START AT THE BEGINNING OF THE FIRST SECTION
Kel came out of the stairwell at a full run into the first floor lobby in the northwest corner of building R. Somebody had pulled the fire alarm. Campus security was there, just a couple of private security officers who had no business carrying weapons.
Kel went down on her stomach, sliding across the slick artificial marble in prone firing position. They turned, and the hand of the senior partner went clumsily down for his pistol. Kel fired two bursts. There was a spray of pulp from his leg below the knee and he went down hard.
The rookie partner was backing away with his hands thrown back. Kel couldn’t tell if he was keeping his hands off his weapon or signaling some kind of old west gunfighter showdown. She fired a burst over his head and he hit the floor with his fingers interlaced behind his neck.
Kel was up and running. It was a long hallway with cases full of displays mounted between administration offices. She reached the door at the southwest corner and there was a crowd of students looking around wide-eyed, wondering where the gunshots were coming from and where they should go. Down across the rolling grassy hillocks black smoke was rising from a few open windows on the second floor of building H. Kel pushed through and the students scattered when they saw the rifle.
She was running now—full speed across the manicured lawn. She could hear sirens in the distance. There was a campus officer pressing an earpiece to his head yelling “hey” over and over from half a football field away but she ignored him and kept her chin pointed at the northeast stairwell of building S. The officer fired a warning shot and that’s what did it.
First the 50 caliber rounds started thumping into the ground near her feet and burning past her head. That was soon joined by the sucking sound of ion pulses. All she could see was the door at the corner of building S. It felt just like the last time. The panic was coming up and blinding her. “I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry I left you.” She chanted as she sprinted. Her legs were pumping. There was sweat in her eyes, and tears.
“I’m sorry I left you.”
The urban transport came in under the mezzanine and stopped at the corner, right in front of the door. They must have seen her coming because they exited from the building-side of the vehicle. Weapon barrels were appearing on the hood and underneath the chassis. It was a corporate team—no light rack, no logos, and no talk. They just lined up behind cover and waited with rifles trained on Kel and she approached across the grassy hillocks.
The overwatch teams had stopped firing.
She was running. There were sirens in every direction now. They were closing in. She could see another vehicle emptying on the opposite side of building H, another full corp-sec team going straight into the building and up the stairwell. That was it. They're going in for Armand.
Armand was surrounded. Armand was alone. Armand was her responsibility. He was up there on the second floor, straight ahead, and there was just no way she could get to him. The leveled rifles just waited there for her—a silent row of black-helmed corporate mercs in front of the door, taking cover behind the para-military vehicle. Her legs were pumping. She was close enough to engage them now, 30 meters from the door.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, as she took a leg for balance and raised the assault rifle.
High above, the clouds let go and it started to rain.
—— —— ——
They were descending into turret weapon range, and Tirion could see the noose closing. The lights of civilian responders were approaching from every direction: police, fire, medics, everyone. He could hear the rapid muffled pulse of the lower turret as Finch started in on the rifle teams.
Soul's monotone came in over comms: “Ground deployment of tac teams below both rifle positions.”
Tirion just said, “Finch.”
The response was immediate: “On it." But there was hesitation, followed by: "What the hell? Kel’s right below us. See her? She’s crossing the quad on foot.”
Tirion caught a glimpse of her in the lower right panel. “I’m setting down.”
Soul transmitted: “Kel, we are setting down behind you. Move east. Are you reading us?”
“Man,” said Finch. “She’s running right at them. What the fuck is she doing?”
Soul gave T.S. a look. “Look at her. She doesn’t even know we’re up here.”
Tirion said, “Use the speakers.”
But something else had Soul’s attention. “Twin Hornets inbound from Fort Wallace. ETA 40 seconds.”
As Soul began broadcasting to the quad through the speakers, Finch laughed. “Man…she’s totally flipped out.”
Tirion's voice iced the comms, “Shut up.”
Soul was watching the console monitors. “Tac team two coming out of the stairwell on floor two, building H. They're about to cross the mezzanine.”
“Where’s Armand?”
“Other side. Foyer of building S. Dead center against the wall. One non-com with him.”
“Finch, blow the mezzanine where it meets H.”
“If—"
“Do it.”
“Flatline on Kel,” said Soul. “Hornets in 20.”
Tirion said “Get up top” as he watched the mezzanine breaking apart under fire from Finch's heavy plasma guns.
Soul climbed from his seat and grabbed the turret hoist. As he climbed up into the turrent, he said: “Should blow the building. He’d want it.” He settled into the cupola and pulled the harness bars down, locking himself into place, then confirmed: “I’m in.”
Tirion opened up the engines and the Recluse swung out in an arc, cutting under the plane of the Hornets’ approach path, offering the fighters a shot that no commander would approve with the campus buildings sitting there right behind the ship. Tirion angled the top facing of the ship to give Soul a flawless fading perspective on the fighters as they went by, and as they went out to start their turn, the Recluse left the safety of the university backdrop, main engines roaring. The big-bodied ship climbed like a monster, rising from the deck straight through the clouds, headed for the deep blue disk of space that was expanding and darkening above them.
—— —— ——
Kel raised the rifle to one inch below eye level, sighting along the barrel, ignoring the scope, left leg out, right knee at a forty-five degree angle. She squeezed, felt the energy kick and disperse, and let the barrel settle. She saw the line of muzzle-flashes and felt several rounds go through her torso.
When most people get hit, they think they’re supposed to fly back, so they do. Kel had always known she wouldn’t do that when the time came. She squeezed the trigger again and saw her burst cross the windshield. One of the rounds hit a delta's faceplate. His hands went to his head as she took one in the shoulder and felt it break.
Kel was on the ground now, folded awkwardly to the side. She was bleeding out and in shock, but all she could think was: Armand's too heavy to carry. I'll have to drag him out by his wrists.
BACK TO PART ONE: SECTION ONE
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