Of course, if Lorre brought back the relics, then all would be forgiven.
The lift corridor ended in a pair of double doors. They hissed open as March and Taren approached, and together they stepped into a large dome, perhaps one hundred meters across, the apex of the dome rising thirty meters over their heads. The dome had a metal framework, with large panels of transparent metal providing a superb view of the surrounding star fields and passing ships.
It looked as if this dome had once been devoted to recreation. The central half of the available floor space was taken up by a small park, though the plants had long ago died. Rusting water pipes and fertilizer lines ran to the park, and a pair of old plastic jungle gyms filled most of the park’s space. Derelict buildings lined the base of the dome.
March looked around but saw no one moving. Did Lorre plan to blow up the dome and dig the relics out of the wreckage?
Then a figure moved in the dead park.
“Captain March, Dr. Taren, welcome!” Lorre’s familiar voice boomed through the dome, coming from a concealed speaker. “We’ve been expecting you for some time. Please, proceed to the park. I’m afraid we have much to discuss.”
March looked at Taren and nodded, and they walked towards the central park, guns ready. A figure in a dark coat stood with his back to them, gazing at the dome. March’s eyes narrowed. That was incredibly stupid of Lorre. Even if he had hidden snipers concealed on the nearby rooftops, a single plasma bolt to the back would end Lorre’s wretched life.
March stopped at the edge of the park, his gun pointed at the man in the dark coat, and Taren followed suit. “That you, Lorre?”
A derisive laugh came from the man. He turned, and March found himself looking at the bearded face of Dr. Patrick Orson.
He was also looking at the heavy black pistol in Orson’s right hand.
“Guess you’re not as smart as Professor Taren thought you were,” said Orson.
“For God’s sake, Patrick,” said Taren. She sounded more exasperated than angry. “Seriously?”
“Don’t condescend to me,” said Orson, his pistol swinging in her direction. “The deal is that I get to kill you when this is all over, and I can take as long as I like.”
March’s mind raced. He was beginning to glimpse Lorre’s plan. He would send out Orson as a stalking horse. And while Orson held their attention, Lorre would line up an attack. Why hadn’t he shot them already?
He looked at Taren, who stood rock-steady with her pistol pointing at Orson’s chest, and then back to Orson.
The only reason Lorre hadn’t killed them already was because he wasn’t entirely certain where the relics were. He probably suspected that Taren had them in her satchel. But if March and Taren had hidden them somewhere, Lorre might not be able to find them before he got chased off the station.
That meant March had to delay until he could figure out where Lorre was hiding.
“I may not be as smart as Professor Taren thinks I am,” said March, “but you’re even dumber than she thought.”
The barrel of Orson’s pistol swung back around to face March. “Oh, really? And just why is that?”
“Because I’m not the one,” said March, “who flew on a lightly armed freighter after betraying it and all my colleagues to the Machinists.”
Orson belted out a laugh. “That so, tough guy? What, you really think I’m that stupid?”
“Yes,” said March and Taren in unison.
Orson sneered. “You know something? You really are as dumb as you look. I didn’t know anything about this. I figured the Graywolves were just pirates who wanted relics. I had no idea at all what was really going on until Mr. Lorre caught me just outside the starliner’s airlock.”
“Then you’re not a Machinist agent?” said March.
“I wasn’t,” said Orson. “I am now, though. You see, Lorre explained what our dear exalted Professor Taren has really been up to for all these years. She’s been an agent of the Silent Order! That explains how she became a full professor, despite the mediocrity of her scholarly work. I always assumed it was because she screwed her way to the top or because her face looks good on camera. Now I know better. The Silent Order has been pulling strings from behind the scenes for her.”
“Really?” said March. “You’re committing treason because you’re still an assistant professor instead of a full professor?”
A flicker of fury went over Orson’s face. “Associate professor. I am an associate professor.”
“Like there’s a difference.”
To be honest, March had no idea what the difference was between an assistant professor and an associate professor. Yet Orson went all but purple behind his beard, the pistol quivering in his grip. Evidently, that was a dire insult among academics.
“Well, Professor Taren. Is this what you do on the side when you’re not sleeping with the deans and the provosts?” said Orson. “Amuse yourself with idiot privateers like this?”
“For God’s sake, Patrick. If you must know,” said Taren, “I’ve slept with exactly one man since my husband died, and not only was that twelve years ago, he didn’t even work at the university.”
“I don’t care about you or your miserable popularizations of history any longer,” said Orson. “We have one more piece of business to conclude. Where are the relics from Xenostas?”
A flicker of motion in one of the windows caught March’s eye.
There – it was on the second floor of a building overlooking the park. All the windows on the second story were open, but every other window March could see was closed. Likely Lorre had opened the windows in advance so they would not interfere with his shot.
“Like I’m going to tell you,” said Taren, as scornfully as if the satchel holding the box was not hanging against her left hip.
“You’re going to tell me,” said Orson. “Let’s see how mouthy you are after I shoot you in both of your knees.”
Taren sighed. “Patrick, if you shoot me, Captain March is going to blow your head off.”
Orson blinked, looked at March, and then blinked again.
Evidently, he had not thought that through.
March realized that Orson had no experience of violence whatsoever. People who had never been in a serious fight tended to think that guns were magic wands that compelled immediate obedience when pointed at someone.
“So, what’s the plan?” said March. “You shoot us, Lorre finds the relics, and he makes you a full professor at the University of Calaskar?” He glanced at Taren but kept his eyes on the building across the park. “Is that how it works? You shoot your immediate superior and take her job?”
“I’ll have to check the faculty bylaws when we get back,” said Taren, “but no.”
Orson sneered. “You still think this is about the University? No, Professor. I’ve always wondered if the Machinists were the next step in human evolution, and now I know they are. Lorre told me what the quantum inducers can do. He also told me what the Firestone can do.”
“And what can it do?” said March.
Orson grinned. “You don’t know, do you? It’s part of the Pulse.”
A chill went through March. He had heard Lorre mention the Pulse before. No one but the Machinists knew what it was, but they believed it was a weapon that would destroy the Kingdom of Calaskar.
“And did Lorre mention what the Pulse will do?” said March.
Orson laughed. “Wouldn’t you like to know? The mighty Silent Order doesn’t know everything. But the Pulse will destroy Calaskar. And when it does, I’m going to be rewarded. I will be one of the architects of victory, and the Final Consciousness will reward me well.”
“I understand,” said March.
“Do you?” said Orson with derision.
“I understand completely,” said March, watching the open window from the corner of his eye. “A smarter and more talented woman was promoted over you, so in vengeance, you’re going to commit treason and help the Machinists work a genocide.
I hope it’s adequate payment for your personal insecurities.”
Orson’s face twisted with fury. “Lorre! Shoot them! I bet she’s got the relics in her satchel!” He glanced towards the open window, and a dark shape moved there. “Shoot…”
March moved.
He surged forward, lashing out with his left hand. Orson started to react, but a life of diligent academic study did not prepare a man for a hand-to-hand fight. March’s left fist, still holding the grenade, slammed into Orson’s gun hand. The blow broke Orson’s fingers, and Orson stumbled back with a scream, his eyes bulging.
The dark shape in the window fired, but March had already shoved Orson back. The plasma bolt that would have killed March instead slammed into Orson’s back. The assistant (or was it associate?) professor screamed once more and collapsed to the floor, smoke rising from his fatal wound.
Before Orson fell, March flung the grenade.
It soared over the park and landed in the open window, just before the dark figure.
“Down!” said March. Taren obeyed, and they threw themselves to the ground just as the grenade exploded. The roar stabbed into March’s ears, and the fireball howled through the second floor of the building.
The explosion also flung a bulky figure from the window to land a dozen meters away.
March surged to his feet, lining up a shot in case the figure had survived the explosion and the fall.
Then he realized that he had made a very serious mistake.
Because the figure lying in the dead park was wearing powered battle armor.
Specifically, the figure was clad in gray Hiroth Foundries Mark VII powered battle armor. That kind of armor was a favorite of mercenaries everywhere, and March had seen it used countless times. The armor had plasma cannons mounted on each forearm, 360-degree sensory capability, and its own low-level radiation shield.
Even without the radiation shield, neither March’s nor Tarren’s plasma pistols could have penetrated the armor alloy used in Hiroth Foundries Mark VII power armor.
And the grenade would only have annoyed the armored man.
“Is that…” said Taren.
“Run!” said March.
He snapped off a shot at the armored figure, as did Taren, but their plasma bolts dissipated into nothingness as they struck the armor’s radiation shield. March and Taren sprinted for an empty store across the park. The armored figure did a pushup and leaped to its feet, both arms coming up.
March and Taren jumped through the door to the empty shop just as the armored form unleashed a volley of high-powered plasma bolts. The volley of fire ripped through the wall, vaporizing plastic and metal both. March squeezed off two shots, but both shots deflected from the armor’s radiation shield.
The armored figure strode forward a few steps and stopped.
“You’ve been a great annoyance to me, Captain March,” boomed Lorre’s voice from the suit’s speakers, “but I’ve learned from our last encounters. You won’t be able to punch your way out of this one.”
“Come closer and say that!” said March.
“Or I could just shoot you,” said Lorre, raising his arms.
“Down!” said March, and Taren ducked as Lorre threw another howling volley of high-powered plasma bolts through the walls. The store heaved and shuddered as the plasma fire tore through the support beams. Too much more, and the volleys of high-energy fire would collapse the building.
“If you bury us in here,” shouted March, “you’re going to have to dig us out.”
“I wouldn’t mind that,” said Lorre. “I would look forward to seeing your crushed corpses, I admit. Of course, if you come out and surrender the relics, I might let you live.”
“Do you really expect us to believe that?” said Taren.
“Of course not, Adelaide,” said Lorre. “I’ve been very much looking forward to this. I killed your husband and your child and all your friends, but you got away. My very first blow for the cause of the Revolution of the Final Consciousness and your survival marred my triumph. It’s only appropriate I get to fix that mistake these years later. You should have died in flames…”
Lorre kept talking. It was out of character, but perhaps the sight of Adelaide Taren and the reminder of his younger days had made him nostalgic.
But his words echoed in March’s head.
Died in flames…
“Keep him talking,” he whispered, and he yanked the case of relics from Taren’s satchel.
Taren blinked at him, shrugged, and started shouting.
“You murdered my husband for nothing!” said Taren.
March opened the case, pushed aside the quantum inducers, and pulled away the wrapping around the Firestone. Taren’s eyes went wide as the red crystal began to glow.
“He died to prepare the way for the Final Consciousness!” said Lorre. “We are soldiers in a war for the future of humanity, and he was on the wrong side!”
Lorre sent another volley of plasma bolts into the walls. The building shuddered and creaked, and one of the ceiling panels splintered and fell to the floor. Lorre must have decided that the safest thing to do was to bury them alive in the building’s wreckage.
But the noise and fury of Lorre’s attack gave March the distraction he needed.
He pressed the muzzle of his pistol against the Firestone and squeezed the trigger five times.
The plasma bolts burst from the weapon. They should have torn through the crystal and carved a crater into the floor, but instead, the Firestone drank the plasma like a sponge soaking up water.
The crystal’s glow grew harsher, and it began to radiate heat.
Taren’s eyes got wider.
March slapped the case shut and stood up.
“Fine!” said March. “Fine! You win, Lorre! We surrender! We surrender!”
The metal case grew warm against his cybernetic hand.
There was a long pause.
“What?” said Lorre.
“You want the relics?” said March. “Have them! You can take the relics. Just let Dr. Taren go.”
He dropped the case to the floor and kicked it. It slid across the floor, out the door, and came to a stop a few meters from Lorre’s armored feet.
“Indeed?” said Lorre. He stooped and picked up the case, flipping it open. “And no doubt this contains a few grenades or an improvised explosive or…”
His voice trailed off.
“Or twenty quantum inducers,” said March, “and one of the components you need to build the Pulse.”
Silence answered him.
March risked a glance around. Lorre’s attacks had badly damaged the building. Yet there was a thick counter halfway across the room, no doubt once the home of the store’s cash register and sales clerk. March pointed at the counter, and Taren nodded and ducked behind the counter. March followed suit a moment later, putting himself between her and Lorre.
“I am surprised,” said Lorre. He sounded confused, even baffled. “You just gave away your only bargaining chip. Did you really think I would let either of you go? After all the trouble you’ve caused me?” He laughed, long and loud. “So, a woman finally got under Jack March’s skin. Fitting. You can burn together when…”
Right about then, the Firestone released its stored energy.
Five minutes and thirty-two seconds of normal sunlight had given the Firestone the energy to explode with the force of a few blasting caps. A man in Hiroth Foundries Mark VII battle armor wouldn’t even notice a blasting cap.
The energy of five plasma bolts created a rather larger explosion.
The world heaved and shuddered beneath March.
Fire exploded through the shop, washing against the walls and the ceiling, and the temperature spiked around him. He heard the dull roar as the building started to collapse, and he heard Taren screaming.
The noise subsided, and the flames winked out. The building had been constructed of fireproof materials, but its structural integrity had taken a battering.
&
nbsp; “Let’s go!” said March as a crack appeared in the ceiling, and then a second and a third. He pulled Taren to her feet, and they ran from the building and out the door just as the building collapsed behind them, throwing up a cloud of dust and smoke.
Flames danced throughout the dead park, burning out from lack of fuel. March spotted Orson’s corpse first, or what was left of it. The blast had reduced him to twisted char.
What was left of Simon Lorre lay sprawled on the ground a few meters away.
The Firestone had detonated with enough force to rip open his armor like a can of soup. His head was gone, and most of his chest and what little flesh that March could see had been reduced to ashes.
The Firestone lay between the smoking boots of Lorre’s armor, untouched by the explosion. It was already starting to glow again. March yanked off his tattered jacket, strode forward, and wrapped it around Firestone.
“God,” said Taren, gazing at the corpses. “I suppose I finally avenged my husband.”
“Yeah,” said March.
She shook her head, blinking in the smoke. Or maybe she was crying. “I knew Orson hated me, but I didn’t think he hated me that much.”
“Lorre was like the devil,” said March. “He offered Orson what he wanted most in the world. I’ve seen him do it before. The last time I was here, he convinced a man to use a Wraith device on his own sister.”
March looked at the charred remains of the Machinist agent and felt a cold, hard satisfaction. There were oceans of blood on Simon Lorre’s hands, and Patrick Orson and the Graywolves he had sacrificed were just the latest in a long, long line of men and women Lorre had duped and used in pursuit of the greater glory of the Revolution of the Final Consciousness.
But today his many victims had been avenged.
“What do we do now?” said Taren. She sounded bone weary. The aftereffects of so much adrenaline in such a short time had to be hitting her.
“We wait for Bishop,” said March, “and then we take you home.”
Silent Order_Fire Hand Page 17
