely affected the bulky warrior as he tumbled sideways and came up on his feet, returning fire with a phase blaster attached to his arm. Grimshaw ducked as the energy tore hole along the hallways walls. Several rounds struck his shield, reducing levels to single digits.
He knows my shield configuration. Was Foster the target or am I?
Either way, someone didn’t like him talking to the former admiral, or perhaps there was something else to it. He made plenty of enemies by the mere act of arriving on the North Star.
The assassin’s smoking weapon ejected from his arms, replaced by a white powerblade.
Could Chimera have Aegi-level tech?
The dark figure became a blur as he charged Grimshaw. The power blade swept faster than Grimshaw could track and it sliced through his waist, melting through a primary torso-servo on contact. Unable to turn, Grimshaw dropped to his knees.
The assassin continued passed him in the direction of Former-admiral Foster’s chambers.
That answers one of my questions.
Thinking quickly, Grimshaw assigned all available power to his lower legs. His feet kicked out and launched him at the assassins back, knife in hand. He stabbed at the attacker’s shoulder blade, cracking his armor.
They rolled onto the ground and wrestled in a flurry of arms and legs. The assassin used his height-advantage and significant strength difference to pin Grimshaw down with one arm and thrust his white-hot blade with the other. Grimshaw moved at the last second, and the searing sword plunged through his armor and burned into his shoulder. He tried to let out a scream, but his voice refused to work.
He punched at the assassin with his free hand to little effect.
He cursed Straiya for not provided an angel-class unit.
Damn her politics. Damn the Council. Damn everything.
The powerblade came down again. Grimshaw deflected it with the exo-tool, spending the remainder of his energy. It tore through the alloy device with ease, narrowly missing Grimshaw’s skin.
The assassin readied for a final strike to Grimshaw’s face, and Grimshaw lay helpless, teeth gritted in agony. It wasn’t the end he had envisioned for himself.
A gunshot exploded from above, and the assassin rolled off him, holding the shoulder Grimshaw had damaged. It was hard to tell with the warning lights flashing in his visor, but Grimshaw thought he saw blood gushing from the wound.
Several more blasts fired, and the assassin struck the marble floor, body splayed.
Grimshaw looked up to find Bernice supporting a shotgun-wielding Foster senior.
The old man looked down and winked at Grimshaw. “My old Battleram-32. Bernice is forever torturing me about getting rid of it. Glad I kept her around.”
“Thanks,” Grimshaw choked.
He half-dragged himself to the assassin’s body, Bernice and Foster standing by his shoulder, shotgun trained.
Grimshaw found the helmet clips under the assassin’s chin and removed the face-plate. A dark folded fabric obscured the assassin’s features. Grimshaw lifted a fold away with the tip of a finger.
The assassin shifted and sprang to his feet faster than Grimshaw thought possible.
Foster fired a slug, sending up chunks of marble where the killer had been a nano-second before.
The invader balled past Grimshaw, knocking him back onto his back.
Another shotgun blast struck true, bouncing the black suit off the far wall.
The assassin used the momentum to launch for the footway.
Another shot rang out, but he was gone.
Grimshaw pulled himself up onto one leg and hopped to the doorway, the others following. Dead guards littered the rolling green gardens. A standard station shuttle took off and shot for the traffic across the river.
Bernice stifled a cry at the sight of the bloody slaughter outside. She fumbled with her exogear.
“No point in calling it in,” Grimshaw’s voice croaked. His suit’s natural response system had injected pain medication, but it barely took the edge off. “The shuttle's unmarked. They’ll never find it. Call for a mediteam instead. Perhaps some of the guards are still alive.”
Enter The Shroud: Galactic Sentinel Book Two Page 5
