by Andria Stone
“Because Axel’s… bigger.”
Axel tossed his coat on a chair in the lab. His boots came off next. “How did the halo interrogation go?”
“Petra’s an artist. She got every piece of intel the guy had. It’s queued up for you in the conference room. I recorded her while she worked, just to be safe.”
Axel dropped his shirt on the chair and unstrapped his vest, revealing several nasty bruises gained during the cyborg altercation. “Where’s Kamryn?”
“She taped her arm, self-medicated again, and passed out. Kamryn was dehydrated, so you all need to be scanned, especially Mark.” Ohashi pointed him to the medpod. “She said a cyborg clobbered you.” With a soft touch, she pushed the hair back from Mark’s forehead. “Eeew.” She made a face. “You’ve got one ugly bump. It’s blossomed into a big old-fashioned goose egg. There’s a jagged gash, too, a few inches lower along your temple.”
“No wonder you saw double.” Axel tilted his head and leaned in closer, raising his finger.
Mark drew back and frowned at Axel. “Put that finger somewhere else.”
Rayburn limped in, favoring one leg. With a hand on the doorway to steady himself, he surveyed everyone’s condition before announcing, “The news feeds have reported the attempt to overthrow the government has failed. TMD troops fought side by side to defeat what the media is labeling ‘revolutionary’ forces. They’re touting the Martian-Terran coalition as the first ever interplanetary alliance. The media’s all over it. MMC is rounding up the mercenaries, MPLE is arresting the collaborators—one of my contacts says since Mars doesn’t have enough prison cells. He heard Terra’s offered to house them at the decommissioned Rheinholdt military penitentiary outside Fort Yukon, Alaska.” He chuckled. “As I remember, that’s north of the Arctic Circle.”
He limped over to perch on the edge of the second medpod. “We were almost the last ship off the surface before they closed all the spaceports, although I’m confident some guilty parties might have deserted at the first sign of defeat. By the way,” he stood, waving a salute to everybody, “I’ll be leaving. All this cloak and dagger excitement has been very entertaining, but I’ve got to go make sure I’m still in business.”
Everyone gathered around, sorry to say goodbye to their mentor, thanking him for all his help. They promised to keep in touch and wished him well before Petra walked out with him.
Eva brought over surgical glue to treat Mark’s cut. In an undertone, Mark asked, “Are you okay?” He tried to read her face for signs of trauma.
“Yes, I was just scared. Got the wind knocked out of me. Lost my comm and tablet. But I remembered Rayburn’s map of contacts and looked for the nearest one.” Eva gave him a sweet little smile. “I knew you’d find me.”
Mark smiled back. “You can thank Petra. She told us where to go.”
Kamryn shuffled in wearing exercise togs, her arm bent at the elbow and taped to her body over a black t-shirt. She looked like hell; hair mussed, with traces of dark powder settling in her facial creases, but a fierce light burned in her brown eyes. “I’m glad everybody’s in one piece, although a couple of you look like the walking wounded. Someone might want to go see who’s beating on the hatch.”
Mark slid off the medpod, racing by her with Axel one step behind. The clanking of metal grew louder the closer they got. Axel drew his guns as he signaled for Mark to open the entry hatch.
Six armored TMD troops stood in the airlock tube, five of them pointing rifles at Mark. One soldier lifted her mirrored faceplate, revealing a blue-eyed redhead. She spoke in a monotone, devoid of feeling. “Dr. Mark Warren, you are under arrest by order of Colonel Rushing of the TMD.”
“It takes six of you to arrest a scientist?” He managed a smile, but it vanished at the sight of stun cuffs. Mark’s heart skipped a beat. He stepped back beside Axel. “On what charge?”
“Treason.”
“That’s ludicrous,” Mark said, trying to stall, grasping for a way out of the nightmare.
The soldier advanced. “Please turn around Dr. Warren. Place your hands behind you.”
There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide, so he obeyed. Mark turned toward his friends. He’d remember this moment for as long as he lived. Mark had battled cyborgs, fought bad guys with guns and knives, even fought Axel—twice—but being in restraints was a torture far worse than any physical pain. It threatened his sanity.
For the second time in a week, stun cuffs were snapped onto his wrists. A wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead, trickling at a snail’s pace down his hairline. Mark squeezed his eyes shut, summoning the presence of mind to whisper into his comm, “Petra get a vid of this. Ohashi, record all my comms. And somebody please contact our attorneys.”
When he opened his eyes, Petra had whipped out her tablet to record the event. Ohashi was keying a code into her tablet, syncing their comm links.
Eva rushed up to hug him. “Don’t worry,” she whispered.
“Please step back ma’am,” the soldier ordered.
Eva winked at Mark as she let him go. “Where are you taking him?”
“It’s classified.”
“Dr. Warren is a Terran citizen, a decorated former TMD officer, and a renowned Xenobiologist in the field of Cybernetics. I demand to know where you’re taking him.”
“Sorry, ma’am. It’s classified. Those are my orders.”
The last face he saw was Axel’s. If he’d been blindsided by the events unfolding in front of him, Axel didn’t show it. He sent the look of death to the soldier who’d cuffed Mark, then clamped a fist over his heart, as did everyone else.
The soldier spun Mark around to march him out through the airlock tube. The hatch clanked shut behind him, the hollow sound of a cell door. After clearing the tube, they entered the station, where a different soldier pulled a hood over Mark’s head. Not only was he cuffed, but blind, too.
***
Their conference room became a hub of activity, with Axel taking command. “Status report, Ohashi.”
“I’m recording everything Mark says and hears, even if they take his comm,” she said, grinning. “Eva slipped Kamryn’s comm in his pocket when she hugged him goodbye. Unless they strip him, we’ve got audio. I’m also tracking Mark’s embedded chip. If Petra can throw up a hologram of the station’s schematics, we can trace his movements in real time.”
“I can do that.” Petra’s fingers flew across her screen. She paused to attach wires from a black box called a holoprojector to her screen, turning the diagram into a foot tall, blue, 3-D hologram floating above the table. “Now, Ohashi.”
Within seconds, a red pinpoint appeared on Deck 4.
“Done. Now we can monitor Mark’s location. I’m already working the attorney angle. Sent the vid of him being arrested, along with restricted contact addresses to General Dimitrios and Major Essex. For good luck, I sent a copy of the file to Major Torance, at our old home base. He likes Mark, plus it never hurts to have a doctor on your side when you’re hip deep in horseshit, as my grandpa used to say.”
“I knew we’d overstayed our welcome,” Kamryn mumbled. “When we left the planet, we should’ve just kept on going, straight back to Terra. Who knows what Rushing has planned for Mark? I saw the look when she cuffed him. We all did.”
“That’s enough.” Axel slammed his hand on the table with such force it shook. “You’re no good to us like this.” He stood. “Get up, Fleming. I’m going to shove you in the shower, pour coffee down you, then force feed you.”
Eva put a hand on his arm. “Or, I can help her.” She went to Kamryn. “Come on. I’ll fix you pancakes with a pile of bacon while you’re in the shower.”
Axel paced, turning his attention to Ohashi. “We left the planet without going through security. Valerie could have, too. She sneaked through before when she wasn’t disguised, but I’m certain she would be now. If you’re still tied into the MPLE Security System at the spaceports, can you run a faceprint match on ev
ery departing passengers in the last four hours?”
“I’m on it.”
Petra peeked around her screen. “I hate to bring this up, but you haven’t watched the holo of the prisoner’s interrogation yet. I think you need to do that.”
Axel nodded. “Yeah, I got sidetracked. Key it up.”
Inches above the table, a cloud of vapor replaced the Space Station hologram. Pale gray shapes coalesced into images of Victor Parker speaking to the prisoner. The volume rose from background chatter to a full-blown conversation with Victor berating the man.
“…even a moron could understand what I've ordered you to do. No more food leaves the Jäger Warehouse until I authorize it. You scheduled shipments to Meridian and Aurora for tomorrow. I’ve canceled them. If this happens again, jerkwad, your own personal food supply will be canceled.”
The man protested, “But I was only sending out dry milk powder, formula, and baby food.”
“I don’t care if it’s drugs, blood, or nanites for a hospital—nothing leaves here.”
Axel shifted in his chair as he grasped the enormity of Parker’s threats. Cutting off baby food and medical supplies constituted crimes against humanity. He ground his teeth, kicking himself for not slicing off Victor’s testicles on the ship when he had the chance.
“I’m queuing up the second one.” Petra generated the next holographic image. “Our prisoner’s name is Stanley Rosenthal. As an identifier, he’s wearing the same wedding ring in every hologram.”
Axel rubbed his face with both hands, clearing his mind in preparation for another sickening episode of the Parker’s plans.
Rosenthal entered an office from a side door. Victor sat facing away from him, speaking to a split screen image of an Indian man and Valerie. They were engrossed in a conversation about someone called Samar with a manufacturing plant in Mumbai. Rosenthal backed out without drawing attention to himself. He walked down a hall, entering the office through another door to find the conversation over.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Yes. All supervisors are required to work this weekend. Mandatory. Straight through until Monday. Bring a change of clothes. It’s a special project. Total overhaul of Jäger’s receiving and shipping schedules. We’ve contracted with new suppliers. There’s a big shakeup coming. Nobody leaves until the work is done.”
“But my anniversary is this weekend. My wife and I made plans.”
Victor’s face looked disfigured, as if he’d been sucking on pickled eggs. He opened both his palms, weighing them in the air. “You have a job, or you don’t have a job. Take your pick.”
Rosenthal acquiesced. “I’ll be here.”
Walking to his car later that evening, he spotted half a dozen strangers around two vans parked at the south side of the warehouse loading bays. They were unloading crates to stack them on the lip of the bay. A crate fell and broke open, exposing the contents. He took a step closer, trying to make out what had fallen on the ground, but the dim lighting made it impossible. The minute one of the strangers spotted him, Rosenthal headed for his car.
Petra stopped the image and reversed it to the point where the crate had impacted the pavement, dialing in a close-up of the spilled contents. Rifles and canisters imprinted with TG75X littered the ground. She pointed to the guns.
“Those are TMD military grade BDX-97 plasma rifles.” She enlarged the image, zeroing in on the canisters. “That’s TMD military grade Tranquilizer Gas model TG75. Very potent. Poor Stanley didn’t know what he was looking at. I haven’t seen anything indicating he had prior knowledge of the Parker’s plans. Victor told him to show up for work or lose his job. He had no idea what was really going on at Jäger. I think we should put him on a shuttle and send him home.”
Axel motioned for Petra to follow him. Outside the conference room, he spoke in a hushed tone. “Edit out the portion where Rosenthal overheard the conversation about Samar in Mumbai. Make it clean. Leave no trace. Put that clip on an old tablet in a file labeled ‘Indiana’. This remains between you and me, Petra.”
“Yessir.” She smiled. “I have the perfect tablet.”
For her entire tour of service in the TMD’s Cyber Unit, Axel had been Petra’s sergeant. He’d given her some strange orders in the past, which she’d obviously wondered about, but had never questioned. This was right up there with the top five. She also owed him her life several times over, especially for the evac in Brazil when he’d grabbed her arm, pulling her into their shuttle as it lifted off during a firefight.
And besides, he was going to buy her tattoo.
Chapter 20
Valerie cruised through the cosmos, surrounded by the indulgent comforts of a lavish spacecraft, complete with a four-star French chef and a Spanish masseur who also functioned as the bartender and guitarist. She much preferred her own company to that of others, choosing to remain in her stateroom, feigning space sickness. This limited her exposure to the other passengers, making it difficult for them to recall anything about her should they ever be questioned.
Being alone left her with plenty of time to work out a new strategy for what she had mentally christened as a “rebirth” of her original plan. Not being able to communicate with her Indian contacts was a constraint. Granted, military geosats were spread like trails of breadcrumbs between the planets, but she suspected all communiques would be monitored due to the turmoil on Mars. Therefore, she would not take the chance. She could wait.
A knock on the door startled her. “Buenas tardes señorita Graves, it’s Santiago. May I serve your dinner?”
“Yes, just a moment.” Valerie pulled on her wig, wrapping the complimentary robe around herself as she unlocked the door.
The swarthy Spaniard set the tray on her corner table, pulled out a chair, and snapped a napkin open, laying it next to the gleaming silver lid covering the plate. “One of the men who’d booked a massage has elected to play cards instead, so I have an opening at nine this evening, if you’d care to take his appointment.”
“No, thank you. I’m afraid my queasiness only gets worse the farther we go.” Valerie placed a hand over her abdomen, affecting a weak stomach.
“As you wish.” Before leaving, Santiago turned to face her. “We were scheduled to land in New Delhi. However, the TMD has initiated new security protocols due to the Martian situation. Our pilots are ordered to first land at the Terran Space Station for a security screening before continuing to India. The captain’s certain it’s only a formality. He hopes this slight detour doesn’t hinder your plans.”
Valerie almost went ballistic. If Santiago hadn’t been standing there, she would have demolished the room. She hated Terra and its militaristic domination of the entire Sol system.
It took a supreme effort for her to reply in a sweet old lady voice, “Oh, no, I don’t mind at all. Better to be safe than sorry, I suppose.”
The minute he left, she fell back on the bed with a vengeance and threw an arm across her face to block out the light. What was she to do now? Hiding wasn’t an option. Would her counterfeit ID be good enough to pass the TMD inspection? If not, she’d soon be in chains, the same as her idiot brother.
The aroma of food wafted over, invading her thoughts. She went to lift the plate cover. Oh, it looked delicious.
The answer suddenly dawned on her: Food! That was it. She’d make herself sick. They’d have to haul her off the ship on a hover gurney and admit her to the station’s sickbay. How could anyone suspect an elderly widow with an extreme case of space sickness of any wrongdoing? What a perfect idea. She’d nibble at every meal while fortifying herself with the snacks in her case, along with the bottle of wine. When they docked at the station, she’d vomit in front of everybody, swoon, and conveniently pass out. Not wanting to offend the other passengers, or be slapped with a lawsuit, they’d whisk her straight to the nearest infirmary.
Once there, the next problem would be getting off the station. Well, she had the first part figured out, plenty of time to work
on the second part later. Valerie inspected the contents of her case to make sure no incriminating evidence could be found by prying eyes.
***
Mark stumbled down steps, up steps, and through a maze for what seemed an hour until disembodied hands shoved him into a chair. On the way, he’d asked many questions about where they were taking him, but no one had replied. Mark kept telling himself Ohashi had to be tracking him. He kept thinking it until he believed it.
He prepared for the scenario Colonel Rushing had in store for him; intimidation, threats, coercion, even blackmail to leverage him into telling her whatever she wanted to hear. It occurred to him that Rushing wasn’t much different than Valerie Parker.
Someone snatched off the hood and darkness surrounded him. Footsteps came closer to shine a light in his eyes.
“Check him for a comm unit,” a female voice said. “They all wear one.”
In a very unpleasant manner, gloved hands found it and removed it.
Mark’s spirits plummeted. A few snakes slithered up his sweaty spine. No comm meant no recording of the proceedings. Again, he sought comfort in the thought Ohashi was tracking him.
As bodies shuffled, the light danced around the room. For a millisecond, he caught sight of a figure in the background.
Rushing.
“You know, Olivia, if you wanted to see me, you could’ve just asked.” Mark winked and gave her a slow, leering smile. His only game here was offense. Better to throw her off from the start. He’d focus on making her angry, force her to react without thinking; only then would she make mistakes. Mark tried not to concentrate on the stun cuffs biting into his wrists, or his parched throat, or the other handful of snakes crawling around in his gut. Controlling his thoughts, emotions, and actions became paramount. He straightened, shoulders back, head up, and chin lifted, pasting a smirk on his face. “Your people said you ordered them to arrest me for treason. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“You’re one cocky smartass, but you’re in some deep shit now, Warren.” Her sandpaper voice shook with contempt. She stepped back into the shadows while keeping the light in his face.
