Children of Hope (48 page)

Behind us, Tommy Yost charged down the street, his face a mask of white-hot resolve.

Anselm’s electricar wavered as he leaned across the seat to avoid my shot. No, he was half up on the curb, fumbling with the door. Was he glitched?

“Away from me!” I panted. “I’ll shoot to kill!”

“Get in, you ass!” Tad flung open the door.

I gaped. Behind us, Yost’s footsteps pounded. My reluctance slowed me an instant too long; Yost launched himself at me just as I whirled to fire. He slammed me to the ground, knocking the gun from my hand. I thrashed, unable to breathe, my face purple.

Anselm leaped from his vehicle. While Yost battered me, he fell on the pistol. “Tommy, stand aside!” Tad shoved the middy off my chest, hauled me to my feet, shoved me into the car.

I wheezed. It felt as if a rock was embedded in my lung.

“Give me the caller, I’ll get the jerries in the heli!” Yost danced with excitement.

“Not quite.” Anselm set the safety, took my wrist, wrapped my fingers around the laser’s grip.

Yost’s mouth worked. “Sir, what are you—”

“I changed sides.”

“Our orders—”

“It’s the Captain. Mr Seafort.”

“Yes, but …” Yost swallowed.

“Save your career. This isn’t your fight.” He reached past me, slammed the door.

“The hell it isn’t.” Yost yanked open the door, dived behind us into the passenger seat. “I’ll come.”

Tad scowled. “A minute ago you were calling the jerries.”

The middy flushed. “If you’re helping, we have a chance.”

The wheels screamed as the treads bit. Houses flew past.

The car radio muttered and grumbled in a monotone. I turned it up. “…
preliminary sparring in the trial of the former SecGen, who has so far refused counsel. The second-floor courtroom is packed with notables of Church and government, who
—”

Anselm nudged me. “Do you have a plan?”

I took a shuddering breath. All my parts seemed to work. “Find him. Break him loose.”

“That’s it?” His tone was acid.

“Turn right. Oh, Jesus, Farnum’s a one-way street. Try Henderson, it’s a block past—”

Ignoring me, Anselm rocketed the wrong way down Farnum. No cars were in sight.

“I had no time to plan.” I sounded defensive.

We whirled round the corner, nearly broadsided a hauler. Behind us, an angry horn faded. “Where the hell is the court?”

“Ask the puter.” I jabbed at the map display. “Head south while I …” In a moment I had the government buildings on the screen. The court was west of Churchill, at Hopewell Plaza. I muttered directions.

Two blocks from the courthouse, detour signs hung from alumalloy horses. On the other hand, no one had bothered to set up roadblocks. On the whole, we Hope Nationeers were a law-abiding bunch. And I doubted the new government was fully in control. For all his imperious ways, Anth had been popular. Moreover, he was the legitimate head of government. Few would go over to the enemy while he lived.

Every street we tried was closed.

I peered at the map. “It’ll be around the corner. STOP!”

Tad slammed on the brakes. I nearly went through the windshield. He spluttered, “What the—”

I already had my door open. “Too much commotion, in a stolen car. On foot …” I thrust my laser into my pants, took off.

He vaulted out the door, trying to keep up with me. A rambling concrete building made good cover. I sprinted to a doorway within a few paces of the corner. My two allies were scarce a step behind.

Trying to make myself invisible, I peered around the corner.

I recognized the building; I’d seen it in newsnets often enough, and Fath had taken me there, when he came to speak. A three-story building, of poured concrete, with incongruous white columns pasted on, apparently as an afterthought. A helipad on the roof, I knew. Every trial I’d seen in the news had been held here.

A platoon of the Home Guard stood watch. A makeshift barrier in front of the steel and glass doors gave them cover. They bristled with arms: laser pistols, rifles, stunners.

My heart sank.

Crouched behind me, Tad whispered, “We can’t take on the army.”

“I know, but …” I chewed at my lip.

“A diversion?” Tommy Yost.

“No time.” My voice quavered. “I’m going in. That heli we saw landed at the shuttle to sort things out. They’ll get word to the troops here, and—”

Even as I spoke, a troop carrier pulled up to the courthouse. Its tough alloy doors swung open.

Too late. I’m sorry, Fath.

But no troops emerged. Instead, an officer gestured, issued terse commands. All I could hear was the rumble of his voice.

The Home Guards piled in. In a moment the carrier was gone.

“Now’s our chance.”

Tad held me back. “Where’s the courtroom?”

“Upstairs, the radio said.” I pulled free.

A rumble of engines. I ducked back.

Not a troop carrier, but a cargo hauler. It parked across the plaza. “Now what?” It didn’t matter. I was insane not to take the chance Providence had given me. With but one pistol …”

The courthouse door swung open. A figure appeared.

My breath caught.

Anthony. He blinked in the sunlight, rubbing his wrists.

The back doors of the hauler opened. “This way, Stadholder!” A gaunt woman beckoned. She seemed familiar. “Run, sir!”

Anth looked behind him, to the now-closed courthouse door. Then to the truck.
Hurry.
I could scarce breathe.
For God’s sake, move.
The woman—who in blazes was she—my breath caught. Dr Zayre, Chris Dakko’s ally! They’d contrived to rescue the Stadholder. My spirits soared. With Dakko’s help, we could free the Captain.
Hurry, Anth.
I took a step from the cover of my building, waved urgently, but he didn’t see me.

“What are you—”

“Look, Tad, it’s Anthony! The Stadholder. They’ve let him—”

The doors to the court flew open. Four guards, uniformed, with wicked laser rifles. They didn’t bother with the barrier the Home Guards had erected.

Dr Zayre screamed, “Run!”

Anth sprinted toward the truck. Its motor caught. It lurched a few feet, stopped, waiting for him to swing aboard.

Two of the guards knelt, aimed.

“Anth!”

Still running, he searched over his shoulder for my shrill scream.

Desperately I fought the hand that closed over my mouth. A relentless arm dragged me in silent struggle to the safety of the wall.

The buzz of a laser. The pavement smoked. Anth dived toward the gaping hauler door.

A shot slammed the door wide open. Hinges burst.

And another shot.

It caught Anth at the knee. His leg dissolved in a splatter of steaming blood. He fell hard, thrashed about.

He made not a sound.

I jabbed Anselm in the ribs, burst free. Weeping, I tried to aim my pistol.

A guard set his rifle to continuous fire. A laser line crept up to Anth, and through him. Anth sizzled.

A shriek of agony, blessedly short.

The smoking corpse fell back, twitched once, and was still.

The cargo hauler began to pull away. Laser fire caught the cab. A spray of blood.

Withering fire blanketed the vehicle. Dr Zayre fell out of the back, already dead. The hauler rolled slowly across the street, aflame. It nudged the curb, bumped to a stop.

From the street, silence.

Except for the pounding of my boots.

I was nearly atop the first guard before he heard me. Arms extended, I gripped my pistol with both hands, as if afraid of recoil. There was none, I knew. At least, not when Anth and I had shot at trees in the plantation’s silent forest.

The guard turned. He blanched.

I shot him full in the face, whirled, caught the second guard before he could raise his rifle.

Two steps away, the pavement bubbled. I danced aside, firing as I ran. Something horribly hot brushed my thigh.

A creature gone mad, I skittered hither and yon, firing without cease. A third guard went down. The fourth dived for the courthouse doors. I don’t know if I hit him. Laser fire came from within. On one knee, not far from Anthony, I fired into the doors until I heard the warning beep of my empty pistol. Then, coolly, beyond thought, I staggered to my feet, strode to the horribly burned guard, wrested the rifle from his ruined arms, began firing anew.

I only stopped when one of the sagging doors fell with a crash.

I pawed the smoking abomination that had been another guard, found a rifle, but it was beyond salvage. In the rubble of the doorway, a rifle that worked. I took it.

“Come on!” My voice seemed odd. I cleared my throat, tried again. “Anselm, Yost. Move!”

Tad showed himself, his hands held palm outward, as if in surrender. “Randy?”

“Here.” I tossed him a rifle, stooped to gather recharges. “I don’t see one for Tommy.”

“Stadholder Carr …”

“Gone.” For a moment, the sunlight misted. I wiped away sweat and grime, and could see. “Hurry. They know we’re here.”

Yost’s lips barely moved, and his voice was so low I could barely follow. “He’s glitched, sir. Can you grab the rifle?”

“I heard that. No time. Help us, or go home.”

The middy gulped.

“Well?” Why did I sound like Anth when he’d had quite enough?

“I’ll help, sir.”

I wondered if Yost knew how he’d addressed me. “Move it!” I inserted a recharge, trotted into the lobby, firing at shadows.

Nobody.

Silence.

A lift. Half a dozen guards were crowded in it. One clutched a caller.

The lift was within line of sight of the door. My beam had hit it straight on. Charred corpses, all of them. I scrounged among them, found an undamaged laser pistol among the meat.

I wondered if the guard had gotten off his call for help. I gave his pistol to Tommy, beckoned them to the next lift, sauntered after. I paused as if in reflection, bent over, and began to vomit, until all I could bring up was weak bile. Then, red of face, eyes tearing, I strolled into the lift, jabbed the button.

“Why no more guards?” Anselm’s tone was tentative. “After that fire-fight you’d think they’d be swarming …”

“I doubt they had many to begin with. The government must be in chaos.” The other reason, I was loath to speak. I took a deep breath. “We’ll go on up.”

“And then?”

“Find Fath.” It was so simple. Why couldn’t he see?

It didn’t work out quite as I intended. There were two guards outside the courtroom, and four holocameras within. Anselm made me let him disarm the guards; he was quite stern about it. I’d have argued, but I was busy weeping.

Mr Anselm’s new uniform didn’t quite fit, and to me, he looked more like a Naval lieutenant than a guard. But, face impassive, he slipped into the courtroom, came out an endless moment later.

“He’s at the bar.” His tone was low.

“What does that mean?”

“That box thing. Waist high, before the bench. He’s in it.”

“Is he hurt?”

“I don’t think so.”

For a moment, I breathed easier. Then I recalled the carnage in the street. Until the moment of his death, Anth had been uninjured.

I took a deep breath. “Let’s get it done.”

Anselm’s hand stayed me. “How?”

“Walk in. Free him.”

“There’s a dozen guards, or more.”

“Kill them.”

He said, “We can’t just—”

“You can’t? I will. Where are the guards?”

“The closest are right inside the door. Others across the way. But, Randy—”

I cried, “Enough words!” Fath was in their hands. I’d done murder to get this far.

“And after, you’ll just walk out? They killed Stadholder Carr. They won’t stop at the Captain.”

I snapped, “They’ll have a heli on the roof; they don’t control the streets. You’ll pilot. Secure the heli. The middy and I will get Fath.”

“There are judges. Bishop Andori. I don’t know who else.”

“Hostages.” What was kidnapping, to the crimes I’d committed?

“But—”

If we argued further, they might dissuade me. I keyed off my safety, flung open the doors.

“… won’t participate in your sham. Do what you will.” Fath’s tone was firm. In the spectators’ gallery, old Bishop Andori watched intently.

Two guards were behind the rail, steps from the door. Three others in the corner.

The nearest guard turned, scowling at the interruption. His eyes widened; his hand flew to his pistol. I rammed the stock of my rifle into his jaw. He collapsed.

“Nobody move!” I’d intended my voice to be loud. It came out a shriek.

Fath spun in the dock. “Randy, don’t!” His command was a lash.

Havoc. Judges and aides dived for cover. One brave media-man swung his holo, aimed at me. Onlookers rushed about. A guard keyed his pistol; I shot him point-blank.

Another guard fell, his rifle clattering.

I risked a glance. It was Tommy who’d fired. He looked sick.

On the bench, the judges dived for cover.

Alarms shrieked.

We’d taken out half the guards. Two had raced out the rear entrance, others cowered under tables, seeking shelter. I swiveled my rifle back and forth, seeking a target.

“No more!” The Captain’s voice rang.

“Tommy, take him to Anselm.”

“But—”

I grated, “Now!”

“Aye aye, sir!”

Stubbornly, Fath shook his head. “Not like thus. There’s been enough—”

Yost screamed, “Look out!”

Behind Fath, a furtive movement. I fired, missed. A bench exploded into sparks.

The snap of a bolt. Tommy rushed the Captain, knocked him off his feet, lay atop him. He was good at that; on the street he’d done the same to me. My teeth bared in a manic grin. I opened fire, barely missed the scuttling guard. Crouching, he let off a shot. I skittered aside. The guard dived under the spectator benches.

I called out, “Hold your fire, no one need get hurt.” Fine sentiment, Randy, but a touch late. How many have you killed today? As if to belie my own words, I took steady aim at the benches.

“Put down your rifle, Randolph.” An old voice, and crusty.

My eyes strayed.

Bishop Andori, gaunt and craggy, shook off the protective embrace of a deacon. “In the name of Lord God, I abjure thee.” He took a limping step toward me.