The Impossible Future: Complete set by Frank Kennedy (mini ebook reader .txt) 📕

the blade twice, allowing the serration to do its work. That’s when she detected another presence behind her.

“Please, Miss, you mustn’t do this.”

Ester leveled a small laser pistol at Celia’s head.

Of course. That’s how he made it work. He needed her help.

It was always there, a longshot possibly Ester and the Chernik Solomons did care about the equity movement after all and were seeking to leverage their access to the highest bidder. Ester was, Celia conceded, a brilliant tactician. Quiet, patient, meticulous.

“Oh, dearest Ester. Everything wasn’t enough for you.”

Celia made it happen in one continuous move. She yanked the blade from Finnegan’s torso and slung with precision toward her handmaid. Ester wasn’t former military, did not have combat training, did not understand the art of kwin-sho.

The blade cut true into Ester’s neck. The blood flowed, the pistol dropped, and Ester fell to her knees.

“All my life, you were there,” Celia said as she grabbed the pistol. “You took good care of me. I will not forget.”

She pressed the trigger and burned a hole through Ester’s skull.

“It’s too late,” Finnegan said, blood coursing between his lips. “You can’t save Grandover, and you can’t save yourself.”

“Not that you will ever know.”

She discharged three laser blasts into his chest. Finnegan crumpled, his shirt on fire and his eyes lost to forever.

“Martyrs,” Celia said. “Will they never understand?”

She set down the pistol and prepared to clean up her mess.

57

Harrisboro Prefecture

 

M ICHAEL WAVED HANS BRICKER BACK into the room. He rose, ignoring the pain in his back, and reached for his jacket. He coupled it and retrieved both his Ingmar Pulse Gun and standard-issue laser pistol. If Marsche’s assassins had indeed found them, they were going to be fighting in tight quarters. Though Michael appreciated the firepower of his blast rifle, he felt more comfortable with a smaller, lighter weapon in each hand. Rikard and Matthias taught him how to kill with these. Precision would be critical.

He used hand signals to position his comrades. Hans joined him at the door – they would go first, Maya watching their rear. They heard the lift slide shut, but no footsteps approached. Michael doubted they were so lucky.

On three, he signaled. One. Two.

Three.

They raced into the corridor and formed a gauntlet of weapons on a hair trigger.

Nothing.

Their enemy might have disappeared into any of several choices: The bodyroom where Michael received triage of sorts; four offices beyond the lift; or the Transport Oversight Courtroom, behind double-doors directly across from the lift.

“We should have been safe up here,” Hans whispered. “We’re past the final sanitation shift.”

“Don’t beat yourself up. Might be nothing. A wrong stop?”

A shadow slunk into view at the far end of the corridor, well past the lift, and vanished beyond the corner. Michael and Hans shared a solemn glare; they both saw it.

“Where does that go?” Michael asked.

“Judges’ suites.”

“OK, then. I’ll take point. Cover my flank. You got this, Maya?”

She grinned. “Always.”

Hans shook his head. “Michael, you shouldn’t be …”

“I got the better armor. Every time some asshole shoots me, I ask what else they got. Just cover me, will you?”

Michael advanced on pillowed feet, unsure whether aggression was the proper strategy. Why not set up a defensive perimeter and prepare for an assault? He didn’t know how many of the enemy were roaming this level, or if this assassin intended to be a diversion and separate the Solomons before the main force arrived. Either way, he needed to find out. Hiding guaranteed one thing: More hiding. Kill them until you can’t, Rikard told him.

The corridor opened into a reception area. Large, cushioned sofas formed a hemisphere behind a translucent welcome desk. Beyond them, panel windows offered a spectacular panorama of Harrisboro, looking north. The city sparkled, showing no evidence of new violence. To either flank, a large arch opened into each suite, above it the official seal of the regional Sanctum.

He followed the shadow’s path to his left. The night-lights emanating from inside the suite glowed in a faint blue hue, as if a rising fog. If the person inside was an assassin, what was his game? Why all alone? Perhaps Hans was wrong about the sanitation shift. Was Michael hunting a fellow Solomon simply trying to do his job?

He led them toward the arch where the shadow appeared en route. Both weapons aimed, he whirled about as he entered, covering all angles. The suite descended into a well, at the center of which an oval light table was surrounded by swivels. Beyond, a long office that resembled an open space connecting a living room with a kitchen stood in full view, surrounded by glass. Inside, odd geometry cast shadows above the faint blue night-lights, and the glass reflected the twinkles from the nearest high-rise. To either side of the office, a narrow corridor extended to a destination unclear.

They traversed the well. As they emerged before the office, Michael nodded Maya to his left flank, Hans to his right. Only this close did he realize the glass had pixelated away, leaving a direct entry into the office.

That’s when Michael saw it. A flicker from beyond a dividing wall. Not a reflection from outside. Hans saw it, too, and motioned that he would take the far corridor along the office, perhaps to trap whoever was inside. Hans knew the layout, but Maya did not, so Michael motioned her close. They’d move in together.

Michael took position at the divider. One. Two.

Three.

He swung around and found his target.

A woman, long blonde hair, royal blue uniform, back turned, weapon pouched. She stood before a conical holocube, which rose from a wide, grand personal desk – perhaps belonging to a judge. Streams of data occupied her attention.

She’s not here for us.