by Jason Winn
“What about the prince?” asked Costas.
“He’s of no consequence,” said Silva. “There are thirty-five family members in front of him in the line of succession.” He grabbed a pistol, cocked it, and tucked it under his long jacket.
The men’s eyes darted back and forth as they reviewed the detail of their quarry.
A green light flashed on the captain’s control panel and McKenzie turned his attention away from the assassins in the next room. The ship was docked and the airlocks secured. McKenzie considered what would happen to Pangaea once the emperor was dead and the purges began. This place was full of people who would oppose the revolution, and some of them weren’t Chinese. The last thought caused him to worry for a moment. Would the other superpowers keep to themselves? There were sure to be multinationals, military corporations that would take issue with their revenue streams being cut off. But McKenzie reminded himself, they only made weapons. They did not have the soldiers to wield them…yet.
“The men are ready,” said Silva. He had mellowed a bit since he and McKenzie’s violent discussion in the galley. “We’ll need two hours to get into position.”
“We?” asked McKenzie. “I thought you were going to stay on board.”
“Change in plan, Captain.” His voice was cold and gravely.
What was the butcher doing? Silva’s eyes drifted away from McKenzie’s and toward the bridge monitors, now showing the crowds milling about outside the imperial residence on Pangaea.
“I don’t think so,” said McKenzie. His hand dropped to his pistol. But Silva was already making for the airlock leading to the docking bay. “Rota wanted you to stay here to pass along updates to command.”
“Can’t hear you, Captain.” He passed Chang who wheezed with every breath as he carried his computer into the bridge.
The airlock door opened as everyone, save for Chang, filed out.
“Silva, get back here. That’s an order,” shouted McKenzie. He considered grabbing the old goat by the neck and dragging him back onto the bridge.
Once he was outside, Silva turned on his heel, his long formal coat snapping around like a cape. “Remember, Captain, you’re in charge of the ship. I am no longer on the ship.” With that he closed the airlock door.
“That man is insufferable,” said Chang. He pulled a cartridge from his pocket and replaced the empty one in the device on his belt with one hand, while tapping away at his computer with the other. “You’ll be glad he isn’t sitting here with us. Between you and me, he creeps me out. He doesn’t talk, you know. He just sits and broods. I don’t trust a guy who keeps to himself like that. My rich uncle was the quiet type. Turns out he was buying squibs to torture in his basement. Guess that’s better than humans. Fucking psycho. Silva reminds me of him.”
McKenzie found it hard to disagree with Chang’s assessment. He shifted in his chair and tried to ignore the possibility of a psychopath roaming the crowded resort.
Axel waved down a drone limousine and poured the kids inside. They sat dazed in the back seat, blue Cortozine still dripping from their hair and clothing. It was the first time he got a good look at them.
They both looked as they did in the AI proxy, but their eyes drooped. A trickle of blood ran down the side of Jean-Baptiste’s head. Axel would have to sew that up. Hopefully he could scare up a first aid kit. He thought to call Devon, but his phone was still wedged in the mangled cargo truck, several floors down.
Staring at the pair, Axel remembered the maid who had something injected in her neck. He leaned forward. “Let me see your head,” he said to Jean-Baptiste.
There was no protest. Axel prodded at the kid’s neck. He could feel a tiny rigid device under his skin.
“We’re going to have to take those trackers out of you, when we get back to my place.”
They responded with weak nods.
“American or Canadian?” asked Jean-Baptiste.
“American,” said Axel. He pulled the thick gloves off his hands and dropped them on the floor. His hands hurt from the wild ride through the police cars.
“Why are you here?” asked Ravel.
“Your father has been trying to get ahold of you for a while now and you haven’t answered him. At least that’s what I was told.”
The brother and sister exchanged strange glances. “Yes, Papa,” said Ravel. “We should call him.”
Axel watched their hands fidget and eyes glance away.
“All right, let’s cut the bullshit,” said Axel. “There’s more to this than I’ve been told. I don’t really believe this nonsense of you two being lost tourists. I saw the video of the game. You,” he pointed to Jean-Baptiste, “getting into that fight with the Russian. They don’t lock people up for a fight in a video game.”
He waited for them to speak. They said nothing.
Axel sighed. “I can just leave you here. This place is about to turn into a war zone any minute. Have fun fighting through the crowds. If you don’t get shot or trampled, you might be able to find a ship.”
Ravel sighed. “Papa says so many things. That is his job, making things up. I know he hates us.”
Jean-Baptiste only stared out the window.
Axel nodded slowly. “Uh huh.” He wasn’t buying their brand of bullshit.
He considered telling them how he was willing to pay whatever ransom the hammer and sickle boys wanted for their hides, and how they weren’t interested in his money, but kept quiet. Instead, he scanned the street for any nervous-looking security patrols. “Look, we’re getting out of here, now. So, if there is anything in your place you need, we’re getting it and getting the hell out of here. Understand?”
Jean-Baptiste hung his head and slapped his knees with his palms. “I…I have something I need to get. We can’t go home without it.”
“What is it?” asked Ravel. She was gazing at the passing water gardens.
“It’s nothing. I just need it.”
Axel watched in mild amusement. This little exchange was filling in the blanks. Jean-Baptiste was here on an errand for his father or someone powerful. Ravel was cover; two rich kids on holiday. He couldn’t help but consider the parallel with him and Devon.
“We’ve got to go,” said Ravel. “Did you not hear this man?”
Jean-Baptiste’s eyes narrowed as his head turned to face Axel. “How do we know you were sent by our father? You could be one of them.”
“One of who?” asked Ravel. She was shifting in her seat and she looked like she was about to bolt from the car, tired of the vagary between her bother and Axel.
One of them, Axel thought. Every side of this young man was a new color. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to know more or less of the kid. He remembered Javelin’s phrase.
“Because,” said Axel, “nous désirons ce qui est juste.”
They both stiffened in their seats, like school children when the principal walks in.
“I’ll escort you to your suite,” said Axel. “You’ve got two minutes to get whatever you so desperately need, and then we’re back to my place to pack up and get out.”
With that, he pulled out his magnum pistol, checked the chamber and flicked off the safety.
Once Axel was confident the kids’ suite was clear, he waved them in from the hallway. Ravel stood in the hallway as Jean-Baptiste ran for the study.
“Sure you don’t need anything?” asked Axel.
She shook her head. As she did so, the AI screen lit up. A happy, sparkly version of herself appeared and looked at her and Axel. Ravel pulled at her stringy hair. She examined the slimy, blue-streaked strands comparing them to her idealistic reflection on the screen. Her AI brother appeared, and wrapped his arm over her shoulder. They smiled and swayed back and forth. The real Ravel turned away from the perfect pair, with a disgusted look on her face.
“Who are you? For real,” she asked Axel.
Axel hadn’t really considered what he was going to say to the kids when he found them. His entire focus up unti
l this point was locating them. Deep down, he never really expected to find them. “I’m an American contractor, who was sent here by the new American president, who wanted to do a favor for the French government.”
He waited for her to say something. When she didn’t, he continued. “Specifically, at the request of your father, I believe.”
Ravel responded with a shake of her head. “He said he would never do this.”
Axel’s brow knitted. “Do what?”
“Got it!” shouted Jean-Baptiste from the study.
“Send us on a mission.”
“Your father’s in French intelligence, isn’t he?”
“Oui!” She was crying now.
Jean-Baptiste burst into the hallway with a huge smile on his face. Ravel picked up a vase filled with flowers and hurled it at her brother. He ducked. It slammed into the AI screen. The image of the two of them became distorted. She lunged at him, screaming obscenities in French.
Axel reached for her collar, but his hand slipped on the Cortozine residue. Ravel grabbed her brother by the throat. He responded by throwing her into a wall.
“Crazy bitch!” he shouted in French.
Axel got between them before she could lunge at him again. Her eyes were filled with tears and rage. Her breath came through clinched teeth. He didn’t know if she was capable of killing him, but she looked like she would try if he left them alone.
“Enough!” Axel shouted. “You two can fight all you want on the ship. Calm the fuck down, both of you.” He shot them each an angry parent’s glare. “We’re getting back into the car, and going back to my place. I’ve got to call the ship and we’re going back to Earth.”
Ravel didn’t even acknowledge him, instead she just burned holes in her brother’s face with her eyes. Jean-Baptiste responded with a grin. Axel wanted to slap him. Instead, he took the boy by the shoulders and squeezed.
“You do one thing to antagonize your sister and I’ll drop you.”
The kid relaxed.
“And you,” he said to the girl, “will not try anything physical with him. You can’t change the situation. You can just deal with it, so deal with this like an adult. Understand?”
She bowed her head and nodded.
“Now, let’s go. And neither of you say a word to each other, once we’re out in public.”
With that, they got into the elevator, went down to the lobby and Axel steeled his nerves for combat.
Devon ran up and hugged Axel when he stepped through the penthouse doorway. “I thought you were dead.”
“Almost,” he replied.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” He turned to face the disheveled brother and sister. “Here they are.”
“What happened to them?”
“Long story.” He gazed around the living room piled with shopping bags.
“Well, they can’t go out on to the streets like that. They need showers and a change of clothes.”
“Too late. There’s no time.” Axel looked at a clock on the wall. “The emperor’s birthday is in an hour. Can you call Zulu Dancer?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Tell Danso to get the ship ready. We’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
“Fine.”
Axel turned to Ravel and Jean-Baptiste. “You two sit there and don’t say a word to one another. I’m going to go find something to remove those trackers from your necks.”
He was almost out of here. His chest swelled with pride. Strength seemed to return to his old muscles. The old soldier still had it in him. Beating the piss out of old adversaries was a tonic like no other.
But pats on the back would have to wait. He needed to focus on getting everyone safely back to the ship and calling Cougar. This was a big win for the new administration. He went over to his luggage to find the med kit Bevel gave him.
After a few moments of searching he found it. He then rummaged for spare ammunition. He had a feeling the shooting was about to begin again. The machine pistol was gone, lost in the melee with the Russians. He still had the pistol in his belt and another in the suitcase. He pulled the second one out, loaded it, and stuffed it into a pocket. Spare magazines went into concealed pockets in his jacket. There was no reason to believe they were safe right now, even with a large contingent of security forces distracted with the mess he made several levels below.
“Ooooh, it’s starting,” said Devon.
She stood at a window, gazing toward the imperial residence. An aerial light show had begun. Huge, magnificent flowers blossomed in the artificial sky. The streets below were filled with swarms of people headed to the residence, no doubt wanting to see the spectacle and freeload off the prince’s generosity.
“I wish we could go,” said Devon. “Local news says half the resort will be there.”
“Crowds are dangerous,” said Axel.
And somewhere down there, mingling in the mob of elites with their armed security, were assassins.
“But, sweetheart, we—”
“Enough of the wife act,” snapped Axel. “You can turn it off now. We got what we came for, so enough already.”
Her face went blank. Neither of them said a word. Axel stared into her eyes. They were blank, now, dead. It was as if she’d instantly died on her feet.
“Hey.” He snapped his fingers in front of her face.
“Yes.” Her voice was cold and robotic.
“Just…just act casual, or whatever.”
Her face loosened a bit and her eyes took on a sleepy gaze. “Cool.”
Axel thought to himself that having a woman do exactly as she was told might not be a good thing. He shook his head and turned to go back into the living room, med kit in hand. He hadn’t heard a peep out of the kids, so that was a good thing at least.
“Okay, this will work,” was all Axel could say before the door to the suite exploded. Wood and plastic flew like bullets through the air. Smoke filled the room. The kids shrieked.
Axel went for his pistol and rolled behind a couch. He couldn’t see Ravel or Jean-Baptiste.
“Get down,” he shouted to Devon, who was still standing in the bedroom. She dove to the floor. He checked his clothing for blood stains. Nothing.
He looked up to see a squad of men in tactical gear storming through the door. Axel didn’t know who they were, but there was no fucking way they were going to take the kids after he just sprung them from the Russians. So he did the only thing he could. He raised his pistol and opened fire.
Cougar bent over the front of his 1969 Mustang and twisted the last bolt on the new electric engine. It sat in a cradle of solid steel, the two components weighing just over five hundred pounds—identical to the factory weight of the original 351 Windsor gasoline motor that rolled off the assembly line. He tossed the wrench into his tool drone and wiped his brow with a bandanna. The smell of the pig in his smoker filled the evening air. Some of his children played in an old cow pasture in the distance. And in a few hours he’d watch football for the first time in years.
“Playing with toys, I see?” said a strange electronic voice.
Cougar spun and reached for the pistol on his hip. A hulking man with orange tinted goggles stood a few paces away. His skin looked to be covered in scales. The man was smiling through brown teeth. Tubes ran from the veins in his arms to a series of canisters on his leather vest. He held a computer tablet up. The screen showed Herbert Tennent’s sanctimonious face.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mr. Monroe. The gun, I mean,” said Tennent.
Red dots appeared on Cougar’s chest. He took his hand off his pistol. Several other equally disgusting men approached from all sides. One had a star tattoo on his shoulder. Others had similar tubes running from their arms or necks. Cougar had seen this before, men feeding a constant dose of Highjack into their veins. Eventually they needed it just to walk. There was no way he could take them all, even without the snipers.
How had these men snuck up on him? Cougar’s eye
s drifted to the ground and he saw they were all wearing ghost boots—noise absorbing soles. That was military-issue gear. He looked at the tablet.
“What?”
“I hear great and terrible things,” Tennent cooed.
“You’re not coming back into the fold, Tennent. The new attorney general has already opened an investigation on you and your businesses. You can shoot me, but your goon squad will never get close to him.”
“Oh, I don’t want him. I want you to tell me about what’s happening on Pangaea.”
Cougar’s stomach roiled at the mention of the resort. But he held back his shock.
“Never heard of it,” replied Cougar, trying his best to look annoyed and not terrified.
“I think you have. I’ll give you the chance to come clean. Are you running some sort of illegal operation there?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny anything going on anywhere. And why the hell am I even talking to you? Your party lost.”
“I’ll get to the point, Monroe. Associates of my friends here tell me that a respected security franchise was brutally attacked an hour ago. They believe it was an American. If you tell me right now what’s going on, I’ll see to it that the authorities give you a light sentence for violating the UN regulations against off-world intelligence operations. But, if I have to find out on my own, I’ll make sure you’re thrown in a cell with rabid dogs for the rest of your short life.”
“You do realize that if the UN were to take control of the country again, you’d be locked out of any government office or influence, right? They’ll declare martial law and we’ll be occupied for the next decade.”
There was a pause as Tennent flashed a cat-like grin. “My associates don’t care what happens to us, so long as you lose.”
“That’s not very patriotic of you.”
Tennent laughed. “Who said we were patriots?” He stroked a gold cross hanging from his neck. “We’re citizens of Christ’s kingdom.”
Cougar didn’t know how to respond to that. It was the first time he’d ever heard a Value Party member actually utter something resembling the truth.
