Revelation, p.19
Revelation, page 19
The door hissed open, revealing McAaron sitting at his desk, ruffled hair gripped in two fists. His eyes were downcast, staring at the glossy black work surface of his desk. From the lack of illumination, there was nothing displayed there.
“Come in,” he spat, “or get the fuck out!”
Frankie stepped into the room. The door hissed behind her.
McAaron sighed heavily, then leaned back in his chair. He took her in, then pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.
In that quick glance, she knew he was innocent. There was nothing in his eyes but confusion and fear. Not the type of fear one experiences when they’re caught doing something. This was the fear of What happens next?
“When I was at Homeland,” she began, “we’d regularly release propaganda pieces that utilized doctored images or videos. This is something they’re fully capable of. Unfortunately, it’s extremely effective. People believe what they see.”
“So was it all fake? Or is Helena dead somewhere in our facility?”
Air sucked into her lungs for a response, but she held it. Then she decided against saying what she’d intended and let herself exhale. Instead, she raised one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.
McAaron laughed mirthlessly, a sad, somewhat disappointing sound coming from him. To her ears, it sounded like giving up. Something about it made her teeth grind together reflexively.
The really sad thing she’d left unsaid was that it was a fifty-fifty chance. It might not have even been their facility, but an elaborate set mocked up to appear like their hideout. Brillian had been here, and he could’ve transmitted enough information for that to work out. One actor for Ed and one for Helena, some fancy algorithms, and they’d have themselves an assassination tape to proliferate all over the system.
If the reemergence of Helena Chu from the grips of the Protectorate had been a polarizing factor for the revolution in a positive way, it stood to reason that one leader murdering the other would have a significant negative effect.
Emotionally, Frankie kicked herself.
They should’ve anticipated this.
The former governor had been seen down in the depths of the unused portions of the facility by dozens of people at this point. Their intelligence officers kept somewhat loose tabs on Chu. All it would take was a scrappy agent to plan an ambush, and a silenced weapon.
Stomach wounds were grotesque, but a person could survive for a considerable amount time if circumstances were in their favor. The pain was excruciating, but if they could find her quickly enough, there was a reasonably good chance they could save her.
Unless the bullet had struck her spine, aorta, vena cava, or any number of other scenarios.
Shaking her head to clear out the tumbling lethal scenarios, she said, “We’ll find her and block this attempt by the Protectorate.” A thought occurred to her, and she snapped her fingers. “You know, actually, if we can turn this around on them, show you and Helena standing together, not a cold-blooded murderer, and not dead, it could completely undermine their validity. They’d no longer control the narrative on this.”
That was true. Up until this point, every mediacast over the months had been used exclusively to drive propaganda and had focused on one of two things. Either painting the “insurgency” as a ragtag group of criminals trying to take advantage of a disruption in the governance of Mars for personal gain, or downplaying the entire thing to the point where it was almost as if there weren’t people in the streets waging war.
Frankie fully expected Earth to think of the Martians as spoiled brats who hadn’t gotten their way, and were now throwing a pesky little tantrum.
Meanwhile, almost every major city on Martian soil was burning.
Once they’d established themselves in their new headquarters, McAaron had taken to talking to other rebel groups. She hadn’t been privy to those conversations, but they’d been numerous. When she’d asked about it, he’d just made some joke about knowing a lot of “the wrong element” on Mars. Maybe the wrong element a year ago, but now that was exactly what they’d needed.
Helena Chu’s video had made a world of difference, as well.
It was frustrating for Frankie, because she’d finally felt like all the right pieces were falling into place. Like they might’ve actually stood a chance against the monopoly on power in the system.
Killing the former governor would be a significant blow, but could they rebound from her death? She felt her gaze slide back over to the man sitting behind the desk. Only if he could pull his shit together and lead them the way he had been. Then, it wouldn’t matter if she was alive or dead.
A thought occurred to her then.
“This might sound callous—” she lowered her voice, just in case someone walked in “—but I can do exactly the same thing for us as they did to you.”
McAaron looked up sharply. “Oh, want to show me murdering more people? Wonderful, Brennan next? Or maybe you?”
His tone was acidic, full of vitriol and malice. The anger and frustration were palpable in the room, like an electrical arc dancing between them.
“Meaning,” she spoke with deliberate care, like he wasn’t understanding something extremely obvious, “that I can show you with a still living Helena Chu, even if she’s… you know.”
The thought took its time to penetrate his stubborn mind. She watched as his brows drew together in thought.
“Even if she’s dead, you mean?”
She nodded.
“I didn’t kill her!” The words were a soft growl, but it made her hair stand on end far faster than any shout ever could have. She’d never been scared for her life in his presence, not even when she’d abducted and interrogated him. “Why would I kill her? Damnit, I never wanted this job. She should be sitting here, not me!”
“That’s kind of you to say, but I fundamentally disagree.” The statement came out as matter of fact. There was no coddling in it.
Frankie watched calmly as the emotional turmoil played out on his face.
It was true, though. Ed was uniquely skilled in precisely the right ways. His knowledge of, and generally good reputation with, the criminal elements all across Mars had been wildly beneficial to their cause. The loose connection to the Pirate King in the belt had done wonders for their offensive capabilities. Up until that point, they’d mostly relied on raiding weapons depots for reservists. That was only going to take them so far in this war.
Besides his criminal enterprises, he was a charismatic and caring man. She wouldn’t go so far as to call him thoughtful, but he carefully considered his actions.
His most important attribute, however, was his rage. There was a burning desire to avenge his father’s death. That made him decisive, ruthless, and unpredictable. When someone was willing to do anything to achieve their goals, they were using a playbook the enemy couldn’t anticipate.
He was their perfect storm of circumstance.
The door suddenly hissed open.
A soldier stepped through, immediately saying, “Sir, we found Governor Chu. She’s in bad shape, but alive.”
“Take me to her.” McAaron hustled around his desk, buttoning up his suit jacket.
The suit jacket that looked surprisingly similar to the one in the video, Frankie noted with no small amount of concern. She thought about asking him to change, but he was through the door faster than the words would come out.
Naturally, she followed. Ever since she’d arrived at the Vulcan Complex and been introduced to McAaron, she’d felt like she’d been swept up in his wake. It chafed a little. He just had this gravity to him that drew her in.
Even now, as he thundered down the hallway under the scrutiny of everyone they passed, he was an electrifying presence. The corridor rippled with the urgent whispers of everyone they strode by. The entire facility was on pins and needles over this. Word had likely spread that Chu had been found and had indeed been shot. Now the question was, had it been McAaron?
If it had been, why?
The infirmary was a converted agricultural genetics lab, much like the rest of the base. The room was full of people, many of whom were hunched over a metal worktable. Frankie noticed blood dripping down the side and pooling on the floor below. Never a good sign.
Doctors were shouting at each other for this instrument or that. The sounds of ripping sterile bags punctuated the hurried requests.
Medical procedures had come a long way since the first boots touched Martian soil. Still, there was only so much a body could take before it gave out.
Nobody so much as glanced at McAaron.
That in itself was awkward, Frankie noted.
They think he did it.
The realization was a sad one. People always trusted their eyes more than any other sense. Just because they’d seen the video, that was enough to pass judgement. It wasn’t fair. Not really. Frankie had a bit more perspective on the subject, given what she’d not only seen but participated in over at Homeland. Wars had been won with propaganda for centuries.
The only person who could confirm her suspicions was bleeding out on the table.
“She isn’t going to make it, is she?” McAaron whispered the question to no one in particular.
There was a sadness there now, not just frustration and fear over an increase in responsibility, but the realization that a friend was about to leave this world forever.
That had always been the part Frankie found horrifying. The insurmountable distance, suddenly, between you and the other person. Whatever you had left to say would go unsaid. You could never reach out randomly just to check in and see how someone was doing, nor would they do the same to you. It was unfair.
The energy in the room shifted for a brief moment, then all went silent and still.
Helena had opened her eyes.
* * * * *
Chapter 17: Brennan
There was something deeply unsettling about standing on the surface of an asteroid. The gritty surface reminded him of walking in a dry creek bed. Loose stones were piled upon each other in such a way as to make each step more treacherous than the last. Unlike the smoothly eroded stones of a creek, the regolith was all sharp edges and jagged layers of compressed silicates and nickel, from the faint glimmers he noticed throughout. The dark surface with faint shimmers mirrored the surrounding space in the most eerie of ways.
Fine dust was stirred up by every step, while the small rocks and fist-sized boulders scattered across the low-gravity surface.
If this mission were successful, and he managed to make it back to Mars, he swore he’d never even consider leaving again. This was absolutely insane. How anyone could live in such a strange place was beyond his capacity to even contemplate.
The radio crackled inside his helmet. “There’s the impact crater our coordinates are leading toward.”
Brennan saw it just ahead of the small group accompanying him, no more than a dozen total. Not much of an entourage.
Most of his cadre had remained with the ship in orbit—not that he had much faith in their survival, should things on the surface go south. Frankly, all their eggs were in this basket. Short of disappearing into the void, all their hopes were firmly in the hands of the lunatic Gregório Helier.
Everything Brennan had done up to this point in his career had been mostly terrestrial. Fleet took care of most of the off-planet operations. Sure, part of his training had been STARSEC—Space Tactical and Readiness Survival Education and Condition—but he’d hated every single second of it.
Based on the intelligence they’d gathered on Helier, the only thing Brennan was expecting was the unexpected. McAaron had described the Pirate King as “volatile at best, hostile at worst.”
None of that mattered. All that mattered was they get the ships and burn hard to get back into the fight. Every second Brennan was away, he feared the worst.
That fear always centered around the loss of Helena.
It had felt… strange. When Helena had opened up about everything that had happened to her, it had been challenging to resist trying to fix it all. The former governor was one of the strongest people he’d ever met. There was nothing he could repair that she was incapable of doing herself, and likely do a much better job. Still, the instinct and desire were there. He hated that she was hurting inside, and it galled him that he was powerless to do anything about it.
So he’d resigned himself to finishing what he’d started. See Mars a free world, oversee the installation of proper leadership, and fight like hell to make sure it remained in power. That was definitely in his wheelhouse. Not only was he willing, he was eager to showcase his talents.
Sadly, negotiations were not a strength of his.
McAaron had made it clear enough that he wasn’t there to be diplomatic. He was there to intimidate the madman into playing nice and holding up his end of the bargain, despite the precarious situation unfolding on Mars.
Helier had them between a rock and a hard place, and he damn well knew it.
On the one hand, it was a genius move by McAaron. Being the man he was, McAaron would’ve allowed himself to be pushed around by the scum. He would’ve sacrificed everything he had in order to get the help the red planet so desperately needed to survive. That selflessness was what made him such a great leader. In this situation, however, it would’ve done more harm than good.
While Brennan was no politician, he was a soldier who was comfortable in a command role and quite used to getting his way. Not to mention the fact that he was an impressive physical specimen. Even without the routine GENMOD therapy, he was statuesque and terrifying when it came to physique. Men like Helier were often easy to physically intimidate.
Or so he’d been told.
He hoped that was true.
The group came up on the edge of the indicated crater, not a large one by any stretch of the imagination, a mere fifty meters across at most. He thought it was more a depression than a crater, but who was he to argue astro-geography with anyone?
“Well, we’re here,” Brennan said over his comms, with more than a touch of irritation. “Did they give us instructions on what to do once we got to the coordinates?”
No answer was immediately forthcoming. All the pilots who were acting as his protective detail glanced at each other nervously.
Brennan growled under his breath.
Keeping him standing atop the floating rock surrounded by the inky black void of space wasn’t doing much to calm his anxiety, nor his anger.
If Helier thought to unnerve him and make him more pliable by leaving him standing on a little precipice, he had a lot to learn to the contrary.
Suddenly, a small portion of the crater wall slid up. The fine dust and rocks surprisingly clung to the door without any movement.
The camouflage was impressive. He doubted he could find the entrance again should it happen to close on them.
A few moments after the door stilled, two figures emerged from the dimly lit hall beyond. Both wore a mismatch of armor and equipment, some corporate, some Protectorate, and all of it either a decade outdated or severely unkempt. The large rifles they carried, however, were top quality, perhaps even pre-release of the newest tech. At this distance, it was hard to tell.
The two figures flanked the doorway and stood quietly, rifles held at the ready.
“Well—” Brennan took an unsteady and floaty step off the side and into the crater “—let’s get in and get out.”
The group followed behind, sliding awkwardly down the side of the crater in the lower than normal gravity. Small rocks and other debris went careening off into the darkness of space from their messy descent.
Neither guard so much as acknowledged them as they approached. Brennan felt his trigger finger twitch as he passed slowly between them and into the hidden entrance. Nothing quite like walking willingly into the dragon’s maw.
Once the group was in the hallway, the two men joined them and sealed the door.
Brennan stood in the dimly lit passage, barely more illuminated than the surface of the asteroid had been. A sudden pressure surrounded his suit as the hall filled with breathable atmosphere.
Once the pressure had reached an adequate amount, the warning indicator inside his helmet winked out. The guards removed their helmets and walked toward the door at the far end of the hall.
Cautiously optimistic, Brennan removed his helmet and followed. He could hear those behind him doing the same.
The air was dank, smelling of dust and ozone. Obviously recycled air, and likely needing a few recharged filters by the strong odor.
Silent, save for the multitude of bootsteps on the concrete floor, the group trudged deeper into the facility. Beyond the pressure door, the floor angled perceptibly downward, taking them into the depths of the asteroid. Morlockis was a small, unremarkable celestial body. Nobody would’ve been able to scan deep enough without bringing a surface team, which, obviously, Helier would’ve disappeared without hesitation.
It was no wonder the lair of the Pirate King had been undiscovered for so long. Most people had estimated that one of the larger asteroids housed the rumored tens of thousands of pirates. This, at least for the moment, seemed to indicate that everyone had been very incorrect in their hypothesis.
The walk was uneventful. While they did come across other denizens of the lair, nobody seemed to pay them much if any attention. Either everyone was well aware of their visit, or nobody gave a shit.
Both had somewhat anxiety-inducing implications.
Brennan was still trying to work out how far down they’d come when their escorts suddenly stopped at an unremarkable door set in the concrete wall. They’d passed dozens of similar portals along their walk. This one certainly didn’t look special.
One guard keyed in a passcode, while the other stepped aside and ushered their guests into the room.
Inside, the dim lights flickered slightly, giving the room an eerie cast.
The infamous Gregório Helier sat in a basic metal chair at the end of a long, metal, corporate-looking conference table. A floor-to-ceiling window was electronically tinted, so it acted more like a dark mirror than a window to anything. Nothing adorned the walls, floor, nor the ceiling. A few recessed, ill-working lights, a table, and one chair was the sum total of the décor.
