CHAPTER 7
Coventry
One day later
“Fancy enough for you, skipper?” Nickson asked, as they made their way down a hallway on the fifty-first floor of the King’s Tower Hotel. The carpet beneath their feet was plush, and the lighting was cozy without being too dim. It was one of the most expensive hotels in the city of Coventry, and their client had booked himself an executive suite on the top floor.
The King’s Tower was one frequented by the rich and famous of Heinlein, as well as foreign diplomats. It was heavily constructed, its walls designed to be impervious to gunfire and to contain explosive blasts. The doors were reinforced, the windows were made of armored transparency, and the grounds were patrolled by armed security day and night.
“This is a good sign, Nix. This tells me he has money to spare. That’s good, because after his stunt yesterday, our fees are going up.”
“You really expecting trouble?”
“It’s hard to say. It’s certainly more likely now, thanks to his speech.”
Nickson’s stomach twisted a little, though he didn’t mention it to his captain. He really didn’t want to get into combat if it could be avoided. Memories of the desperate slugfest with the lost fleet cruiser flashed through his mind: screaming klaxons, the ship shuddering as nearby bursting missiles peppered the hull with fragmentation, seeing his shipmates burned and wounded, watching his captain die.
“Nix?” It was the captain. She looked concerned. “Are you alright? We’re here. This is the room.”
“Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine, Skipper, just going over some things in my head. Shall we let him know—” Before he could complete that sentence, the door quietly slid open.
“Welcome!” The two spacers were greeted by a robot with a cheery, synthesized voice. It had a cylindrical body balanced atop a single large wheel. A pair of tentacle-like mechanical arms hung from its sides, and its angular head was a cluster of sensors, cameras, and antennae. “Captain Blackwood, Mr. Armitage, please follow me. Master Zander is expecting you.” The robot’s body rotated one hundred eighty degrees, its single wheel remaining stationary, and it rolled away, humming a pleasant tune.
Nickson and the Captain looked at each other for a moment. He shrugged, and they followed the machine into the ostentatious hotel suite. An airy, vaulted ceiling was complimented by marble floors, while the main living area was carpeted. Large windows on the northeast corner provided a spectacular view of the city. Coventry was built around a semicircular bay, six kilometers across at its widest, and the city was lit up as Heinlein settled into its long, warm night.
Zander Krycek was waiting in the living room, lounging in a big leather chair. Ancient classical music played over the sound system as the old man studied a tablet screen. Three other people, two men and a woman, were in the room with him. He rose as the spacers approached.
“Captain Blackwood and Mr. Armitage, sir,” the robot said.
“Very good. That’ll be all, Jerkins.” The robot beeped an agreeable tone and rolled away. “Captain,” he said, extending a hand to her, “it’s good to meet you face to face.”
“And you as well,” she said, as the two exchanged an Earth-style handshake. “This is Nickson Armitage, my executive officer.”
“Nice to meet you,” Nickson said, shaking the man’s hand.
Zander Krycek indicated a tall, thin man with short-cropped hair and an ebony complexion, as was the majority on Ithaca. “This is Colonel Erasmus Starborn, of the Ithacan Colonial Guard.” He gestured to the woman, who was shorter, had a lighter complexion, curly black hair, and a pair of smart glasses on her face. “This is Kya, an attaché from the Southern Autonomous Zone, and…” he paused, looking around. “Ras, where did Sebastian get off to?”
“He told me he was going to check on the lobby,” Colonel Starborn said. “I’ll contact him.”
“Please do. In any case,” Zander said, “Sebastian is with Ithacan Foreign Affairs.”
“And this didn’t raise suspicion when you left?” the captain asked.
The colonel looked at Zander.
“Go ahead, Ras, you can tell them. They’re going to be working with us, they need to know.”
“We didn’t tell them where we were going,” the colonel replied. “This was supposedly a diplomatic outreach to several independent colony worlds. We weren’t actually on the transport ship we were supposed to be on. We transferred to a courier ship, after paying a hefty bribe, and traveled here in cold sleep.”
“Yes, well…Mr. Krycek, do you mind if we sit?” the captain asked. “We have a lot to go over.”
“Yes. Everyone, please, have a seat, and let’s get down to it,” Zander said. “I’ll have Jerkins bring us some refreshments.”
“Jerkins?” Nickson asked.
“My steward robot.”
“Yes, but Jerkins?”
Captain Blackwood spoke up. “Mr. Krycek, we caught your netcast yesterday.”
“Oh? What did you think?”
“What were you thinking?” the captain asked, pointedly. “We had the element of surprise. We could have gotten you to Ithaca with little to no risk of resistance. Instead, you announce your intentions to the entire galaxy.”
Zander raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying you’re not interested in the contract anymore, Captain? I’m sure I can find another privateer.”
“I’m saying that you’ve substantially increased our risk, and we will need to factor that into our fee schedule. Help me understand, sir, why you chose to do it this way.”
“It does seem a little, er, counterintuitive,” Nickson suggested.
“Indeed, it does. In fact, it’s probably the last thing my enemies on Ithaca would have expected.”
“It also serves to rally support back home,” the woman named Kya said. “President Krycek is still considered by many to be the rightful leader of the colony. He’s a hero, the man who overthrew a tyrant, made peace with the natives, and ended a bloody civil war. He was unfortunately scapegoated by political opportunists, but the announcement of his return will embolden our allies and send our opponents scrambling.”
“Yes, that’s a lovely bit for a press release, but it still significantly increases our risk.”
“Hang on a second,” Nickson said. “Tell me about this king.”
“What?” Kya said.
“It’s not common. There are some colonies that have hereditary monarchies, but in most cases, they’re honorary titles and the royalty lacks real political power. You almost never hear about a king wielding absolute authority.”
“Such was the case on Ithaca,” Kya answered. “King Khari the Fifth was the last of his dynasty. His family had ruled Ithaca since the colony was founded over four hundred and fifty standard years ago.”
“The Khari family, wealthy traders from the Inner Colonies, launched the expedition to Ithaca about the time of the signing of the Interstellar Concord,” Zander explained. “Much of inhabited space was still recovering from the dark years. The Kharis weren’t content with the wealth and power they had. They wanted an entire world to themselves.”
Kya continued, “Ithaca, at the time, was inhabited by a few thousand explorers from Olympic Interstellar Expeditions. The Kharis landed with dozens of ships and tens of thousands of colonists, and laid claim to the whole world. Eventually, OIX was driven off, and Valdemar Khari declared himself King Khari the First. His family members were set up as a nobility.”
“By the time I was an officer in the Colonial Guard,” Zander said, “things were getting bad. Khari the Fifth was a deeply troubled man. His ill-advised economic policies drove a once prosperous colony into the ground. Off-world trade dwindled, a lot of people lost their jobs, and unrest ensued. In his paranoia, he saw enemies everywhere. Those suspected of treason or sedition simply disappeared. In doing so, he created many new enemies. Something had to be done, so we removed him.”
Captain Blackwood raised an eyebrow. “Removed?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, this started a civil war. The king had an heir, but she abdicated the throne, leaving a power vacuum. The rest of the nobles squabbled over who was next in the line of succession, and their royalist supporters tried to crack down on everyone who had opposed them. It wasn’t long before we were in open conflict.”
“So, you deposed the king, then declared yourself president?”
Zander’s eyes narrowed. “I declared myself nothing, Captain. I was selected by my peers. It was the closest thing to democracy Ithaca has ever seen.”
“I see. In any case, you were declared an enemy of the state and were sent into exile. Upon your return, they will try to kill you, correct?”
“I’m sure they’ll try.”
“Right. Mr. Krycek, the Andromeda is a fine ship, and she has more fight in her than a ship her size ought to. I have complete confidence in both my ship and my crew. However, we are just one ship. Now that they know we’re coming, what kind of reception are we going to receive? Am I going to be dragged into a colonial civil war?”
“Ithaca doesn’t have a functioning astromilitary anymore, Captain, if that’s what you’re worried about. Our space patrol wasn’t large to begin with, and I’m told it’s been grounded indefinitely in recent years.”
“That’s good to know, but there are still other concerns.”
“They could hire corsairs to come after us,” Nickson suggested. “They could try to shoot us down when we land.”
“I understand all that, I assure you both. It’s a risk I’m willing to take. If it’s a risk you’re willing to take as well, there’s a substantial payout waiting for you. I think you’ll find my offer quite attractive.”
Nickson looked down at his handheld as Mr. Krycek sent the contract offer. The offered payment was substantial, covering the fees, plus some large bonuses. It amounted to tens of millions of credits.
If the captain was impressed, she didn’t let it show. “I see. I’m sending you the revised fee schedule. I’m afraid the increased risk of loss of life and damage to my ship, as well as the risk of political entanglements, requires some adjustment of the original terms.”
The client frowned when he saw the new counteroffer. “Captain, I don’t think…” he trailed off. “Ras, what is it?” Colonel Starborn had turned to the window. His body language told Nickson that something was wrong.
He spun around suddenly, running toward the others. “Get down!” he shouted, shoving Zander to the floor with both hands. A deafening roar filled the suite as a stream of armor-piercing bullets first pockmarked, then spider-webbed, then ripped through the protective windows, luminescent tracer rounds tearing into the far wall in a cloud of dust and debris.
Nickson, reflexively, dove to the floor, dragging his captain down with him. “What the hell is going on?” he shouted, trying to hear over the roar of machine-gun fire.
Colonel Starborn already had his sidearm drawn. “There’s an armed drone outside! Stay down!” Driving the point home, the machine made another pass, pouring fire into the luxurious suite from a different angle. Chunks of flooring and wall material flew through the air as the drone sprayed bullets into the suite. Everyone was on the floor, huddling underneath the window, trying to utilize what little cover was available.
“Skipper, are you alright?” Nickson asked.
The captain had produced a compact laser pistol from under her shirt. “I’m fine. Are you armed?”
“What? No! I didn’t think we’d get into a firefight while meeting the client!”
“Bloody hell, Nix! Fine. I’m going to try to get a shot at it. Get ready to run.” The firing had ceased, at least for the moment. The drone could be heard, barely, over the wind whipping through the shattered windows, and the alarms sounding throughout the hotel.
“Skipper, no!”
“Stay where you are!” Colonel Starborn shouted. “It’s waiting for us to come out!”
Zander Krycek had an angry, yet calm expression on his face. “Enough of this.” He tapped the screen of a tiny device he wore on his wrist. A moment later, his steward bot appeared from the other room, moving more quickly than it had before. A boxy attachment with what looked like a pan-tilt-zoom camera lens had slid up from its back and locked into position on its shoulder. The air shimmered as the robot fired its laser turret, pulsing it at thirty shots per second.
Jerkins ceased firing and came to a stop. “Threat neutralized,” it said, its voice more baritone than before. “Standing by.”
“Move, move, move!” Colonel Starborn shouted. “Out the door, go!” He grabbed Zander Krycek, pulled him to his feet, and shoved the old man forward, toward the door. He sent Kya after him next, then motioned toward Nickson and Captain Blackwood. “Come on, let’s go!”
The captain was already on her feet. Nickson scrambled behind her, hoping like hell the would-be assassins didn’t have a second drone out there. Colonel Starborn waited until everyone else was out of the room before exiting. Jerkins followed, rolling quietly behind the group with its laser weapon armed.
The ornate, carpeted hallway of the hotel was quiet, save the warning klaxon sounding over the PA system. In an attack like this, the doors of the hotel automatically locked, and residents were warned to stay in their rooms. Nickson and the group were the only people in the corridor.
“We need to get to the lift!” Kya said. She was shaking, and it looked like her bladder may have let go, but she was still on her feet.
“No,” Colonel Starborn cautioned. “The lifts are locked out in an emergency like this. The stairs are our only way down.” Moving to the end of the hall, the lanky officer shoved the door open, gun drawn, making sure it was clear, before signaling the others to follow him.
The doorway led to a landing, with dozens of floors below. There was a man in a nice suit waiting for them, his face pale and sweat trickling down his forehead.
“Sebastian!” Colonel Starborn said. “Where the hell were you?”
“I was down in the lobby,” he said, huffing and puffing. “When the alarm sounded, I ran up the stairs. All fifty-one floors. Is everyone alright?”
“No casualties.” He turned toward the group. “Okay everyone, we need to keep moving and get out of here. Stay alert. That drone might not be all there is to our attackers.”
“Hold up a moment,” Zander said, leaning on the railing, breathing heavily.
“Are you injured, sir?” the colonel asked, holstering his sidearm and stepping toward the former president.
Zander smiled. “No, Colonel, I’m just old. I need to catch my breath before we tackle so many flights of stairs. Check Kya.”
“I’m…I’m okay,” Kya said, shakily. She appeared to be uninjured, but she didn’t sound fine. “Mr. President, we—” BLAM!
It took Nickson what seemed like a long time, over the ringing in his ears, to realized that that loud noise had been a gunshot. Time seemed to slow down as he watched, helplessly, as Colonel Starborn collapsed to the cold ceramicrete landing, a bullet hole in the back of his head.
Behind him was Sebastian. He held a compact pistol out in both hands. The air stunk of burnt propellant. Eyes wide, face blank, he turned the gun toward Zander Krycek.
Jerkins moved, more quickly than Nickson would have thought possible. “Threat detected,” it reported, an instant before opening fire with its pulse laser. A crackling, electric roar and several gunshots briefly filled the stairwell, followed by eerie quiet.
“Is everyone all right?” Captain Blackwood said, laser pistol pointed at Sebastian. She lowered it a moment later. The assassin was dead, his chest ripped open and his face gone. High-intensity directed-energy weapons tended to flash-evaporate the water in living tissue, resulting in a steam explosion not unlike when lightning strikes a tree. At thirty pulses a second, the results were often gruesome. The air stunk of burnt hair, blood, propellant, and the telltale ozone smell of a laser weapon.
“Jesus Christ,” Nickson said. He clenched his hands into fists to get them to stop shaking. Sebastian had been a mole, it was apparent. He conveniently missed the drone assault and then attempted to kill the client himself. “I’m alright, Skipper. How about—oh, shit!” Zander Krycek was down, leaning against the wall. He had a hand on his shoulder, and blood was pouring down his left arm. “Mr. Krycek!”
“I’m fine!” the old man insisted, through gritted teeth.
“Mr. President!” Kya cried, running to him.
“Stand back, Kya!” Nickson insisted. “Mr. Krycek, let me see that wound.”
“I think it went all the way through.”
“I think so too,” Nickson said, finding the exit wound on the back of Zander’s shoulder. “Keep pressure on it. Does anyone have a first-aid kit?”
“Excuse me, sir,” Jerkins said, its voice returned to its normal pleasant tone. “I have medical supplies.” Its tentacle-arms reached behind it, retrieving a red first-aid kit from its back. The robot handed the kit to Nickson. “I can read Master Zander’s vital signs. His heart rate is elevated, but his blood pressure is dropping. Remove two self-sealing wound patches from the kit. Wipe the blood away from the wound, remove the adhesive cover, and place the patch over the wound. Press firmly, ensuring the patch achieves a positive seal. The patches will apply a coagulant and a pain killer.”
“Uh, thanks,” Nickson said, opening the kit. He was trained in first aid and didn’t need the robot to tell him what to do.
“If Master Zander goes into cardiac arrest, I am equipped with a defibrillator. I have already contacted the authorities and have requested an ambulance.”
Zander grunted in pain as Nickson applied the necessary pressure. “What about Ras? Is he dead?”
“He is,” Captain Blackwood said, kneeling by the colonel’s body.
Zander nodded, his face grim. “What about Kya?”
“I’m still here, sir,” she said, tears in her eyes. “Please don’t die.”
“I’m not going to die, young lady.”
“You’re all patched up,” Nickson said. “We need to get moving.”
“Jerkins, help me up,” the exiled president said. The robot did as it was told, moving to him and gently helping him to his feet.
“Can you walk?” Nickson asked. “You’ve lost blood. We can stay here.”
“No. They were prepared. The lobby is where most of the hotel security will be. We’re safest there. Jerkins will help me down the stairs.”
“Can he get down the stairs, on that one wheel?”
“I am capable of navigating stairs,” Jerkins answered. It was odd, but his synthesized voice seemed less cheery just then, as if it were offended.
“What about Colonel Starborn!” Kya cried. “We can’t just leave him here!”
“We have to, my dear,” Zander answered. “There’s nothing we can do for him. We will claim his body later.” He looked to Captain Blackwood and Nickson. “Captain, Mr. Armitage, thank you both for your help. I wish to further amend the contract.”
“Sir, now really isn’t the time—”
“Hear me out,” he insisted. “Captain, I need you to get me off this planet as soon as possible. Kya and my robot, too, as well as Colonel Starborn’s body. I’m going to need a protective detail. I have liquidated all my assets and holdings. I’ll pay you whatever price you want. Get me home.”
Nickson leaned in and spoke into the captain’s ear. “How are we going to get him a protective detail before we leave? There’s no time to screen and vet one.”
“There isn’t,” Captain Blackwood answered, “but we may be able to pick one up along the way.”
“You have someone in mind?”
“I do.”