A Soldier For All Seasons Ch. 27

The shuttle took them into the palace grounds, beyond the walls. They stepped out arm-in-arm onto white pebbles that had been ground down to prevent sprained ankles. Above, holo-drones reported their move to cameras across the galaxy. Nate felt his smile strain, not his ankle. Ana simply beamed.

They wore eyemasks that stretched from above the brow to the tip of the nose, gold and black, all manner of ornate: patterned, edges frilled, transparent cutouts for effect — Ana's had a black feather affixed to the top of hers. Nate could hope to hide his identity.

Ana's figure and beauty couldn't be hidden, and with her pointed ears poking through her golden locks, there was no mistaking who she was.

Indeed, the crowd of beautiful people parted as they walked through. Beautiful women in gowns both demure and daring looked over their shoulder at them, their dates pausing for a moment, the conversation stilling. Ana kept her smile on, Nate dropped it for those that stared too hard.

"Sound check." It was The Lady who spoke. His earpiece crackled. He could tell by Ana's squeeze of his arm that hers had too.

"Copy that." He replied.

Cora, Lunar and Ana checked in.

"Good luck, I'll be too busy on cameras and hunches to check in, but talk to me if you need me." She said.

"What do we call you?" Ana asked, more than a little ice in her voice.

"Hmm, how about...Jenny?" Her reply was impish.

"Jenny?" Nate coughed. "That's a little plain for you, don't you think?"

"I could be a Jenny." She said, affronted. "What if that was my real name?"

"You wouldn't give me your real name, Jenny."

"You're right." He could hear the smile in her voice. "I wouldn't."

Through a military guard that sidelined a red carpet into the palace proper — Nate had to admire their stiff backs. Ceremonial work wasn't fun or easy, even if it was often a short cycle for the veterans looking to take a step back or a breather.

Grand double doors gleamed down at them, as tall as a house and almost as wide. They parted with preternatural ease, but Nate couldn't hear the motors.

"Powerful attuned magnets." Ana murmured. "Mother does the same trick — not much fun when they go wrong, as you can imagine. One of our ambassadors was stuck to the door for three hours once."

Nate stopped himself from snorting as they entered the ball.

Wow.

*Even I'm impressed.* Isabelle said.

It was...grand, in design and scope. It was less a ball and more of a gigantic theater, designed to emulate old architecture, marble cast aglow with warm lights such that it looked like gold, each wall stacked with symmetrical pillars, engraved with murals — Nate recognized musicians, filmmakers, actors, writers. He smiled slightly — soldiers never made it into the lasting architecture.

It was early evening, but the light still streamed in from the magnificent stained glass windows, each full frame composed of petal windows, circles and traditional arches. And each of their frames, a different shade, casting the crowd in foamy greens, aqua blues or toasty oranges, depending on where they stood. The colors were separated by thin black borders, borders for the panels, but Nate also realized they spelled out names embedded in the windows.

Heroes of old, humanity's best and brightest over the years, the shoulders that the Federation had been built on. Those that took them further into science, into space.

Names he knew, names he didn't. Newton. Curie. Einstein. Hilleman. Fleming, Feynman. Franklin — first Benjamin and then Rosalind. Salk. Babbage. Lovelace. Wright and Wright. Hundreds of others.

His own name would never rank among them and nor should it.

But he knew that should he fail, their own names would be broken into shards, forgotten in the debris — the bugs consumed and destroyed.

The floor, full of bodies, the conversation a loud and cheerful buzz, interspersed with the white-shirted waiters carrying trays of bubbling hissing wine of some kind. By reflex, Nate checked the security — military men, looking uncomfortable in their black and white suits. They covered the main entrance, the kitchen, the stage sides.

Nate frowned. Not the VIP boxes above on each of the tiers, empty for tonight, but if someone sneaked in...

"Smile, Nate." Ana reminded him as they swept in. On a stage, a band played light piano-focused music, dwarfed by the huge red curtain behind them, trimmed gold. The Federation shield of arms was imprinted in white on the curtain, centered, as if one could forget whose palace this was. Underneath the shield of arms, the motto of the Federation: Unity. Strength. Sacrifice.

It was emblazoned again on the giant frosted cake on the stage, so large it had been wheeled in on a pedestal.

High above, lighting and sound rigs lined the side, the modern invasion into the classic hall, but they framed a painting, cracked and faded but still recognizable, depicting that first creation of The Council, all the races coming together to unify.

"It's quite something, isn't it, Princess Anariel?" A man's voice said. Deep, confident — Nate swept over him and his date, a beauty with caramel hair and glowing skin.

Ana laughed. "You saw through my mask."

"There's no mistaking those ears, I'm afraid. You look stunning."

"Thank you, Mena, may I call you Mena?"

He laughed. "I'm just as easily seen through, am I? Was it my voice?"

"Your date, I'm afraid." Ana said apologetically. "The most famous skin in the galaxy, Emily Mason."

"You're too sweet." They clutched hands for a moment. "Just please make sure you don't get into modeling, my career would be over." Emily told her.

"Oh, don't be silly, I could never. You two make a beautiful couple. Don't they, Nate?" Ana tugged at him slightly, refocusing him as he scanned the crowds for any sign of Jarek, or any would-be assassin.

"Yes," Nate offered a weak smile. "I loved you in, uh, Prince of The Runes." He told the man.

"Prince of the Dunes." Mena's smile was a little sour, though his date laughed loud.

Ana patted Nate's arm. "You'll have to forgive him, he's a military man to the core. If it hasn't got a gun, he's not interested."

Mena brightened. "Understandable — perhaps you'll be more interested in my next movie. Not swords and sandals, but Judges! I'm playing a Judge uncovering a conspiracy by a—" he lowered his voice—"a corrupt Federation officer. Best not to talk about here, y'know."

"Your secret is safe with us." Ana assured him.

"Mena is desperate to meet one today. It's all part of his process." Emily rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

"Do you think there will be any here?" The actor bounced on his toes, scanning the crowd.

"I'm sure of it." Nate said.

"I'm going to get to the bar, this bubbly stuff doesn't agree with me. Chat to me at the dinner table, Ana?" Emily implored.

"Of course."

"Who was she?" Nate wondered once they departed.

"She's the model for practically every skincare product ever made." Ana's thumb rubbed his hand. "Don't you ever use any skin cream?"

"No," He frowned, spotting a sudden movement in the crowd. Just a impromptu proposal, the crowd oohing as he bent to one knee. "Should I?"

"Aww, they're so sweet." Ana coo'ed before scanning his face. "You don't have any wrinkles, just scars." She shrugged. "But it never hurts."

Nate waited until the crowd erupted into applause as the couple embraced before leaning over to whisper into the Princess' ear. "Tonight, I'm going to give you my facial cream."

"Nate!" Ana swatted his arm, going red. "You're such a pervert, honestly."

"But you love me."

"Of course I love you, don't be silly." She brushed his chest, fixed his tie. "Now go and do your detective thing with Isabelle, I'm drawing us too many attention with my ears, there's three-four different people about to talk to me about their latest business venture."

"Good luck!" He left her, stepping around the ballroom, trying to examine every feature through their mask, every odd crease in a man's jacket.

In the corner, he spotted Major General Anthony Kanu, who was looking exasperated as his wife fussed over a frayed seam in his jacket — the General's mask didn't hide his features, not with the vast amount of military stripes and badges on his jacket.

"General." Nate approached.

"Captain, good to see you. Where's that lovely date of yours?"

"Ah, entertaining her many admirers. I should be fending them off but it's not her security that concerns me." Nate's eyes dropped to his wife.

"Oh, don't mind Ebele, she's heard it all before." The General waved him away.

"It's a pleasure, Ma'am." The woman was all smiles, her black coils bouncing with her head.

"I'm too young for Ma'am, you can call me Ebele like everyone else. Now, talk your business so you can get back to that date of yours." She ordered.

"Yes, Ma'am." He teased.

The General laughed. "Captain Clancy here is a troublemaker, so you see."

"So I see." She appraised him. "Are you making trouble tonight, Captain?"

"Trying to find it, Ma'am. General, I'm sure there will be an attack tonight—"

The General held his hand up. "Captain, I haven't got this far in life by ignoring the concerns of my officers. We've done our diligence. We've upped our security. We've done thorough background checks on the guests, the caterers, the waiters, the security."

Nate's gaze lingered on the band. "The entertainment?"

"And the entertainment."

"Did you check there is nobody in that giant cake?"

The General nodded solemnly. "X-rayed and thermal scanned."

Ebele snorted.

"Am I being paranoid?" Nate bit his lip.

The man sighed. "Everyone is being paranoid until they're right."

Nate grimaced, rolling his neck — his shoulder had recovered, but his neck had a pinched nerve or something. Maybe he was being stupid — he had no evidence. Just a feeling. He was so sure that Jarek would hit the ball tonight, that he or the bugs or whoever Jarek worked for or worked with — that tonight was the night. But why?

Because that's what I would do. The uncomfortable thought swept through his mind.

"Cute kid." Ebele commented before swatting her husband's arm. "Anthony, you told me we couldn't bring the kids!"

Nate looked up at the VIP boxes. Nothing. Silent. In the lighting rigging high above, he spotted a military sniper.

"One of ours." Kanu assured him, following his gaze. "We've got eyes on the boxes but we also have men at the upper level entrances. Nobody is getting in or out that—ow!"

"I said," Ebele put her hands on his hips. "You told me no kids were allowed."

"I didn't think we could." Kanu protested.

Nate blinked. In the crowd, a chubby kid in an over-sized suit, wearing big thick glasses. Why was there a kid here?

"Who is that kid?" Nate asked, voice rough.

"I don't know, I don't see his parents—"

Nate was gone, pushing through the crowd. The kid was still, too still, and why wasn't he with his parents? A glass rang, loud through the microphone. The crowd hushed. On the stage, the President stepped up.

Nate looked back and the kid was gone — lost amongst a trail of legs as the crowd bunched up, inching closer to the stage.

"Welcome, ladies and gentleman, to the Federation Jubilee!"

The crowd cheered. Nate scowled, and suddenly Ana was at his side.

"Nate, what's wrong?"

"There's a kid with glasses." He winced, aware of how silly he sounded as Mena and Emily appeared behind Ana. "There's no kids allowed." He said lamely.

Emily covered her giggle with her hand as the President's speech boomed over them. "We all pulled a few strings for this event, Captain. Goodness, Mena here—" she elbowed him — "was allowed to land his ship on the palace rooftop bay, and boy did that ruffle some feathers."

Nate felt the blood drain from his face, his hand coming out to clutch her arm. "What did you say?"

She pulled away, frowning. "Mena, he landed his ship on the roof above, always the showman, aren't you Mena? Someone at the Fed is a fanboy, I guess."

A ship...directly above them. He stretched his neck back, scanning the room.

*Isabelle?*

*There's iron lattice work on the high walls, they use a mixture of those and the stained glass windows to shine patterned sunlight. I...don't think someone could hide there.*

"The rigging then, they must be in the rigging." He muttered to himself.

"Nate—" Ana's hand on his arm — he shrugged her off.

*Visual analysis only sees the Federation sniper — trajectory estimates indicate he's aiming at the boxes, not the stage.*

"A stronger Federation, a Federation that stands the test of time—" The President droned on but Nate wasn't listening, pushing past shoulders, trying to get out of the crowd.

He pressed a finger to his earpiece. "Jenny, above, what's above?"

Her reply came immediately. "Snipers on the walls, security patrol along them, the control room is up there too."

"And the ship bay, where's the ship bay?" He urged, ignoring a woman as he knocked her drink over.

"There's a four bay port above you but I have a camera...hang on. Eyes on the pilot, he's just sleeping."

"Dead?"

"He just yawned, Nate." She teased.

Ana caught up to him, tugging him back. "Nate, sweetheart, you're attracting attention."

He barely heard her words, panic spreading through him. Something was wrong. His eyes flicked around the room wildly. Something was badly wrong — he just couldn't see it.

"And so I will strengthen our ties. To the Lunari, to the Reverts, to all the races, to The Council itself, because—"

A waiter passed through the crowd. A gap, through which he could see that kid. He was sweating, staring intently at the President. His fists were clenched. He couldn't have been more than eight or nine. As the President paced up and down the stage, the kid's head swiveled.

"They're going to kill the President." Nate breathed out. It was clear now.

"Nate, there is no visible threat." Jenny said seriously. "There's no sniper, our people are all over the elevation. The President is pacing up and down as requested, there's no shot. And look at the stage security, nobody is getting up there."

"There's no sniper." He furrowed his brows. "You're right. There doesn't need to be. A remotely triggered rifle, sighted in, the target tracked by a close camera." He growled. "It's not a hard shot."

"Nate, there's trouble coming." Ana said softly. Nate caught the security, big and burly, fingers in their ears, coming towards him through the crowd.

"Distract them." He ordered, pulling off his jacket and tossing it to the ground.

And then he was away. Over the curtain rope, up the steps.

*Climb the pillar, jump to the next box.* Isabelle instructed. He scaled the marble column, ignoring the pain in his neck, the tear of a seam in his suit trousers. He jumped from one private box to the next, a trip almost sending him head first in the chair's cupholder.

The lighting rigging above had thick wiring down the wall, painted to match the decor, invisible if it wasn't for the glow of the Emergency Escape light. Nate tugged at the cabling - strong enough. Up he went, eyes on the metal poles of scaffolding above. Down below, the figures turned small, applauding as one at something the President said.

He pulled himself onto the wooden planks and found himself facing a soldier as surprised as he.

"Hey, what—"

Nate's rabbit punch caught him in the neck. Nate cradled him to the ground, taking his rifle. Around the rigging, circling the room, his eyes straining in the darkness even as Isabelle adjusted them. Nothing, not in the boxes, not in the rigging, not a misplaced paint bucket or a wrench — just rope, thick and knotted, still the go-to for carrying things up and down, even with drones.

The light through the stained glass was blinding, it was so bright — he tried to keep low, worried he would cast a silhouette on the rainbow of light below.

All around the rigging and then he was above the sniper who lay prone below, scanning the boxes.

"Sorry." Nate murmured as he knocked him out with the butt of his rifle. "I need your scope."

"Nate, what are you doing?" The Lady's voice in his ear. He didn't reply, taking the gun — Firebird — Tritan had better rifles but people trusted Firebird's scopes more.

There was a sniper rifle set up somewhere, he just knew it. On a tripod with full angle adjustment, remotely triggered. Somewhere, Jarek was waiting to pull the trigger.

The President's speech was reaching a crescendo, the hairs on the back of Nate's neck standing up. A drop of sweat fell from his forehead. "I believe the bug threat is stronger than ever. My opponent tells me I speak of bugs under the bed, traitors at every corner. He believes me delusional. But I believe there are those, difficult though it may be to believe, that are willing to sacrifice everything we hold dear to the bugs. For a paycheck, for power."

The President took a pause, sipped a glass of water. In the silence, Nate searched frantically, searching for something. Anything.

Nothing but shadows.

He changed tactic, scoping that kid. The child was sweating buckets, head swiveling, hands clenched, eyes wide, as close as possible to the stage.

"Grab the fucking kid." Nate demanded. "Turn his head, the cameras on his glasses are sighting the shot!"

Ana. "I can't get close, there's too many people!"

He saw her pushing through ineffectively.

"A Federation for me and you, for the rich and the poor!" The President banged his podium.

And then The Lady. "Nate, that's the damn Defence Minister's kid, we cannot touch him."

Military suits pushing through the crowd under The Lady's instructions. Too slow.

"Fucking do it!" Nate growled.

They hesitated, unsure. The Defence Minister's wife put her arm around her kid.

Nate swore.

"A Federation for all, united in our purpose, in our common ground—"

The kid was shaking.

"There's a gun, there has to be a gun." He murmured to himself, hands clammy. His scope swayed across the stage as the President held his arms wide.

"—and a Federation united against the Bugs! Now and forever. Long live the Federation!" The President cheered.

Nate took a gamble.

Took a shot.

He shot the President. Bang! And then blood, clean through his shoulder.

Screams chorused, his bodyguards rushing the stage, pulling him back through the carpet, guns drawn.

The crowd drew back as the security swelled forth, heads swiveling.

"Up there!" Someone cried and the yells grew louder.

"Fuck." Nate scrambled to his feet, dropping the rifle.

"Did you just shoot the fucking President?" The Lady snarled in his ear.

"I saved him." He bit out, sprinting across the wooden planks, kicking dust in a cloud.

"I...I can't help you, Nate." Her voice came softly.

"Get out of there Nate!" Ana urged.

Nate scanned the vast hall below. Light streamed on the VIP boxes as the doors were opened, soldiers pushing in, taking up position. He didn't have much time. Where was Jarek?

He'd be here, near. He was sure of it. He'd want to see his handiwork, feel the panic of the crowd, taste his triumph. That was why he was in the arena back on Acropolis — because he liked to get his hands dirty, liked to see his prey.

So if he wasn't in the room...he was in the grounds outside, the court yards.

*Searching for a way out, he'd go for a ship?* Isabelle suggested.

"No..." Nate murmured. Judges didn't fail. They took impossible chances and came out smelling of roses. They didn't accept failure. "He's going for the President again."