A Soldier For All Seasons Ch. 27

"Jenny," He said, using her stupid alias. "Tell me where they'll take the President."

"I'm not telling you that," She growled. "What are you going to do, finish the job? Put your hands up and surrender so the grunts don't blow—"

"Damn it woman, fucking listen." Nate snapped. "I shot him to save him, there was a gun about to blow his face off. Now, either trust me or come down here yourself and shoot me. Jarek's going for round two, that's where we'll catch him. Tell me!"

Silence, a beat of a heart that stretched into a dozen.

And then her voice came, angry. "Don't make me regret this, Clancy. The panic room, in the basement."

"Thank you." He told her sincerely.

They were climbing the rigging, a dozen scopes trained on him. But he still had a chance.

"Become a Judge, they said." Nate bit out as he crouched down. Behind him, the harsh floodlights of a ship seared through the stained glass behind him, silhouetting him for all to see, the thief in the night. They were taking no chances.

But they'd given him an idea.

He grabbed the rope, looped it around the pole of the scaffolding, fastened it tightly. As the hands reached up onto the plank beside his feet, he tugged it to make sure.

"Here goes stupid." Nate let out a short sharp sigh and jumped. The rope caught against the plank, swinging him hard into the huge window. The stained glass shattered as he burst through, shards cutting into his skin.

He gasped, the cool night air bitter in his lungs. For a single glimpse, the planet below, far below the floating palace. And then, the palace spires, the balconies, the castle walls and the ship-ports. He let go of the rope, dropping down with a crunch onto the castle wall.

Frantic arms flew back to stop himself from falling forward and over. "Whew!" He laughed, a little hysterical.

He couldn't stop now.

Across the walls, feet clapping against the marble, sharp wind brushing against his open cuts.

A soldier, radio to his ear. "I can't hear you, sir—"

Nate barreled through him, not stopping. No time to explain, no time to fight — Jarek was always one step ahead.

A shout from behind, the sizzle of a blaster. Nate slid over the parapet walls and onto the angled slate roof, sliding down. Roof slates slid with him, an avalanche of stone slabs, the noise causing the tiny figures in the grounds below to look up as one.

The roof ran out. The wind rushed. He swiveled, hand catching the gutter, it cutting into his skin, fingers damp as they squelched into moss and rainwater. He held on hard.

"Ah, fuck fuck fuck!" He cried, seeing the sharp drop below. Something pinged off the gutter pipe — screws from the holders. He dropped a little more suddenly.

Ping!

A few more feet, descending into the frying pan, only the frying pan was a lethal drop.

The gutter pipe ripped from the wall from left to right, swinging him across, scraping against the coarse wall, ripping his skin off. He left a blood trail of pain until the wall turned cold — glass!

He fell into it, through it, collecting more shards. Nate found himself in a stairwell — it was quiet, dank, dusty and descended down. He stumbled to his feet, picking some shards out of his hand. "So many shards in me you could use me as a mirror." He growled.

*Samples of the air indicate you're in the underground levels of the palace.* Isabelle told him, making him pause at the fear and anxiety in her voice.

"I'll be okay, Isabelle."

*I hope so.*

In the basement, all the sounds were muffled and felt so far away. Shouts and footsteps from above, dust dripping with every stampede on the higher floors.

Nate looked around at the maze of corridors. *Isabelle?*

*Common sense architecture would suggest the best place to fit a panic room based on speed of travel, size of room, explosion protection...head north-east.*

*Thanks.* He set off at a run, ignoring the burn in his muscles. A cut above his eye dripped a line aside his nostril, mixing with his sweat.

At the sound of voices, he skidded to a stop and found himself facing the President and six bodyguards, standing at the other end of a long windowless corridor. They stood at an open vault door, two feet thick of gleaming metal, multiple huge bolts ready to shoot out when the door locked.

"Mr. President!" He held his hands high, showing they were empty.

"Hands behind your back, get on the ground!" One of his bodyguards roared.

The Defence Minister emerged from the vault, rotund and snarling. And, one arm behind him, keeping a child safe — the kid with the glasses. "Kill him!"

"Wait!" The President ordered.

"Mr. President, I am Captain Clancy. I'm not armed." Nate said, his heart thumping his chest. Their fingers were on the triggers. "I saved Princess Anariel, I was at the Battle of Lagashay along with your son—"

"You shot me, Captain." He held a bio-gel pack to his shoulder.

"I winged you deliberately, sir, to stop a remotely activated gun—"

"Ridiculous!" The Defence Minister cried.

Nate continued. "—that was about to be triggered. The rifle's angle was adjusted using a camera in the glasses of that Minister's son."

The man guffawed, face red. "Absolutely ludicrous. My son? My Jacob? This man is clearly unwell!" He held his son back, the child's face pale.

The President lowered one of his guard's rifles as he stopped forward. In this light, a sheen of sweat made his dark skin glossy, and though his hands were bloodied, his suit was still immaculate. His hazel eyes were piercing, his close fade showing old military roots.

"Mr. Pearson is my oldest friend and his son is my godson. He is no traitor." His voice quiet, but it carried.

"He is no traitor." Nate agreed. "And yet, they got to you somehow, didn't they, kid? Pressured you, told you they'd kill your parents if you didn't wear those glasses, didn't watch the President's every movement on stage."

The child froze, blood leaving his face, hands shaking, eyes glistening.

"Sir, I refuse—"

"It's alright, Alex." The President held up a hand. "Son, you're asking me to trust a stranger, a stranger that shot me no less."

"All I'm asking is that you do not step into that panic room. I believe that's what the assassin wants. If you take another step, it could be your last." He warned.

The fat Minister blustered. "It's the safest place in the galaxy, fool, the amount of protections—"

Nate saw him first, emerging from the panic room, behind all of them. "No!"

Too late. Jarek opened fire with a drum-fed submachine gun. Rat-at-at-at! Bullets clipped the wall in the fierce cacophony, screams dying quick. Nate dove behind the corner, whistling heat singing his kneecap.

Silence, sulfur and smoke mixing.

"What have you—gah!" The President's voice cut off.

Nate peeked around the corner to see Jarek dragging the President back into the panic room. The door closed on his smirking face, looking straight at Nate.

In the corridor, the bodies piled. The guards, the Minister...the boy.

The blood pooled. Nate's own ran cold.

The vault was shut. Jarek had the President in a room with no way in. What was his play?

*And no way out?* Isabelle thought.

Nate touched his earpiece.

"Jarek has the President in the panic room." He said limply, his voice monotone.

"What!" The Lady snapped.

"Nate, I'm on the way with Cora, Lunar's ahead." Ana said through a whirlwind of background noise.

"Jenny, is there any way in the panic room?" He urged.

"N—no. Fuck...he's dead."

He shook his head, feeling a dagger split between his eyes, headache splitting. "No...Jarek, he likes to play with his food, but with someone as important as the President? If he wanted him dead, he would have shot him just now. If he's alive, it's because he wants—" Nate paused. What did Jarek want?

"The turret codes." The Lady finished, voice filled with dread. "He wants to deactivate all our turret defences."

Nate held his breath, his chest so tight it felt like it was caving in. "Of course...of course..." He murmured.

Nausea rushed up to his throat. Had he caused this? Had he forced the President to Jarek's waiting arms?

He had to know. He stumbled over bodies to the boy, who stared up lifelessly.

Swallowing back the bile in his mouth, Nate removed his glasses and closed the boy's eyes.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He told him. The statement hung in the air. Nobody could reply.

The glasses had cameras — Nate searched in his oversized jacket. In the inside pocket, a small gun.

But it was too light. It felt cheap. Plastic.

Nate fired it at the wall. A loud gunpowder bang, but no projectile. The orange tip at the gun's end had been colored black.

Just a prop.

A cheap prop — but enough to send the President running to the panic room. The kid wouldn't have even had to aim it accurately — maybe they'd told him it was just a bit of fun. Nobody would get hurt.

But Nate had shot him anyway — there was never a hidden gun.

Nate wiped his eyes and then his mouth, a lump in his throat — he couldn't swallow for a long moment. But there was time enough for guilt later.

This was time for revenge.

"H-how do they get out of the panic room?" Nate stumbled to his feet, leaning against the cold metal door. "Jarek must have an escape route."

"Will he?" The Lady paused. "Are you sure he's not a true believer, Nate? Suicide for his greater good?"

Nate shook his head wildly. He wasn't sure of much, not any more, but he was sure of this. "No. He's a survivor, doing whatever it takes to win. He likes playing the game too much. And dying — dying is losing."

Her voice was soft. "How can you know that?"

He took a deep breath. "Because we're the same."

Silence for a few seconds. "There's no way out except through that vault door. It is ten feet of the thickest wall on either side of the door and blowing even a few feet of it will activate even more protections."

Nate leaned his forehead against the vault, letting the cold balance him. "What about ventilation?"

"Checking docs...the vents run outside in eight separate ways — they have an intake filter that ensures only air with an oxygen percentage range comes through, to avoid poisons. And it's forcefielded to protect against drones or even people coming through. The forcefield is keycoded specifically to the President's..." She trailed off.

"Voice." Nate finished grimly. "Get moving!"

Footsteps stomping, sounds echoing down the hallway. The pile of bodies, the missing President — he couldn't explain this.

No time to run. Five soldiers — Federation men, his brothers. "Don't fuckin' move or we'll blow your brains out!" One of them yelled.

His skin paled. This couldn't be how it ended.

But from the other hallway, a soft voice. "Kyrios."

Lunar, stalking forward in her armored silver thigh-high boots, leather skirt swaying, gunblade raised high with both arms, ready to do battle. She was a glorious sight.

"Go, Kyrios." She smiled at him fondly. "Your bonded yearns to protect you in battle."

"Lunar—we can't kill them, they are Fed—" Nate said, his breath short, too many thoughts in his head.

"I know, Kyrios." She bent her neck one way and then other, working out a joint. "They shall not come to serious harm." She smiled.

The soldier was screaming warnings yet again, but Nate couldn't hear him, see him, eyes only for his bonded.

"There are five of them—"

A touch to his cheek and then she was in front of him, sword raised. "Yes. They should have brought more."

She was away, amongst the soldiers, imperiously quick. Sword slapping away a shot, turning into the shooter, a hilt into the chest, a back-fisted jab to the face, a swiping slice through a gun barrel. A bullet clanged off her bodice — but of course, it only looked silver — it was Mediator metar'aluven, one of the strongest metals in the galaxy.

She was too fast, too strong — he wished he'd the time to admire her, for she clearly needed no help.

He darted back the way he came and leapt out the first window he found, just before more soldiers turned the corner.

With his fingertips, he held onto the ledge, mind jumping back to the trial, hanging onto the cliff's edge with Bastian above.

*You're always hanging around.*

*Really? Now?*

*Apologies.*

He gasped out a breath and then dug his fingers into the divots between each stone. The stone crumbled in his fingers but held as he spidered up, his eyes locked on the drain pipe beside. Too far and it looked like it was about to fall off by itself — clearly palatial wealth did not extend to the plumbing.

Nate craned his neck around, looking for another option.

Oh.

Behind and above, the flower and waterfall drones hummed gently, rotating slowly, the water cascading down and then vacuumed back up. A drone dangled a hanging vine enticingly, but it was thin.

*Visual scan indicates—*

*Why do you always say that?* Nate interrupted.

*Really? Now?*

*Okay, okay.*

*Visual scan indicates the hanging vine is Mandeladenia Dipla — strong and used as fishing nets in the pre-interstellar civilization of—*

Perfect.

Nate pressed both feet against the stone, resolutely not looking down, and pushed back, swivelling as he leapt. His hand caught the vine, but it was sticky and immediately began secreting an awful pus down his wrist.

"Fuck!" Little thorns scissored out from the vine, digging into his hand.

*Perhaps if you had waited until—*

"Yeah, yeah." Nate growled, climbing quickly. "It's a miracle I have any blood left in the tank." At the top, the drone was covered in a soft soil.

"Nate, do you have eyes on?" The Lady sounded in his ear, out of breath.

He scanned over the parapet — it was too far for him to get to, but he was could easily see Jarek carrying the President on his shoulder, heading to the ship bay. "Mena's ship in the east bay! I'm coming."

"I'm first." She said grimly, and then there she was, barefoot, racing around the corner in a classic slit-legged red gown.

Jarek must have seen her too because two bodyguards stepped down from the elevated ship bay.

She didn't hesitate, diving between the first's legs only to plant her hands on the ground and swing her legs back and up behind her. Her heel cracked into the guard's nose. A rabbit-jab to the crotch and a swipe of the legs sent him tumbling over the castle walls.

His scream echoed.

*Damn, she doesn't fuck around.*

Nate had seen enough to know she could take care of herself. He had to get over there, but how?

*Reprogram the drone?*

Digging through the soil, he found no panel, nothing to plug into.

A drone flew overhead, carrying another vine. Too far away. Unless he made it come closer.

A blaster shot clipped it, sending it smoking and careering down. Nate bent his knees, leapt, caught the vine and let it carry him into the castle walls. It bounced off and crashed down, but he'd already jumped over the parapet onto the castle walkways.

A sharp stabbing pain below his ribs doubled him over.

*Just a stitch, pull it together.*

"Yeah, yeah." He gasped out, limping ahead.

Jarek's ship was heating up, the sheer noise of the engine blasting away the whistling wind, heat washing against his face, a storm to walk toward. Up ahead, The Lady stamped through a guard's kneecap and threw him behind her. Another soldier. A duck to dodge a punch and then she was under his arm, twisting like a snake until she was abruptly sitting on his shoulders, head between her thighs.

Snap.

Nate blinked.

A shot cracked through her shoulders, sending her falling back, off the elevated steel platform and onto the walkway.

"No!" He growled, pushing forth as the ship span up. Jarek waved him away as the ship lifted off, turning his back as they rose into the air. Nate pounded the platform steps desperately, pushing through the engine's whirlwind.

The ship careered higher. The ramp was lower, closing. He jumped, fingers just catching the edge, the ramp pulling up fast.

Too fast.

It closed on his fingers and left him on the outside of the ship as it soared into the air. Below, The Lady waved him on as he chanced a glance down. He caught his hand into a handle grip for a maintenance panel, but he had to get into the ship before they rose into the atmosphere.

Already, his breaths were coming short, the air knocking his neck back, the pressure intense, his face distorted. The fuselarium fumes choked him.

Below, the ship's legs were retracting, a spider retreating its thin limbs.

A hard target.

Nothing for it.

He dropped.

He smashed his leg against the ship's foot, bone crunching into the hard metal, arms coming out by reflex to hug the leg.

"Guuuh—" He moaned as blasting pain shot from his shin. "Fuck, why do my balls—" He trailed off, biting his lip as the leg ascended into the ship's underbelly.

*It is likely nerve pain in your lower back that is responsible for your testicle pain.*

"Fan-fucking-tastic."

Nate found himself in a cargo bay underneath the ship, so low he couldn't stand up. Crates and bags were tied to the netting on either side. On the other side of the bay, a hatch to the ship above.

He dragged himself to lie against one of the soft bags, biting his lip to stop from whimpering.

But he'd made it. They weren't getting away. Now it was time to call the big guns.

A finger to his earpiece.

Nothing...it had fallen out. Of course it had.

His hand dropped to his armguard — splintered down the middle. Nate dug out a bullet, shortened into a squashed wedge. He sighed. At least it had probably saved the bullet from hitting his brachial artery, saving his life.

*It's just us, honey.* He thought tiredly, head swimming.

*Just like it started. Let's finish this and go home, Nate.*

*Sounds like a plan. Do you think the planetary blockade will stop them? They won't let anybody get out, right?*

*Do you really want to bet Jarek hasn't got a plan to break through?*

*Good point.*

The hatch rattled, opened, light pouring in. Nate dragged himself behind a crate, but nobody slid in.

"Why do I gotta do it?" A whiny voice.

"Cos you're the new guy."

"I've been the new guy for six months."

"And when we get a new guy, you can order him around. 'Til then, get in there and see if there are any bottles. We'll be docking in paradise in a few minutes."

"You lock me in there again, I'll shoot you in your sleep." The whiny voice threatened.

"Relax, just a bit of hazing. We're not gonna lock you in there with the booze, are we?"

Still grumbling, boots appeared on the ladder before a man jumped down, crouching low.

"There'll be plenty of booze in paradise." He bitched. "But nooo, they want shitty beer instead of fine wine."

The man edged closer. Nate held his breath. He could take him, but everything hurt.

His hand skittered in the bags next to him, searching for a weapon by touch. Cigars, bags of some sort of pink powder, bleach...fucking toilet roll.

The man sighed as his own search came up fruitless, coming closer to Nate's hiding spot.

The ship rolled a little. Glass clinked. Nate froze — he knew where that sound had come from. His hand dug deeper and came up with a bottle of something white.

The man pulled away a crate, revealing Nate. He acted fast, but not fast enough — he went for his sidearm, Nate just swung. The bottle smashed on his skull and Nate saw his lights turn off.

A frozen breath as he paused to see if anyone heard.

Nothing.

He let out a slow exhale. The man had an old Wellingburg revolver — which wasn't even loaded.