The Lost Command (Lost Starship Series Book 2) (9 page)

From on the floor, Jacques snarled, pushing the doctor away from him.

Time was critical now. Meta panted from her efforts. Sweat glittered on her face, dripping from her chin. The knockout drug earlier had dulled her. The exertion had winded her already, and she had two more steel bands to go. She didn’t know if she could summon the power to rip them out.

“I’m going to cut you, bitch!” Jacques hissed. “You broke my nose.”

Blood poured from it down his chin, soaking the shirt under his leather jacket.

“Thanks,” Meta hissed. His very real threat galvanized her. She bent down, grabbing the right band around her ankle, feeling the chi building in her stomach. With a shout, she ripped the band free.

Jacques was on his feet. Even though he trembled, he
clicked
and a switchblade swung into view. “Now we see, eh?”

“What will Kane do to you if you cut me?” Meta asked.

Fear entered Jacques eyes, making him hesitate.

Before he could change his mind, Meta hurled the new band, knocking him onto the floor. Jacques struck the doctor, who had been climbing to his feet. They both fell again. The released switchblade skittered across the floor.

Even though this was going much better than she had anticipated, Meta forced herself to think. Rather than ripping off the last restraint, she twisted around and found a button on the chair. Pushing it removed the last band.

The men were far from out, though. The last leather jacket-wearer seemed to shake off his daze. His upper lip curled, and he reached into his jacket.

Meta didn’t give him time to pull anything out of the jacket. She engaged, crossing the distance separating them and hitting him in the face. He catapulted against the nearest wall, his eyes rolling up into his head as he hit the floor.

Meta whirled around, judging the situation. The three remaining men were confused and disorganized. Yet they were still dangerous and would fight with desperation. What’s more, she was still outnumbered.

It forced Meta to play deadly. Scooping up the needle, she jabbed it into the doctor’s chest. He screamed, flinging himself from her. Tripping against Jacques, the doctor twisted and fell onto the needle. Seconds later, the doctor began to thrash and shiver on the floor, maybe from a drug overdose. Compared to Meta, the man looked frail.

Even though Jacques scrambled for the switchblade, Meta beat him to it. With a fist, she clubbed him on the side of the head. He thudded onto the tiles. Then she hurled the knife across the room. The pale man had crawled toward the gun, reaching for it. The blade stuck in his wrist. For a second, he stared at it. Then the pale man howled in agony. With a trembling hand, he removed the knife from his flesh.

Meta skipped over Jacques’ leg. The thug lay on the floor, using a French kicking technique to try to trip her. It failed. He scrambled to his feet, hissing at her.

Grabbing the gun, she turned and shot deliberately twice. Each bullet smashed one of Jacques’ knees. The street thug crashed to the floor for the last time, sobbing in agony.

The pale man made his last play for her. Meta shot out his knees too. It took three shots, and then the gun clicked empty.

“What’s wrong with you?” she stormed. “Why don’t you carry more bullets?”

The pale man was in a ball, cradling his ruined knees, weeping softly.

I need to get out of here. I need to think, not just react
.

Meta took a moment, breathing deeply. Then, she hurried across the room, exiting through the only door. She kept the useless gun in her left hand and the switchblade in her right. Maybe she’d come across more ammo.

She passed through an empty room. It had the smell of a storage locker. Afterward, she came to stairs leading up. Bounding up them three at a time, she burst into a larger room.

Kane sat in a chair. He put a small, flat device into his inner coat. He still wore his conservative gray suit.

“I’m impressed, Meta,” he said in his deep voice.

The shock of seeing Kane made her indecisive. Why was he so calm? What impressed him about her? What had he put in his coat? She had the feeling it was a small video screen.

She raised the gun, aiming it at his head. “Lie on the floor,” she said.

Kane stood to his feet. He was big, maybe six-five, six-six and what…four hundred pounds? There was an aura around him. It exuded strength, sheer power.

“You can’t stop a bullet,” she said.

“Let us see if you are correct or not. Go ahead. Shoot.”

How did he know the gun was empty? “Have you been watching us?”

“Of course,” he said.

“Why did you let me kill them?”

“You didn’t kill any of them, which is unfortunate. Well, maybe the doctor will die.”

“That doesn’t answer my question as to why you allowed me to escape,” she said.

“You are correct in that. I did not.”

“Okay,” Meta said, realizing she’d have to fight past Kane. She reversed her grip on the gun, holding the barrel so she could swing the butt like a club. With the switchblade held low in her other hand, she advanced on him.

“Excellent,” he said.

His confidence bothered her. He seemed indifferent to her approach. He couldn’t be that good. She had a knife. If she could cut him several times, she would play for time until he bled enough to weaken him. Then, she would either kill him or escape.

“This is better than I had anticipated,” Kane said.

Meta shifted her manner of attack at the last minute. She swung the gun, aiming for his head. The knife would come in once he was distracted.

Kane moved faster than his size would warrant. He struck her wrist, numbing it, making the fingers open involuntarily. The gun clattered onto the floor. She stabbed for his stomach. He caught her striking wrist. The move amazed her. Then, he squeezed her wrist. The pressure proved terrific.

Before she cried out in pain, Meta struck with her left fist, punching him in the chest. It was like striking a tree trunk, having absolutely no effect on Kane, not even rocking him.

How much did the man weigh?

Meta cried out in agony. The switchblade fell from her nerveless fingers. Kane kicked the weapon the instant it landed on the floor.

“Are you human?” she whispered.

Those granite eyes stared into hers.

With his fingers, he began to grind her wrist bones together. Meta struggled, striking, kicking and trying to tear her wrist loose. She scratched the top of his hand, drawing a thin line of blood.

“Are you a cyborg with fake skin?” she shouted.

He released her, and she stumbled away.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kane said. “I’m quite normal, simple flesh and blood like you.”

“I’m not normal,” she said.

“True.”

“That means you aren’t either,” she said.

“Also true,” Kane admitted.

“Are you a New Man?” she asked.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Why have you taken me captive?”

“You have knowledge I desire.”

“What knowledge?”

Kane stared at her. “Tell me about Professor Ludendorff.”

“What?” she asked. “I’ve never heard of him.”

“You are a skilled liar, but not proficient enough in this case. You have been with Doctor Rich on Loki Prime, the prison planet. Oh yes, I know all about that. She must have told you many things about Ludendorff. Dana Rich is beyond my reach just now. So, you will tell me everything you know about the professor.”

“Why should I?” Meta asked.

Kane’s nostrils flared. “You have made this easier for me. What you did downstairs, it was priceless. However, time is still precious. We will continue this conversation later in a safer environment.”

Meta took a martial arts stance. If he wanted to leave, she wasn’t going anywhere.

Kane reached into a coat pocket as he advanced. She shouted, lashing out with a foot. Kane took the wheel kick against his side. He didn’t even grunt. Instead, the hand in his pocket reached out. Meta tried to evade it, but he grabbed her shoulder, and the device in his hand discharged.

With a groan, Meta went rigid. A moment later, she slid to the floor. Her muscles refused to respond to her will.

Kane scooped her up in his arms. Then he headed for the stairs.

-8-

In the light of a continental mid-morning, the flitter lifted into the air, leaving the French city of Dijon behind.

Sitting in the passenger seat, Captain Maddox massaged his stomach. In Dijon, he had gone alone into a small shop on the corner of Tenth and Second streets. After a short conversation with the clerk, he’d followed her into the back. There, she withdrew a key from her front pocket and unlocked an old, ornate cabinet.

Selecting the needed item from the top shelf, Maddox had asked for a glass of water.

She gave him a bottle instead, telling him she didn’t trust the tap water here.

He twisted off the cap, put the item on his tongue and filled his mouth with water. Swallowing carefully, Maddox forced the item down into his gut. Without another word, he left, soon joining Riker in the parked air-car.

They now flew toward Monte Carlo.

Earlier, the sergeant had taken a stim to keep awake. The older man was bleary-eyed and yawned too often. Otherwise, his gaze was flinty. He played the odds in his mind. They weren’t good, but the old war-dog wasn’t complaining. He’d given his word, and Maddox knew Riker would stay the course until the end.

Unfortunately, the captain knew the plan lacked finesse. Yes, it played upon Octavian’s ruthlessness and a belief that the man enjoyed torturing his opponents. But what if Octavian interviewed him via screen? What if the New Men had placed restraints on Octavian’s actions? Everything rested on the man coming in person. Maybe what Maddox disliked the most was giving himself into his enemy’s hands. That bit against every grain in him. Yet he couldn’t see a way around it.

Time passed as Maddox brooded. Finally, the towers of Monte Carlo rose on the horizon.

“It’s time,” Maddox said.

“I’ve been thinking, sir. Maybe the best thing is to find where Octavian is staying and ram our air-car straight down his throat. At least that way if we’re wrong, we won’t spend our last hours screaming on a torture frame.”

Maddox glanced at the older man. “You’ve done a splendid job of piloting, and you’re tired. I appreciate your letting me rest. I feel much better now, on top of my game, in fact.”

“Is that supposed to cheer me, sir?”

“We’re surprising them, Sergeant. That always has a way of unhinging the enemy. They will make mistakes, and we shall capitalize on them.”

Riker gripped the controls tighter.

Maddox fiddled with the flitter’s communicator, using a number that less than fifty people knew. The captain had liberated it from Star Watch Intelligence files some time ago. This was a restricted line to Nerva Headquarters in Monte Carlo.

The small screen in the dash flickered on. A pretty, red-haired receptionist looked out inquiringly.

“This is Captain Maddox of Star Watch Intelligence.”

The receptionist raised her eyebrows. It was clear she’d heard of him, which would save time.

“Please inform Signor Nerva that I am about to land in Monte Carlo,” Maddox said.

The receptionist stared at him, seemingly taken aback. “You’re landing here?”

“Correct,” Maddox said. “I wish to interview Signor Nerva.”

“Captain,” the receptionist said. “I’m not sure—”

“Inform Octavian I’m almost there,” Maddox said flatly.

The receptionist paused for a second. Then her features tightened, and she nodded. “I will inform his Excellency, Captain Maddox.” She moved a toggle. “I have pinpointed your craft and will give you clearance. I’m sure Signor Nerva will be…
interested
in having a face to face conference with you.”

“Yes, I’m sure he will,” Maddox said.

“You must come unarmed, you realize.”

“I understand,” Maddox said.

“Under those conditions,” she said, “you may proceed.”

“Thank you,” Maddox said.

***

They flew fast toward the city, toward destiny.

Riker stirred in his seat. “It’s taken me a while, sir. I’ve mulled the situation over all night, in fact. I’m thinking we should take a final precaution.”

“I’m listening,” Maddox said guardedly.

“You should send the brigadier a time-delayed message. If we fail—I know you think that’s impossible—but if we fail, Star Watch needs to know what happened to us. If nothing else, they might recover Meta after we’re gone.”

“Yes. That’s a good idea.”

Maddox sat forward, and his fingers played upon the panel, setting up the message and transmitting it to a relay station. Afterward, he turned back, opened the flitter’s armory and began to select a variety of weapons.

Riker watched, growing obviously more puzzled by the moment. “We can’t fight our way in.”

“I have no intention of doing such a thing.”

“Then what’s with all these weapons, sir? You must realize they’ll search you.”

“Of course,” Maddox said, as he tightened an ankle hostler.

“Then I don’t understand what you’re doing.”

“It’s elementary. I’m giving them weapons to find. It will help put them at ease.”

“How does breaking your word calm them?” Riker asked.

“Exactly my point,” Maddox said. “They expect nothing less from me. If I don’t deliver, they might become suspicious and look for the one item I don’t want them to find.”

“What you picked up in Dijon,” Riker said.

Maddox gave Riker an enigmatic smile before snapping his fingers and pointing at the dash. “Please, Sergeant, pay attention to our path.” The captain aimed at a blinking red light. “We’re almost there.”

Riker adjusted the air-car, following the Nerva beacon. It soon became apparent that they flew toward the largest tower in the city. It was a massive structure, fifty stories taller than the buildings around it.”

Another beep sounded from the panel.

“Anti-air radar is tracking us,” Riker informed the captain.

Maddox had already wrapped himself in an impenetrable air of unconcern. It was possible neither the sergeant nor he would come out of the venture alive. Yet, he could see no other way of freeing Meta. Either the New Men or Octavian wanted something from her. To cover their tracks, it seemed certain they would kill her after extracting the data.

“We’re going to succeed,” Maddox said. “I want you to believe that.”

“I’ll do my part,” Riker said, his eyes hardening with determination. “You don’t need to worry about me, sir.”

With a jolt, the flitter slowed abruptly.

The sergeant checked the controls. “They’re using a tractor beam, sir.”

Maddox nodded. This was it. There was no turning back. He stared ahead with fixed resolve.

Remorselessly, the air-car headed for a landing garage halfway up the massive Nerva Tower. A second later, the flitter’s panel shut down. As if moved by an invisible hand, the car slid past an opening and toward an inner landing pad. Several sleek air vehicles were parked down there. A knot of security people in black body armor waited.

“You’re a good man, Sergeant.”

Riker glanced at him in surprise. “I’m counting on you, lad. You outfox these bastards. Don’t say die.”

Glancing at the sergeant, Maddox nodded. The old dog would stick with him to the very end. He didn’t deserve a friend like this, but by the stars, he was glad Riker had his back.

The flitter went down and thudded onto the floor. It shook Maddox out of his reverie. It was time to begin the play. With a click, the bubble canopy slid back.

Maddox didn’t wait for instructions. With his hands on the side, he vaulted over the door, landing before the waiting guards. Five pitted gun barrels came up, training on his chest.

Riker used the flitter’s door, leaving it ajar as he walked around to join the captain. Two other guards aimed their weapons at him.

“Search them both.” The words came out of an amplifier perched on the shoulder of the largest bodyguard. The man stood seven feet tall. He was likely a clone specially bred for combat.

A normal-looking woman separated herself from the black-armored guards. Her hair was in a bun. She wore a suit and held a thin scanner.

With it beeping as she waved it over the captain’s body, she proceeded to disarm Maddox. He divested himself of a force blade, gun, needler and one-shot nozzle, tossing the items onto a growing pile. After he pitched his ankle-gun onto the pile, she looked up into Maddox’s face, giving him a reproving glance.

He gave her a cool smile in return. Just don’t let her change the wand’s setting. That’s all he asked. This was the moment his ploy would sink or swim.

She ran the wand over his body again, without it making a sound. This was it. She brought the scanner to her chest, and it seemed as if she was about to switch settings. Instead, she moved beside Riker and waved it over him.

The old man wore his sidearm, but that was it. He unbuckled it, taking his time doing so. Trust Riker to play it out, making the others impatient; the curmudgeon did his part perfectly. Maddox could have cheered.

“Well?” the chief bodyguard asked. “The boss is waiting. Time is money.”

“They’re clean,” the woman said, holstering the scanner at her side.

With the tip of his machine gun, the seven-foot bodyguard prodded Maddox in the back. “Let’s get going. It’s time to talk with his Excellency.”

Maddox and Riker walked in front, followed by the powered-armored guards. Their boots clanked against the floor, proving the body armor had to weigh four to five times as much as a man. The woman with the scanner stayed behind.

Out of the corner of his eye, Maddox noticed that Riker walked stiffly, with his hands in the air. The captain cleared his throat.

The sergeant glanced at him. Maddox slapped his hands against his hips. Understanding flooded into Riker’s eyes. He lowered his hands.

“You must try to relax,” Maddox whispered.

“I need a Guinness for that, sir. I can almost taste the one I could have had last night.”

“Quit your yapping,” the giant told them. “And just in case you two don’t know, if either of you attempts anything Signor Nerva dislikes, I’ll put you down hard.”

Maddox stopped and looked back at the guards. It was time to begin unnerving them. He would react oddly, against expectations. “I’d already assumed that to be the case.”

Two of the guards traded glances with each other. The chief guard waved his repeater, obviously meaning for Maddox to keep walking.

“As you wish,” Maddox said, resuming the march.

After turning a corner, they entered a large lift. It easily accommodated the lot of them. The door slid shut, and the elevator headed up instead of down. Maddox found that interesting. The greater safety lay on or in the earth. Octavian must feel perfectly at ease, an odd emotion for someone shaking his fist at Star Watch Intelligence during a time of martial law.

Soon, the lift slowed, the door opened and the power-armored guards prodded the pair. Maddox and Riker walked through a spacious chamber displaying several ancient and quite famous statues. Next, they passed old swords, spears and shields, obvious antiques.

“These are originals?” Maddox asked over his shoulder.

None of the bodyguards answered. Maybe they didn’t know.

“If these are real,” Maddox told Riker, “this is a more impressive collection than the items in the Louvre.”

“Where’s that?” Riker asked.

“Paris,” Maddox said, as if the sergeant should know.

The old man shrugged.

The chamber turned into open space, maybe three floors in height. From the ceiling, a large disc lowered. A soft hum from the underside indicated antigravity generators. In a moment, the disc landed on the floor and the humming stopped. On the disc were several sofas and large chairs. A man in a dark suit sat on one of the chairs facing them.

The bodyguards came to attention, although they kept their weapons trained on Maddox and Riker.

The captain recognized the seated man as Octavian Nerva. Maddox had never met the tycoon, but he had seen plenty of pictures.

Although he was nearly three hundred years old, Octavian looked like a well-kept athlete in his sixties. He was regular-sized, with a full head of dark hair, intense brown eyes and a fierce manner. He stood and walked toward them, moving with greater flexibility than most men a quarter of his age.

“Sir,” the guard leader said. “May I suggest—?”

“Benito,” Octavian said, gently shaking his head.

The bodyguard fell silent.

Octavian halted several meters from Maddox, studying him. Then, the richest man on Earth glanced at Sergeant Riker.

“You’re the bastard who shot my son in the chest, isn’t that so?” Octavian asked.

“Uh, your Excellency,” Riker said in a humble tone. “That was a terrible accident. I never intended your son any harm.”

“Yet you shot him at full stun,” Octavian said. “I’ve read the report. Clearly, you did intend to hurt him.”

“Of course he did,” Maddox said, with contempt in his voice. “Your son cheated during a viper stick duel. That’s why he died such a useless death.”