by Scott Rhine
Max whistled. “Not a bad income.”
“Hate never pays long-term dividends. Eventually, a drunkard pulled a knife, and my brother chewed off his hand in self-defense. The videos bore him out, but the crowd lynched him anyway.” Girnath remained silent out of respect for a moment. “After that incident, the city elders in their wisdom made any profiting from hate illegal.”
“He’s right,” Blythe said. “Hate is your enemy, not the Phibs that still linger. Learn to embrace every soul, or the hate will become the monster that devours you.”
The guide bowed toward the gentle ewe. “Listen to your mate. Learning in the face of pain is the greatest strength.”
Reuben stared into Blythe’s eyes. In that moment, he decided he could love her as fully as his father had loved his mother. If he chose her, she would keep him afloat in the sea of chaos. “So let it be.” He pulled a large Blue Giant Fuel coin from his pouch, worth 128 credits, and placed the tip into the damp palm of the amphibian.
Girnath’s eyes retracted slightly in disbelief, the opposite of a Human bulge. “I cannot accept this.”
“You’d prefer the hug?”
The guide pocketed the coin. “You are a gentleman and a scholar.”
As an empath, Blythe sensed Reuben’s shift in attitude toward her and clung to his side. He didn’t mind.
Max was already kneeling in the pew of the chapel before a picture of a young Gina that looked eerily like the Magi on their ship. A portion of a handwritten letter hung below. “Tell everyone what happened to your daughter. Never let this happen again.”
“That’s your handwriting,” Roz said.
Her husband didn’t respond.
A sixtyish man in a suit approached. “Sir, would you care to come into my office? You’re creating a bit of congestion.”
“I was praying for forgiveness,” Max said.
“I’m Gina’s brother Francis, Mr. Culp.”
Max asked, “Did that cab driver tell you who I was?”
“We knew all along, sir, and we honored your need for anonymity.” Francis led Max down a hall paneled with dark, polished wood. “I think I speak for the whole family in assuring you that Gina bore you no ill will.”
“How can you know?” Max asked, voice hoarse with emotion.
“Her husband’s confession. She woke while he was administering the fatal dose. She loved him so much that she accepted it rather than live in a world where her trust was betrayed. Her last words were, ‘If this will make you happy.’ He hung himself during the trial.” Francis whispered in his ear, “If she can forgive that monster, you’re absolved.”
The Goats waited in the lobby while Roz helped Max recover from the experience. Perhaps he could finally release Echo from Gina’s form.
As they waited, Daisy returned and took Reuben aside. “Hey. The two of us and the Ellisons are clear. The Yellow Slash guards are eager to give Max the royal tour, but both ewes can’t get on the premises. Protocol only allows you one consort for the visit. You have to pick.”
“I promised I’d treat them both equally,” Reuben replied. “MI-23 should vouch for Fiona.”
“Why? She’s not one of their agents, just an employee who slept with the ambassador to go on exotic trips.”
Reuben felt cold. He had been so concerned with dodging MI-23, he had never confirmed her status with the one organization dedicated to protecting him. Who was she an agent for? “I need to get back to my yacht.” To look up the Fidelos family in my files.
“What’s the hurry?”
“Um … too much walking has aggravated my knee, and I want to sit.”
Daisy raised an eyebrow in doubt, so he tried another tactic. “I implied to Miss Gentle that I had no money left outside the charity. The media is starting to gather outside, and they investigate thoroughly. I don’t want to look like a liar in front of the future mother of my children. I’ll donate everything I have left this afternoon to the Bat charity using the Black Ram’s ansible. We’ll post a news release. If we’re lucky, donations will snowball like they did at Babel, which will give us the credibility we need at Giragog.”
“Understood.” Daisy smiled. “Ivy would approve—of both the donation and the ewe.”
Chapter 25 – Firefight
At the spaceport, Blythe gave the Goat driver a peck on the cheek as thanks. “Troy, tell your mother we all loved her coconut banana bread.” She knew everybody’s name, and somehow they were all her friends.
The driver blushed. “I baked it.”
“You’ll have to send me the recipe.” Blythe strode toward the modern terminal.
Reuben stepped from the taxi, leaning heavily on his staff and Fiona. After the van departed for the community center, he whistled and gestured toward the wooden contractor gate. “This is faster.”
“But it’s locked,” Fiona objected.
He gave his best bad-boy smile to the media drone and pulled out his lock picks. “Not for me, it isn’t.”
As Blythe followed, she prattled on about ideas for a fund raiser for the Bat child-prisoner charity. “We could rent an ice cream truck and take it to the beach. Anyone who donated five credits or more would get a free cone. How does that sound?”
“Delicious. Unfortunately, at a profit of two credits a cone and two cones a minute, we’d only make 240 credits an hour, which might cover the expense of the truck rental.” Once Reuben hobbled the short distance to the gate, he noted that the gate had been left completely unlocked. Having learned from Max’s tutoring that something that seems too good to be true usually is, Reuben peeked through a slat in the fence. “There’s a Saurian standing outside the private shuttle concourse.” As the guard paced, he passed out of sight behind a luggage tram parked facing the door.
To pick up on his whisper, the ball-shaped robot hovered closer to his head. He aimed the camera through the crack to avoid documenting any illegal activities.
“What clan?” asked Fiona.
“Can’t tell from here.” He checked the position of the spaceport security cameras and ducked behind a trash can, one of many lining the taxi lane. “Hide behind the posters in the bus stop.” He started a full-scale hack via his wrist computer, hoping the backdoor access codes still worked.
“Why?” Blythe asked.
Fiona pulled her the eight meters to safety.
Blythe pointed to the paper-thin screen on the wall of the bus stop. “Mr. Max and his wife are on the news feed.”
Reuben infiltrated the spaceport security cameras as easily as putting on his gloves. Tampering with the ones inside would raise alarms, but he turned the ones outside away from his position. Then he searched the array. “I count at least six in the Saurian team. They usually act in groups of eight, so that means two more are probably sneaking around. Bingo. I see one on the roof of the terminal, behind that air-conditioning ductwork.” He crab-walked to the bus stop and pointed to the sniper’s hiding spot. “If I were running this op, the last one would be near our yacht’s airlock.” By design, no cameras covered the area where his shuttle was parked.
He projected the Saurian images from his wrist computer onto the wall of the shelter. Luggage and people still circulated. “On the plus side, they haven’t taken control of port security. This is still covert. They shouldn’t recognize either of you. Using Blythe’s mental awareness to spot the enemy and my neural staff, we could take three of the Saurians.”
Fiona crept up to the crack in the fence for her own peek.
“I’m guessing their plan is to kidnap us and employ the yacht to sneak their troops onto the Magi ship,” Reuben said. “Stealth minimizes damage to the ship they want to steal. Fifi, what weapons did you bring with you?”
“Just a sonic grenade, but that should be enough to reach the shuttle. I’ll fetch the big guns. You stay safe.” Before anyone could object, Fiona darted though the gap and onto the runway. She ducked behind a stack of crates at her first opportunity in order to hide her approach from the sniper
and the guard at the exit.
Can I trust her, or is she helping the enemy? “It would help if I know how the Blue Claws tracked us. They can’t have traced us through the news story yet.”
“Don’t be angry,” Blythe said, looking at the sidewalk. “I told the baggage boy who you were. I had to. He called you a criminal.”
Reuben wanted to curse, but it would do no good. The act would only hurt Blythe’s feelings and panic her further. “I’m sure the Bankers spotted us when you ladies made withdrawals.” Could Fiona have betrayed him back then? Hell hath no fury and all that. Of course, Blythe could have dropped clues without realizing it. “Don’t worry. It happens.”
When he tried to link to Max, the call was blocked with a blanket Do Not Disturb. He doesn’t want to be interrupted while he’s working things out with Gina’s family, Echo, and Roz. The media had probably spammed his mentor’s message box already.
Reuben didn’t need Max to solve all his problems. Wasn’t he an adult as well as a budding world leader? What would a responsible adult do? At a loss, he called the local police department.
A serious Human in a short-sleeved uniform appeared on screen. “State the nature of your emergency.”
“Yes. I’m Reuben, the Black Ram-elect. Saurian miners are lurking to assassinate me at the port.”
“This is an official channel. Quit pranking us. Draven is gone.”
“I didn’t say I was Draven. I said I was the Black Ram-elect.”
The officer scowled. “We have no record of any dignitaries by that title.”
“That’s because I didn’t check in with the embassy yet.”
“Can you show me any evidence of illegal activity?”
“Not yet.”
“Get off this line, or I’ll send an officer to arrest you.”
Reuben wanted to slam the comm against the ground. “That’s what I’m asking for, you moron!”
“I’m calling spaceport security to detain you.” The link terminated.
Next, Reuben linked to Kesh in orbit. “Get Solemnity away from the dock. Saurians are about to swarm your ass.”
“We can’t,” Kesh replied over the comm. “Nobody here is a pilot.”
“Then barricade the front door. Use the mining explosives and leftover radioactives to rig a kill zone.”
The Saurian accountant cleared his throat. “Isn’t that against Union law?”
“If armed men set foot in our ship, they’re pirates. You’re allowed to defend yourselves by any means necessary against a superior force.”
“How superior?”
Reuben did the math, based on normal crew sizes and the number at the port. “Expect twenty-four or so.”
Kesh cursed. “I don’t know explosives.”
A sonic grenade went off somewhere on the other side of the fence to Reuben’s right. “Call Daisy,” he said, terminating the link.
The guard from the terminal exit trundled toward the yacht to investigate.
“Stay,” Reuben hissed at Blythe. Then he darted through the wooden gate, hiding behind the crates the way Fifi had. Crouching on the far side of the row, he waited until he could hear the Saurian huffing before he turned his staff on. Batter up.
The moment the gray hide appeared, Reuben swung for the guard’s gut. Once the Saurian was dazed, Reuben knocked him cold with a blow to the brain stem. Before he could congratulate himself, he spotted the laser sight skimming the crate beside him. He dove for cover just as the crate exploded. Fragments showered his back, but his fancy suit material kept the shards from penetrating.
“No!” Blythe screamed, running onto the runway.
“Get down!”
Thugs poured out of the terminal. Reuben grabbed the downed guard’s gun and fired blindly to keep them bottled up. The pistol made a gratifyingly loud noise, causing a three-meter window to shatter. One Saurian dove toward a lamppost, and the other five crouched behind the more substantial luggage cart.
Reuben stalled, waiting for Fiona to return with heavy weapons. “Blue Claw clansmen, you’ve attacked a diplomatic mission. Disengage or this will be considered an act of war.”
Mr. Lamppost, the foremost of the thugs, replied. “You are pirates. We will be rewarded for your capture.”
Reuben pretended offense to stall. “That’s an outrage. We paid your interest on time and have the bank receipts to back it.”
“This is no longer about the loan. Once we’ve taken your shuttle, we’ll search your records to prove the Black Ram’s history of complicity with criminals.”
“I insist on Union rules of non-lethal weapons until the trial,” Reuben bellowed.
“Bats have already convicted you as murderers in your absence. We owe you no mercy. Surrender and we will let your women live.”
In answer, something resembling an anti-tank rocket whooshed from the airlock of the Black Ram’s yacht and exploded the roof sniper’s hiding place. His unconscious body plummeted from the smoking corner of the building.
Reuben whooped. “You surrender, and my women will let you live.”
Shots peppered his crates, forcing him flat onto the asphalt.
Over the comm, Reuben said, “Fifi, get the cluster of five behind the luggage carrier.”
A burst of static led her reply. “Two shots left. Can’t aim over the other ship in the way, but I can cover you if you run for our airlock.”
Run? His knee hurt like hell. He eyed the thirteen meters to safety. He might make it, but Blythe never would. Too bad I can’t shoot money at them.
Beside the shuttle, the guard Fiona had stunned sat up, weaving unsteadily. In an amateur move, she had left him unrestrained with full access to his own pistol.
Instinctively, Reuben shot from the hip with the gun he had confiscated. He only grazed the Saurian, but the shock should keep him out of the combat for the next few minutes. “Fifi, always tie your trash shut at the curb.”
She responded by firing the launcher at the threat from almost point-blank. “I prefer the incinerator rather than waiting for a truck.”
I could call my own trash truck. Reuben used his wrist computer to tap into the employee comm system. “This is the Black Ram-elect speaking. Assassins have me pinned on the runway. I offer a million credits to the first brave soul to plow a vehicle into the Saurians shooting at me.”
A chorus of voices accepted.
When he saw the fire truck barreling toward the enemy, he linked to Blythe’s comm. “As soon as they start shooting, run toward me. Use the crates as cover.”
The first volley of shots sparked off the grill of the fire truck, halting its forward progress. Steam billowed from the hood.
He shouted into his comm, “Blythe, where the blazes are you?”
A mobile staircase approached from behind the enemy position. Too slow. He needed to buy the vehicle and his consort about fifteen seconds with a distraction. The force field would last a full minute, enough to charge in and run with her back to the yacht.
“Run like hell on my mark,” Reuben said into the comm. He held the media ball at chest level and activated the shield. “Free mimics!” he shouted over the buzz of the device as he charged over the open field.
His battle cry puzzled his opponents for a moment. Instead of the message of liberation he intended, the berserker cry translated more like an advertisement for complimentary meal mammals. This enabled him to score a pistol shot on the lamppost before the Blue Claws could react.
The pole vibrated enough to shake loose the light’s glass cover. The cover shattered on the concealed Saurian, and he shrieked. The glass shards lodged in his sensitive neck frills, which had been extended in the attack posture.
Then blasts rained on Reuben in earnest. The first two merely slowed him, but within three meters of the lamppost, some sort of cannon knocked him on his butt. Everyone stared at the bubbling patch of asphalt in front of him.
The media ball made an off-balanced whining sound like a vacuum cleaner trying to eat
a bag of rubber bands. Shield, don’t fail me now.
Seeing Reuben prone, the unarmed Blythe charged Mr. Lamppost. Her right arm was clamped over an injury to her stomach, and she limped badly. In Goat, she shouted, “You will not take our hope!”
The enraged Saurian unloaded his clip in her direction as the moving staircase plowed into his companions. Luggage flew everywhere.
Reuben’s media ball bounced a suitcase away and then fell silent.
Before the lone remaining Saurian could react, Reuben shot him with the borrowed pistol. Without the loud hum of his shield, Reuben could hear police sirens in the distance. He dropped the pistol next to a Saurian arm that the staircase had separated from its owner, making a case for accidental discharge at the moment of impact.
“Blythe, let’s get out of here so we don’t have to explain to—” The gentle ewe was a bloody smear on the runway.
Rage took over and Reuben blacked out for a while, with no clear memory of what happened. When he came to himself, the firemen had him pinned to the tarmac while the long-haired Goat luggage handler with the nametag Shag pried the red-stained staff from Reuben’s hands. The battery charge had to be expended before that could happen. How many dozens of times had he hit Mr. Lamppost? “Mr. Shag, thank you. You’ve earned your million credits.” His voice cracked from abuse. “You can let me up now.”
Fiona knelt beside a lumpy sheet, answering questions from a paramedic.
From his position on the ground, Reuben called out to the ambulance personnel. “Where’s Blythe? Why aren’t you helping her?”
The luggage handler replied in a deceptively youthful tenor, “If it’s any consolation, sir, none of the assassins survived either.”
“She wasn’t armed! Why?”
The paramedic filled a syringe and approached Reuben from the side as Shag explained, “The police will see her heroism on our dashboard cameras. Even wounded the way she was, she threw herself between you and the last blaster. Her duty was to protect the next Black Ram.”
