Wings of Redemption (The Terra Nova Chronicles Book 3) Page 22

  Hale shrugged. “Then we’ll deal with it just like everything else. The second-stage battle contingencies are shaping up nicely, and those, fortunately, we don’t have to test. As you can see…” Hale tapped another series of commands into the terminal and the image of the Christophorous shrank. A rectangular transport pod appeared next to the ship, rotating slowly. As Hale spoke, it filled with two-dimensional doughboys. “…our additional troop resources are growing within predicted ranges, which means we’ll have enough doughboys to crew every second-stage pod.”

  “The entire force will be outfitted and equipped within the next day or two,” Handley added. “The only question that remains is getting them into orbit.”

  “I’ll have shuttles ready to transport the support and security crews to the Christophorous on the pads by this afternoon,” Marie said.

  “Good,” Hale said. “I know everyone is pushing their limits right now. I know we’re all feeling the pressure. I want you all monitoring your people. We’re entering a critical stage and we don’t want preventable mistakes to derail all our forward progress.”

  Marie leaned forward, pressing her palms against the table. “In addition to platform security and pods, my pilots have been running constant simulations on our battle plan with great success. In almost every sim, they’ve succeeded in delivering over sixty percent of our forces against the Triumvirate, at least in the numbers we estimate.”

  Never underestimate those bastards, Martel wanted to say, but she chose to remain silent. She was more than a little confused as to why Hale had invited her to this meeting. Despite her position working for Hale, she wasn’t actually part of the Terra Nova military, much less a member of the command team. It seemed that she was just a little outside her element here.

  “Sixty percent?” Handley sounded shocked. “That seems…low.”

  “I instructed our simulation controllers to always estimate high when it comes to losses on our side. They very well could be lower, but I like to err on the side of caution. Even with sixty percent, our forces have tended to push the invading forces back.”

  “That’s assuming your estimates of the Triumvirate’s forces are accurate.”

  Marie smiled. “As I say, I like to err on the side of caution.”

  Hale nodded. “As we move into the final stages, I’d like everyone to keep in mind that we will continue to produce doughboys and print weapons, ammunition, and supplies. If you have ideas for the additional attack plans or security measures, please don’t hesitate to bring them forward. If we can spare the resources for it, we’ll make it happen. Which brings us to internal security.”

  Martel quickly gulped down the coffee she’d been sipping and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “What would you like to know?”

  “Where are we with the investigation? Any leads?”

  “We’re getting close. We’ve tracked the bullets to the fabricator used to create it. It’s just a matter of going through personnel files for likely suspects.”

  “Why not just pull in everyone that works at the plant for questioning?” Handley asked.

  Martel nodded at Hale. “Boss’s orders.”

  When Handley gave Hale a questioning look, the governor said, “I’m not in the business of taking away people’s rights on a hunch. We still don’t know for certain that our suspect even works there. Not only that, we still need the plant to function. We can’t afford to let it sit empty even for an hour.”

  “On the plus side,” Martel said, “we haven’t had any more killings. My guess is after his narrow escape in the alley with me, he’s laying low, waiting for the heat to die down before striking again.”

  Captain Handley crossed his arms. “What makes you so sure he’s just laying low? Maybe he’s decided he’s made his point and quit.”

  “Because it’s what I’d do in his position.”

  An uncomfortable silence fell over the operations room.

  Hale cleared his throat. “Yes, well, in any case, we’ll—”

  Hale paused as one of Handley’s aides stepped up beside him, whispering in his ear. The captain straightened almost immediately and tapped a command into his terminal. “My security team at the doughboy facility are reporting a disturbance at the gate.”

  “More protesters?” Hale asked, leaning in as the image shifted to the view of the indicated gate.

  The number of protesters had definitely grown, the crowed pressing closer to the gate, shouting and shaking fists in the air.

  “Apparently, one of my men took a rock to the face just a few minutes ago,” Handley said.

  Martel stepped forward, eyes scanning the assembled crowd, looking for any sign of the killer. Are you down there?

  “That’s the first report of violence we’ve had from them,” Marie said. “What could be setting them off?”

  Handley shook his head. “Nothing on the schedule this morning out of the ordinary. Just regular drill, like any other day.”

  At the edge of the group, two masked figures pushed forward, shoving against the militia guardsmen holding the line. The soldiers pushed them back, knocking the masked aggressors to the ground. Several protesters pushed forward, helping their companions back to their feet.

  One took a step forward and launched a fist-sized object at the militia guards. It hit the outer wall of the security gate and bounced harmlessly off the concrete. A second person threw, this one hitting a guard in the back after turning to protect his face.

  “This is getting bad,” Handley said.

  Several more troops arrived to reinforce the gate as a flaming bottle flipped through the air. It smashed against the slanted roof and burst into flames, sending trails of burning liquid splashing in all directions. The guards scattered, some dropping to the ground, trying to put out flames as their uniforms caught fire.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Hale said. “Arrest the entire group. This protest ends now.”

  “Yes, sir,” Handley said, turning to an aide.

  “What’s gotten into them?” Marie asked.

  “Stress does weird things to people,” Martel said, her eyes locked on the chaotic scene. “They get backed into a corner, there’s no telling what they’re capable of.”

  As they watched, several recon drones began circling the area, providing multiple views of the incident. Behind her, Martel could hear orders being relayed through the militia’s ranks as they mobilized.

  You better hurry, she thought.

  Several protesters pushed through the line of guards and started running into the main courtyard, where platoons of doughboys had stopped to watch the disturbance. A few threw rocks as they ran, shouting and cursing the biological constructs.

  “Let’s go, Captain,” Hale said.

  For just an instant, Martel considered following but decided against it. She wasn’t military; she was the scalpel where they were the machete. She’d just get in the way.

  “We’ve got sound,” one of the technicians said, and the operations center filled with hundreds of angry voices.

  “Destroy them!”

  “Go to hell!”

  “You’re evil!”

  “Never again!”

  Martel couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across her face.

  “What’s so funny?” Marie asked, frowning.

  “Sorry,” Martel said, shaking her head. “It’s not funny, not really. But, Jesus, the lengths people will go to over their beliefs always amazes me. Unfounded beliefs at that. I mean, we’re not in the Middle Ages anymore. We don’t burn people at the stake. We’re a civilized, rational people now.” She laughed.

  “Rational,” Marie repeated, watching hundreds of protesters close in around the gatehouse. “Right?”

  A secondary view panel appeared, showing a convoy of vehicles moving up from the spaceport, their beds full of armed soldiers. They would push back the rioters, ending the disturbance with swift, intentional violence. It was Martel’s language.

  I
nside the compound, several rioters had formed a line around one of the doughboy platoons, cutting them off from the rest of the company. One stepped forward, punching a doughboy in the face, but the doughboy only took a half step back, shaking off the attack. The man grimaced in obvious pain, backing away and cradling his injured hand.

  Not as easy as you thought, huh? Martel thought. Now what do you do?

  Another protester appeared, holding a long metal pipe over one shoulder. He shouted something the drone didn’t pick up then swung the pipe down hard, connecting with a doughboy’s knee. There was an audible crack and the doughboy let out a painful cry as he dropped to the ground, grabbing at his injured leg.

  Movement at the very top of the display caught Martel’s attention. A single figure, dressed in a militia uniform, was moving away from the violence. Martel frowned, leaning forward. He was moving away from the fighting, not toward it, and just slowly enough to mask the fact that he was obviously in a hurry. He slowed, adjusting a backpack over one shoulder, as several militia soldiers ran past, heading out of the main complex building, toward the fight.

  Why, you sneaky little bastard, she thought, then pointed. “There, focus on that one, right there.”

  It took a moment for one of the technicians to maneuver the drone.

  “What is it?” Marie asked.

  “That’s him,” Martel said, nodding at the figure. The man turned, watching the cadre, as if making sure none of them was following him. “Call me crazy, but I’d bet my lunch that backpack isn’t standard militia issue.”

  “Oh my god,” Marie said. “You don’t think?”

  Martel keyed her IR. “Hale, it’s Shannon. We’ve got another problem.”

  ****

  The jeep raced across the field, bouncing violently. Hale gripped the wheel hard, gritting his teeth at every jarring impact. Handley held on to the roll bars in the seat next to him.

  “No, lock the whole thing down!” Handley shouted over the wind.

  Hale keyed his IR. “Where’s he at now?”

  “He went into the main operations building,” Martel said over the IR. “We’re going through the internal security feeds now, trying to track him.”

  “If he wanted to kill doughboys and that pack is a bomb, why not blow up the ones he passed?” Handley shouted. “There must’ve been two hundred in the courtyard.”

  “He’s going for the tubes,” Martel said.

  “Impossible! They’re secured!” Handley shouted.

  Hale took his eyes off the road for a minute to meet the captain’s gaze. “Like the compound is?”

  “We’re coming to you,” Martel said, but Hale barely heard her.

  As they approached, Hale could see the militia rounding up the protesters, looping flex cuffs around wrists and escorting them into the back of the troop transports. Even secured with their hands behind their backs, several of the protesters continued to hurl insults and shouts at the militia. Some even tried to pull away and kick at their captors, but they were quickly grabbed up and carried away.

  The jeep’s tires skidded to a stop in front of the main building. A squad of militia soldiers, reinforced with two platoons of doughboys and their sergeants, ran up to meet them.

  Hale jumped out of the jeep, motioning to the soldiers. “I want this place surrounded. No one gets in or out without my expressed command, is that clear?”

  The sergeant saluted. “Yes, sir.”

  “He’s had more than enough time to plant that bomb,” Handley said as they entered the building.

  Hale ignored him, drawing his pistol as he led the way through the main lobby. They made their way through a maze of corridors before coming to the restricted area at the far end of the building. The entrance door hung open several inches, the panel next to it pried open and destroyed.

  Hale nudged the door open with his foot, then inched his way inside, pistol up and ready. He felt naked without his Strike Marine armor and rifle. The small pistol was not much more than a toy in comparison, but it was all he had.

  The security office was empty, save for the body of the dead militia guard, lying facedown on the floor, blood pooling underneath him. The guard’s access card lay discarded on the floor next to the open security door on the far side of the room.

  “Son of a bitch,” Hale growled, carefully stepping around the guard.

  “What are you going to do?” Handley said, following. “You think you’re going to be able to talk this guy down?”

  Hale paused at the security door, craning his head around to peer into the corridor beyond. “I’m going to try.”

  “And if he doesn’t want to be talked down?”

  Hale hesitated, considering the captain’s words, then shook his head. “Don’t have a—”

  A loud crack echoed up through the corridor, shaking the walls and vibrating the floor underneath Hale’s boots. Hale flinched at the blast, ducking as sparks shot out from light fixtures on the ceiling. Several winked out while others flickered, fighting to stay lit.

  Hale exchanged shocked looks with Handley. “That didn’t seem big enough to do much damage.”

  The captain shook his head.

  Hale slipped through the door and pressed himself against the wall, moving toward a set of stairs that led down to the subbasement. A cloud of smoke and dust hung in the air, refracting the flickering light from the remaining fixtures.

  He paused at the top of the stairs. The corridor continued into darkness at the base of the stairs, with no sign of the bomber. Before he had a chance to reconsider, Hale started down the stairs. The corridor took a right turn shortly after the stairs, ending at the lab several feet away. He couldn’t see the doors, but by the sound of it, the bomber was in the pod room.

  Hale stopped at the corner, pressing himself against the wall. He stole a quick glance around the edge then pulled back. The double doors to the lab had been blown open and the bomber was standing near the back of the room, partially hidden behind the gestational pods.

  “Listen,” Hale shouted before he’d even considered what he was going to say. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove here, but you don’t have to do this.”

  Hale ducked back as a single gunshot rang out. A plume of dust shot out from the wall in front of him.

  “Doesn’t seem like he wants to talk,” Handley said.

  Hale ignored him. “I want to talk,” he called out. “Whatever your issues are, we can work them out. I promise you.”

  “I don’t have anything to say!” the man shouted back, his voice cracking. Two more shots echoed from the lab, and two more plumes of debris sprouted from the wall. “Stay back!”

  Hale’s mind raced as a voice in his head told him to keep the man talking. “You don’t like the doughboys—I get that—but this isn’t the answer.”

  “They killed them!”

  Hale frowned, turning to Handley, wondering if he’d heard correctly. “Who killed who?”

  “No more talking!” Another gunshot.

  “Listen, I want to help you. Please, just talk to me.”

  “It’s your fault! You told us they’d protect us! You were wrong! I can’t let that happen anymore.”

  “Can’t let what happen? Just take a moment and explain it to me.”

  “You brought them here! Brought those monsters! And now you want to do it all over again.”

  Something triggered in Hale’s mind and it started to click. “The Netherguard? Son, I didn’t bring those things anywhere. I fought them, remember?”

  “They destroyed everything. They killed them!”

  “OK, listen, I know the Triumvirate did horrible things when they came, but this isn’t the same thing. These doughboys can’t hurt humans. It’s physically impossible for them. I don’t know what happened to you, but that isn’t going to happen again.”

  “LIES!” Two more shots. “Jared said the same thing, then he led those bastards through the city, destroying everything we cared for and loved.”
>
  “I know you’re frustrated, but we can work this out. You don’t have to do this. Let’s talk. I’m going to step out.” Hale held his pistol out to Handley.

  The captain frowned, shaking his head, mouthing the word “No.”

  Hale nodded. “Don’t shoot.”

  Handley sighed and accepted the pistol, tucking it into his pants at the small of his back. “This is a bad idea. You don’t have to do this.”

  “I’m coming out,” Hale said. He took a long breath, silently wondering if this was it. An image of Marie flashed in his mind, followed by the boys. We need those tanks, he reassured himself.

  He peered around the corner, gritted his teeth, and stepped out, half expecting to hear the gun blast, his mind already anticipating the pain of being shot. But nothing happened. He could see the man, still hiding behind one of the pods, crouching low, keeping his profile as small as possible, the gun pointed in Hale’s direction.

  Beside him, Handley whispered, “I’ll be right behind you. Keep him distracted.”

  Hale gave a slight nod then moved toward the lab.

  “Stop!” the man shouted. “There’s nothing to talk about anymore.” He adjusted his position behind the pod, kicking over a pack on the floor. He looked down as soon as he felt it, then picked it up and held it to his chest. “I’m not going to let you do this anymore.”

  Hale held his arms out to either side. “What do you think I’m doing here, son?”

  “You brought those things here! You brought them here just like your brother! I’m not going to let you do what he did!”

  “My brother did some horrible things, yes, I get it. But I’m not him.” Hale took a step forward. “I’m trying to save the colony. Don’t you understand? We need the doughboys if we’re going to survive.”

  “Stop!”

  The pistol barked. Hale saw the flash and tensed, waiting for the bullet to slam into him and knock him down. But the round missed. It zipped past, smacking into the wall behind him. As Hale’s heart pounded in his chest, he blew out a long breath, practically willing his legs not to collapse underneath him.

  “Wait!” he shouted. “Enough! You lost someone, I get it! I’ve lost men. I’ve lost family! I know what you’re going through.”