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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Parnassus Tower

City of Kórinthos

Planet Odysseus

Bellerophon System

Free Worlds Alliance

January 12, 2553


Mollie Ramsay tapped the smart screen again, and bit her lip as the error codes continued to flash.

They shouldn’t have been there. She was the system governor, for God’s sake. But it didn’t seem to matter.

“Still nothing?”

She looked away from the screen and shook her head at the man seated in one of her office’s comfortable powered chairs.

“No,” she said. “I’m afraid not.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t strike me as a good sign.” Eric Humbolt tried to inject a note of humor into his voice.

He failed.

“There’s a lot of uncertainty out there,” she said. “I could wish there was less in here. Or that they’d at least talk to me!”

She smacked the smart screen as she spoke, and Humbolt managed a weak chuckle. His suit was tailored from a fire-wire weave popular among the Five Hundred. The genetically engineered hemp fibers were permeated with actual gold and reflected the light differently every time he moved, with a flickering fire guaranteed to catch the eye. That single suit had probably cost half as much as Ramsay’s luxurious office’s furnishings, which was why the Five Hundred were so fond of it. Now he dabbed a silk handkerchief along his unnaturally perfect hairline and shook his head at her.

“I’m sure they’ll talk to you as soon as they realize they can, Madame Governor,” he said. “That’s why we’re both here, after all.”

“I hope you’re—we’re—right about that,” she sighed. “I’d feel more confident if they’d at least acknowledged my initial transmission, but I still hope you’re right. To be honest, the main reason I disassociated myself so strongly from the system government after they issued their declaration was to be available to broker some sort of…rapprochement when the moment came. Even if the break really is irreparable, there’s no benefit for the Federation in harming civilians or wrecking the system’s infrastructure out of some misplaced sense of vengeance. Either way, go or stay, someone has to serve as the interface between Odysseus and whoever Olympia’s sent out here, and I doubt whoever they’ve sent will be very interested in talking to President Xeneas. But if they won’t even—”

She shook her head, then climbed out of her own chair and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window wall of her fortieth-floor office. That window looked out across the capital of Odysseus, and her mouth tightened as smoke and flame billowed before her. The thud of muffled explosions reached her even at her elevation, and she saw flashes in the smoke where KEWs and old-fashioned chemical explosives added to the canopy as the Federation assault troops continued their attack.

Konstantinos Xeneas had declared Kórinthos an open city and withdrawn all military personnel from it at the same time the civilian government evacuated to its preselected dispersal sites. Unfortunately, whoever commanded the forces the federal government had dispatched didn’t seem to care about that.

It was quite possible some of the city’s civilian population hadn’t heard the president’s proclamation…or just didn’t care. Any Fringe World population had more than sufficient reason to hate Heart Worlders, and unlike most Heart Worlds, Odysseus had a robust tradition of armed civilians, especially among the veterans who’d survived their military service. So yes, it was entirely possible some of those armed civilians had decided to resist, whatever their system president might have declared.

But it was equally possible the Federation commander—whoever he was—had simply chosen to ignore Xeneas’s declaration and come in guns blazing, without giving much of a damn whether anyone offered active resistance or not. In fact, Ramsay was very much afraid he’d done just that, given the way he’d completely ignored her own transmissions. No, that wasn’t really accurate. He hadn’t ignored her transmissions; he’d jammed them, just as he had all other civilian and military channels and frequencies.

He wasn’t supposed to do that. Not on the priority frequencies. And she didn’t want to think about the reasons he might have done it anyway.

She bit her lip harder, looking directly down at the beautifully landscaped grounds around the foot of Parnassus Tower. The tower had been built by the people of Odysseus decades before the endless war with the League. Built when they’d been proud of their membership in the Federation, proud of their home system’s growth and prosperity—of the Heart World investment helping them build better lives for themselves and their children. Parnassus Tower had been the expression of that pride, a monument to the Federation and all for which it stood.

It hadn’t been any of those things for a long time now, and Mollie Ramsay had understood that. She’d wept for it, inside, but she’d understood, and there’d been times she’d deeply envied Konstantinos Xeneas, and not just because he hadn’t been hated the way too many Odyssians hated her simply because she was their system governor. She’d done her best to mitigate the sources of Odysseus’s anger and hatred, yet there’d been all too little she could do about the policy directives coming out of the Heart. She’d known that, too, and so she’d been less surprised in many ways than she probably ought to have been by the system’s decision to secede in the wake of Inverness and the creation of the Free Worlds Alliance.

That didn’t mean she hadn’t recognized the enormous potential for disaster in that decision. If she could have talked Xeneas and his people back off the ledge, she would have done it in a heartbeat. For that matter, if she’d thought she could have stopped them by force, she’d have done that, too. But neither of those things had ever been a realistic possibility, and so she’d done the best she could by ordering all federal agencies in Bellerophon to stand down. They couldn’t have stopped what was happening anyway. All they could have done was to produce a bloodbath, and she’d been determined to avoid at least that much.

She was still determined to avoid it. That was why she and Humbolt were here, in this office. Why she’d been trying to get someone to answer or at least acknowledge her transmissions. Somebody had to talk to the people the Federation had sent out here to restore federal control before Odysseus turned into another Gobelins, and it was her job as system governor to start that conversation.

For all the good it looked like doing in the end.

A trio of assault shuttles howled low over the city, fuselage racks heavy with external ordnance as they swept toward Parnassus. One of them peeled off, dropping its nose, and Ramsay stepped back from the window as the bow-mounted cannon poured fire into one of the streets. She had no idea what it was shooting at, and she had little time to worry about it as the other two flared, riding the howling thunder of their vectored thrust down into those landscaped grounds. Shrubbery, flowerbeds, ornamental trees were torn apart by the hurricane, crushed by landing skids as the armored craft slammed down, and hatches opened. They spilled heavily armed troops into the desecrated gardens, and she saw them storming towards the ground level entrance.

Gunfire thumped and crackled, and she bit her lip again, this time hard enough to draw blood. Despite Bellerophon’s secession, the system government had made no effort to seize control of Parnassus Tower. Just as Ramsay had realized resistance couldn’t have prevented the system’s secession, Xeneas and his fellows had recognized that even in a best-case scenario, there would have to be some sort of resolution with the Federation in the fullness of time. They’d been careful to maintain their channels of communication with Ramsay and to respect the “extraterritorial integrity” of the federal government’s enclave in the heart of Kórinthos.

The troops pouring out of those shuttles seemed unaware of that, and Ramsay’s heart froze as she heard weapons fire inside the tower. She’d ordered her staff, and especially the personal security team Xeneas and General Tolallis had insisted she retain, not to resist! There was no reason—

The sound of gunfire swept closer, louder and more savage, and Humbolt stood and crossed to join her.

“This isn’t going the way I’d envisioned,” he said, brushing his hands down his jacket, trying to smile.

“Not the way I had, either,” she said as the cacophony grew louder. She turned, putting her back to the windows as she faced the office door, and held her hands out from her sides, fingers spread. “Best that they see we’re unarmed when they arrive,” she said. “Trigger fingers can get itchy.”

Something banged against the office door, and Humbolt twitched. Then he nodded convulsively and his hands went high.

Ramsay gave him a quick, nervous smile, then tried to focus her thoughts on what she would say when the moment arrived. The Federation commander’s refusal to accept her call didn’t fill her with confidence, but—

Something snapped against the door, and her eyes widened as a tiny camera lens bored through the doorframe. Nothing happened for an instant, and then the doors flew wide and a team of Federation soldiers in light powered armor with Army markings poured through them.

Ramsay held very still as she and Humbolt found themselves looking into a dozen carbine muzzles. Her gaze flickered across the intruders, looking for one of them with obvious rank. Their armor bore scrapes and divots from bullet strikes. Several of them had bloodstains on their boots and gauntlets. She couldn’t see faces or expressions through their full-face helmets, but one of those helmets nodded quickly, as if its wearer was speaking to someone.

Then feet crunched behind them and another soldier strode into the room. He was taller than most of the others, with wider shoulders and a pearl-handled pistol in a chest holster. His armor bore the paired golden stars of a major general, and she turned to face him.

“I’m System Governor Ramsay, General,” she said briskly. “I’m relieved to see that Prime Minister Schleibaum’s responded so quickly to the situation here. I was afraid that—”

The general tapped the side of his helmet. The visor slid up and over his head, he arched an eyebrow at her, and she clamped her jaws shut. Blood drained from her face, and Humbolt collapsed into a chair beside the window as his knees failed.

“Ah, then I don’t need to introduce myself.” Taskin Alaimo pulled his helmet completely off and held it in the crook of one arm. “It’s convenient when one’s reputation precedes one. Cuts down on all the chitchat.”

He walked into the office, put his free hand on Humbolt’s head, and tousled the other man’s hair playfully.

“And since we’re dispensing with chitchat,” he said, “let’s get right to it. Where is Xeneas?”

He turned from Humbolt to face Ramsay. Unlike the troopers behind him, his armor was pristine. In fact, he smiled faintly of cologne as he frowned at her.

“I don’t know.”

She kept her voice firm and met his eyes levelly. It was one of the hardest things she’d ever done.

“Really?” Alaimo cocked his head, his eyes bright. “That seems…unlikely. I mean, you are—or were, at least—the system governor, after all.”

“It’s true,” she said. “I wasn’t privy to any of the system government’s plans or actions after Bellerophon declared its independence.”

“Really?” he said again. He set his helmet on her desk and ran one hand over sweat-damp hair. “They didn’t confide in you after you aided and abetted their treason?”

“I didn’t ‘aid and abet’ anyone, General!” she said sharply.

“Ah! So it was someone impersonating you who surrendered the federal authority in Bellerophon to them?”

“I instructed the federal agencies in Bellerophon not to resist,” Ramsay said. “It would have been pointless. By the time anyone realized what was happening, it was too late to organize any effective resistance. Trying to prevent the secession at that point would only have gotten hundreds, possibly thousands, of people killed without affecting the outcome at all.”

“Is that how you see it?” Alaimo said in an interested tone. “I can understand why you might prefer that interpretation of your actions. But you seriously expect me to believe you truly don’t know where I might find President Xeneas to discuss his decisions with him?”

“I can only tell you the truth, which is that I don’t know where he is. There’s no reason anyone should have told me that. I told President Xeneas at the time that, as the Federation’s governor for Bellerophon, I couldn’t possibly concede the legality of his actions. I couldn’t prevent them, given the fashion in which they’d been planned and executed, but I refused to—and he never asked me to—approve their decisions or cooperate with them in any way. So I’m sure I’d be the last person on Odysseus to whom they’d have given classified information like that.”

“Reasonable, I suppose.” Alaimo pursed his lips. “But I’m afraid I’m not the trusting type,” he said. “So we’ll talk more about that later. In the meantime, I assume your little friend in the bespoke suit isn’t here for simple moral support.”

“Eric Humbolt, General.” Humbolt snapped up out of the chair. “Chief executive officer for Epoch Industries’ operations in Bellerophon.”

He extended his hand to Alaimo. Alaimo didn’t take it.

“I—I, uh, I’m here to specify which economic assets are critical to sustaining the civilian economy and separate from potential military targets. As you know, Bellerophon is a Beta tier system, and—”

“You’re already boring me.” Alaimo held up a finger, then snapped it towards the chair, and Humbolt sat back down immediately.

“I was asked by President Xeneas to convey a message to you,” Ramsay said, and Alaimo cocked his head at her again. “He communicated with me shortly after your fleet was detected,” she continued. “He asked me to inform whoever commands the Federation forces that he’s declared every refugee center an open city which will provide no material support for him or the troops under his command. He also—”

Alaimo held up a hand.

“This…is not what I want to hear,” he said and drew his pistol.

“Shooting me won’t give you information I don’t have in the first place.”

Ramsay managed to keep her voice level despite the icy fear spreading through her chest, and Humbolt began praying out loud.

“Hmmm?” Alaimo looked over his shoulder at the CEO. “I suppose my reputation truly does precede me. Everyone knows what had to happen on Gobelins to return that world to compliance. Most necessary, I’m afraid. Too many bad apples in the barrel for too long. Everything was rotten.”

He strolled across the office to examine a hundred-year-old painting of the first landing on Odysseus, then turned back to face Ramsay.

“I’m curious, Governor. If you’d known the Oval was going to send me…would you still have supported the traitors when they went out of compliance?” He glanced at the empty chair behind her desk, then back at her. “You really should sit down. You don’t look comfortable at all.”

“I didn’t support them. I only tried to prevent bloodshed.”

“Semantics,” Alaimo chided. “I’m hearing semantics here, Governor.”

“I did what I had to do.” Ramsay laid a hand on the edge of her desk to steady herself. “It wasn’t what I wanted to do, just—”

“My question was whether or not you would have done it if you’d known the Oval was going to send me.” He waved his left index finger gently. “It’s a simple question. I mean, you have heard of Gobelins, haven’t you?”

“Of course I know what you did on Gobelins. Everyone knows. But I had to decide what to do here, on Odysseus, and—”

“Not an answer.” Alaimo wagged his index finger a bit harder. “I don’t like repeating myself, Governor. Slimy politicians have a habit of couching every single thing they say so that they can claim they were on the right side of an issue when the wind blows the other way. Now…”

He laid his free hand on the corner of the desk, bouncing his pistol gently against his thigh, and Ramsay froze as he gazed across her own blotter at her. His face seemed to harden and something almost…jovial built behind his eyes. And then—

“Sit!” he shouted.

Ramsay obeyed instantly, nearly tipping over her chair the process.

“I try to be nice.” He shook his head sadly, then inhaled deeply.

“Back to the question,” he said. “And if you make me repeat it again, I’m going to assume the prisoners we’ve taken from your staff here weren’t simply following orders and aren’t due for a bit of mercy—”

“Yes, I would’ve done it! I would’ve done exactly what I did anyway,” Ramsay snapped.

“Well, that’s certainly forthright,” Alaimo said brightly. Then he shook his head again. “But, you know, Governor, you really shouldn’t have betrayed your oath of office that way.” He made a tsking sound. “That wasn’t a very…helpful thing to do.”

She looked at him expressionlessly and he sat on the corner of her desk.

“The Federation has a problem, Governor. Part of the problem is people like these traitors here in Bellerophon who don’t want to be part of the grand system we’ve established over the last four hundred years. But another part is people like you, who don’t stop them when they rock the boat. All of you are clearly doing well for yourselves. Your children have excellent careers, and the Fringe population as a whole has a standard of living anyone in the League would just…die for. So why put all of that at risk? Explain that to me, Governor. Why would someone like Xeneas throw that all away? And why would someone like you stand on the sidelines and cheer while he does?”

Ramsay felt as if she were shrinking in her chair, but something else was happening as well. She couldn’t have explained what it was. Perhaps it was fatalism, the awareness that she had no control. Or perhaps it was a moment of self-clarity she’d tried to avoid for too long.

“They did it for freedom,” she said quietly, and somehow she was speaking as much to herself as to Alaimo. “They want freedom from the Heart Worlds. From the Five Hundred. They don’t want to give up their children to a war they’re sick of fighting. They’re tired of giving up their wealth to fund a war that never ends. And they’re tired of knowing that if they object, if they refuse, the Federation will set a monster upon them.”

She met his gaze, and he looked back for a moment, then nodded.

“Yeah, that’s…I’ve heard that before.” He patted his palm against the desk and stood. “Heard it on Gobelins. Heard it aboard the Scharnhorst, when the crew mutinied and had to be brought back into the fold. I’ve heard it all before, and I’ve got to tell you, Governor…it doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter one bit, because the Five Hundred simply adore the status quo. They’re filthy rich, and they don’t care how hard the peasants toil and suffer to keep them filthy rich and away from the war that’s made them so rich. What the Five Hundred don’t like is change. No, no, no. If the proles start getting ideas, then it’s the Thirteen Colonies in 1776. It’s France in 1789. Russia in 1917. China in 1949. The list goes on and on, and that’s not acceptable. That’s why they sent me. I’m here to stop it.”

“It’s too late for that,” Ramsay said. “If you try to stop it, you’ll only make it worse. If you massacre the people here on Odysseus, it will only motivate the Free Worlds Alliance to fight back even harder. Other systems will—”

Alaimo raised his pistol. She found herself looking into the muzzle, and he put his finger on the trigger and snapped the safety off.

“We don’t say that.” He waggled the pistol gently. “Although your observation does have at least a bit of merit.” He took his finger off the trigger. “After I brought Gobelins back into compliance, I had the opportunity, during the time I spent sequestered from the rest of the Federation, to reflect on my impact. While everything I did was certainly justified, it seems my methods were a bit polarizing. Oooh. Did you know people on Gobelins won’t even use Hansa-pattern shuttles anymore? So many ‘disappeared’ after taking a flight that the fear ingrained itself into the planetary zeitgeist. Sorry. Sidebar. Where was I?”

Ramsay fought the urge to vomit.

“Ah, yes. Second- and third-order effects from Gobelins.” He nodded. “When the peasants think it’s the big, bad Five Hundred’s iron boot coming down on their throat, they point their grubby little fingers at the Five Hundred, and then their betters get all the blame for everything. Can’t have that anymore—look how counterproductive it gets.”

Alaimo raised his free hand in a waving-away gesture, then tapped his index finger across his lips with an almost conspiratorial smile.

“But that only matters if they think they have any voice in what happens to them. It only matters if they believe there’s even the remotest possibility they can do anything about it. And I’ll let you in on a little secret, Governor. The good slave keeps his head down and stays far away from anything that might piss his betters off because he realizes that there isn’t anything he can do about it. Not a single, solitary thing. And that’s what I’m going to teach this planet.”

“Spare the civilians,” Ramsay said. “Xeneas won’t endanger them, but he’s not going to surrender the planet to you. Never.”

Alaimo holstered his weapon, clasped his palms together, fingertips just below his lips, and gave her a look of concern.

“Governor…the traitors running this planet after you meekly handed it over to them have sent as many civilians as possible to evacuation centers,” he said. “And here you are, with a corporate representative to whimper about what not to blow up. Do you think I’m the League?”

She looked at him, wondering where his non sequitur was headed, and he shook his head.

“Oh, come now, Governor. You know how it works! The Fringe Worlds—ours and the League’s—have this sort of informal understanding. One where populations are moved away from key planetary targets in some sort of appeal to the conquering commander’s humanity. ‘Oh, please, blow up the industry, but spare our people!’ That sort of thing. It’s adorable, really.”

He bent forward, bringing his face uncomfortably close to hers.

“Do I look like a League officer?”

“N-no,” she said softly.

“Really? I thought I must, if you and Xeneas believe I’ll leave the peasants to their own devices, safe in their camps, eating ration bars while I fight him and his militia in collateral-damage-free streets. Does that summarize his thinking, in a general sort of way?”

“President Xeneas won’t endanger the civilian populace during your occupa—urk!

Alaimo clamped his free hand around her throat and squeezed.

Humbolt made a meek protest, but went silent at a glance from Alaimo. The general’s arm shook as he applied more force to the vise around Ramsay’s neck. Her vision grayed as he tilted her chin up with his forearm and looked straight into her eyes. She expected to see malice or anger…instead, he seemed almost amused.

He squeezed still harder, until the room began to darken. And then, as suddenly as he’d seized her, he let her go.

She collapsed over the desk, fighting to breathe, and he stood back.

“You think I’m going to fight on his terms? On yours?” He clicked his tongue. “You think you and he have…any power here? I’m afraid it’s time for a reality check. Come with me. It’s time for a little lesson in loyalty.”

* * *

The armored personnel carrier stopped, and rough hands hauled Ramsay and Humbolt out of its dark interior. The governor blinked in the late afternoon sunlight, then inhaled—in dismay, not really surprise—as she found herself in Ochi Square. The magnificent façade of Ithaca House looked down from Acropolis Hill at the teeming activity in the enormous square. Federation landers dotted it, and troops were already unloading point defense turrets and heavy weapons from them. Small drones buzzed overhead, firing single shots into the evacuation zone around the square.

Alaimo led the way up the grand steps from the square to Ithaca House. A pile of dead Odyssian soldiers had been stacked at the stairs’ base. Red drag streaks across the stone paving pointed to their final moments.

There was a spring in Alaimo’s step as he stepped from the stairs’ top step out onto the wide terrace from which Odyssian presidents had traditionally addressed the entire star system.

“Volkov?” Alaimo held up his helmet, looking at his reflection in the visor. “Volkov, I need the angle for our demonstration. And make sure the auto filters do something about the bags under my eyes. Can’t look puffy.”

A soldier with wide features and a bald head hurried up the stairs. A trio of camera drones hovered just behind him, at shoulder level.

“Sir, the demonstration is at niner-niner-four mils from magnetic north.” Volkov pointed a knife hand to the southwest. “I’m afraid the time window’s going to be tight, especially with the clouds.”

Ramsay’s heart skipped a beat.

“Wait. What are you doing? That’s—There’s a civilian evacuation center in that direction. There’s nearly a quarter million people in it. You can’t—”

Alaimo sucked air through his teeth and shook his head slowly.

“Can’t I?” He furrowed his brow at her. “Volkov, what’s the splash time? We can edit it all together in post if we have to, but I don’t want to lose this light.”

“Time on target is…eighty-four seconds,” Volkov read from the screen on his forearm.

“Cutting it tight, but if we can get it in camera, all the better.” Alaimo grabbed Ramsay by the arm and spun her around. He kept her next to him as the camera drones flitted around them, projecting different light levels. “Just stand still, my dear. Smiling is optional.”

He scrunched his face from side to side, warming up his mouth.

“He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts,” he enunciated carefully, peering into the distance.

“Why are you doing this?” Ramsay’s voice was raspy and strained from the damage his choking hand had inflicted.

“Peanut nostril happy clams.” Alaimo winked at her. “Carrots and sticks. Volkov, make sure we get a composite for HD release to the nets.”

“Got it, boss.” Volkov gave him a thumbs-up. “And Sentry confirms launch.”

“You can’t!” Ramsay reached for Alaimo, but the heel of his open hand slammed into her sternum and sent her backpedaling. “Why? They’re not even fighting you!”

“I’m afraid the near future is in the hands of physics,” Alaimo said. “The Federation incurred significant expense to secure the system. Now I’m passing those costs on to those responsible. Volkov, I need to concentrate.”

Volkov wrapped a hand around Ramsay’s mouth and stuck a pistol against her back. Alaimo ignored her and turned slightly towards Ochi Square. He set his face firmly and gazed into a camera drone.

“Attention, citizens of Odysseus,” he said evenly. “I am General Taskin Alaimo, and by special order of the federal government, I am now the Bellerophon System Governor. The illegal rebellion instigated by President Xeneas and former Governor Ramsay is over. It is my duty to transition this system back to effective local self-governance under the Constitution and to minimize further damage to the greater Federation. As such, I now instruct all individuals currently in so-called ‘open city’ evacuation centers to return to your homes. Anyone in those evacuation centers past midnight Kórinthos time will be considered party to the insurrection.

“Unfortunately, I have traced several of the rebellion’s ringleaders to the Lake Orestiada encampment. I have called upon them to surrender themselves to me in order to avoid needless bloodshed. They have refused. It’s regrettable that President Xeneas and his conspirators have chosen to shield themselves behind noncombatants, but my mission here is quite clear and their intransigence leaves me no option.”

Behind him, three pencils of intolerable brilliance tore suddenly through the overhead cloud cover. At 33.5 KPS they were less projectiles than eye-tearing beams of light that blazed overhead until, as suddenly as they had come, they disappeared over the near horizon. And as they did, a terrible flash of light burst upward, etching Alaimo’s profile against the sunset. Each of those KEWs struck with the power of well over one hundred tons of old-fashioned TNT, in an equilateral triangle centered on the Lake Orestiada evacuation center. They weren’t nuclear, but the savage explosions swept the encampment like a brimstone broom.

Ramsay fought Volkov’s grip as the horizon blazed, but he was far stronger than she would ever be. He held her with ease and pressed the muzzle of his pistol hard against her spine.

“Further rebellion will not be tolerated,” Alaimo continued. She could barely see him through her tears, but the obscene calm of his tone burned into her like a curse. “Further damage to the Federation’s economy will not be tolerated. All citizens will return to their homes immediately, and all workers will return to their normal places of employment tomorrow morning. Any and all who refuse to obey my lawful orders will be treated as insurgents.”

He shook his head sadly, his expression grave.

“I deeply regret the fashion in which I have been forced to these stern measures, but there is no need for any further loss of life or hardship. I now order President Xeneas and any and all who fomented Bellerophon’s rebellion and enlistment in the illegal ‘Free Worlds Alliance’—a treasonous organization whose avowed purpose is the complete destruction of the Federation—to surrender to justice. There is no negotiation on this point, but there will be mercy for those who surrender themselves and their coconspirators quickly. This means that any further suffering your world may experience will be a direct result of your own decision to continue to defy my lawful orders and authority. I advise you to decide wisely.”

He gazed into the camera for a handful of seconds, until a small red light blinked off. Then his sad expression segued into an almost impish smile. He drew his pistol once again, and Ramsay stopped fighting Volkov. Her eyes locked to the weapon, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at Humbolt, and she turned her head, following his gaze.

The CEO stood staring at the evil, mushroom-headed clouds rising above the horizon, and face was white.

“My…my parents were in that evacuation center.” He took a halting step towards the destruction. “My wife—my kids!”

“Really?” Alaimo looked at him, then down at the data screen on the forearm of his armor. “I didn’t realize. How horrible. On the other hand…”

A soft tone sounded, and the data scrolling up the display stopped abruptly.

“Ah, there you are, Mr. Humbolt! I see you truly are with Epoch Industries. Which, as it happens, is, a wholly-owned subsidiary of the Société Auchan.” He shook his head. “This treason you’ve helped support has had a significant effect on Auchan’s bottom line,” he said chidingly. “I’m afraid that puts you on the list of Mr. Perrin’s problems.”

He raised the pistol, aligning it with Humbolt’s forehead at a range of perhaps a meter. He held it there until the man’s stunned eyes tracked from those mushroom clouds to the weapon’s muzzle and began to widen.

Then he squeezed the trigger.

Humbolt’s head snapped back as if it were on a hinge. A red and gray cloud burst from the back of his skull, and his body tilted away from Alaimo. He collapsed, falling backward onto the grand stair, and his corpse flopped halfway down them, trailing spatters of blood and reddish-gray lumps every few steps.

“And there’s one issue resolved,” Alaimo sighed. “So many still to deal with.” He looked at Ramsay. “Somehow, there are never enough hours in the day, Governor. Or, rather, ex-Governor.”

He smiled at her, then looked across her head at her captor.

“Keep her tucked away for later, Volkov. But no records in the system.”

“Got it, Boss.”

Volkov twisted Ramsay around and pushed her toward the grand stair. She tried not to look down as they walked through the splatter pattern of brain matter. She stumbled as she stepped across Humbolt’s sprawled body, but Volkov kept her from falling and pushed her onward toward a waiting lander.



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