Shadows of Golstar (21 page)

Wallenberg went over to a scuffed terminal on the far
side of the room and tapped something on the keyboard. Aloud he said, “Confirm
my query.” A number of seconds passed and he nodded to the screen. “I may have
something you might be interested in after all,” he said to the two detectives.
“A few weeks ago we caught an employee accessing our shipping database without
proper authorization. We weren’t able to determine that the employee had even
broken through the first firewall, so we thought she hadn’t progressed very far
into the system. It wasn’t thought to be worth a police report, but since it
was a direct violation of our code of conduct, she was terminated last week.”

He looked down at the terminal and pressed a few more
keys. He turned back to them and said, “I can’t access those records from this
terminal. I doubt if this incident is in any way related to your case, but if
you think it’s worth following up, you’re welcome to look. You’ll have to go
down to Security. The personnel records were transferred from our Human
Resources department over to them because of the nature of the termination.
It’s standard company procedure.”

The two detectives looked at each other. Starling
shrugged wearily at Owens, then turned, donning his best ‘suffering civil
servant’ face, thanked Wallenberg and said that while they were here, they
might as well check the records in Security. Wallenberg nodded his
understanding and escorted them back to the lift. After the detectives entered,
Wallenberg leaned in and voice-authorized the lift to take the detectives to
the designated floor. The doors closed and the lift traveled downward towards
it programmed destination.

The lift came to a stop three floors below ground
level and the doors opened onto a brightly lit room that smelled strongly of
disinfectant. There were three desks aligned in a row centered on the floor and
racks of weapons and emergency cabinets anchored to the walls on either side. A
woman was leaning over one of the desks.

She had an athletic build and wore a dark blue,
one-piece jumpsuit with a Stone Billings Corporate Security badge at the
throat. Riding low on her hips was a belt festooned with mag-cuffs, a stun
wand, pouches and other tools of her trade.  She was gazing intently at a
small holo-screen display hovering above the last desk as Starling and Owens
walked into the room.

She heard their entry, straightened and looked up, the
holo-screen winked out. “Detectives Starling and Owens,” she greeted them with
a warm smile that belied her prison guard appearance. “Mr. Wallenberg sent word
ahead you were coming down. Welcome to the dungeon. The records room is off the
door to your right. We’re a little short-handed right now, but we have a number
of records clerks on-duty. Go right on in and they should be able to help you
pull the data you want.” She gestured to a large door.

They thanked her and went over to the door. It slid
into its casement and revealed a wide rectangular room lined with numerous rows
of cubicles on either side of open aisles along with a few scattered desks. The
room was bigger than they had expected and Owens estimated it could easily accommodate
a hundred workers.

Given that the security officer said there were
records clerks on-duty to assist them, Owens found it strange no one was in
immediate sight. The walls of the cubicles were high enough to prevent a casual
observer from seeing their occupants, but they saw not a single person in the
aisles or at the desks positioned in the open spaces.

They walked over to the nearest cubicle and looked in.
Sitting on the work area was a cup of coffee. Steam was still rising from the
hot liquid. Otherwise, the cubicle was empty. Owens was close enough that with
his height, he could peer over the partition and look into the neighboring
cubicle. “This one’s empty too.” They looked at each other and walked over to
the next cubicle. It was deserted as well. Starling looked puzzled and
scratched his round stomach while Owens listened intently for any sounds. There
should have been some human voices or noises of activity in the background, but
there was no sound other than the muted hum of the ventilation system.

“This isn’t right.” Owens said and drew his sidearm.

“Shit.” Starling grimaced and drew his own gun. He
called out, “Is anyone here? We’re detectives Starling and Owens. We’re here on
official business. We were told you’d be expecting us?” He paused to listen. No
one answered. With his free hand, Starling pulled his P-com out of his pocket
and flipped it to transmit. He snarled, “Damn it, no signal! This is looking
worse by the minute.”  He dropped the P-com back into his pocket and used
his now free hand to wipe the sweat off his brow.

They looked at each other without speaking, straining
to hear any sound. Still hearing nothing, they nodded to each other and
cautiously made their way back to the door they had entered. They were not
surprised when it did not activate on their approach. It remained solidly
closed.

Starling shook his head and sighed. He motioned to
Owens. While Owens covered him, Starling opened the small panel next to the
door and pulled the manual release handle. It came off in his hand. The pin,
locking the handle to the lever’s shaft, had been removed. He dropped the
useless handle and it bounced quietly on the thick carpet. Owens looked at the
door and wondered if he could break it down with his weight and Loder muscles.
He rapped it with his hand and heard a muted thump. It was solid and metal
clad, probably a fire door. There would be no breaking that down.

Owens turned, hearing a soft rustling was coming from
the other end of the long room. Someone had tried to be quiet and failed. Then,
he heard a distant mechanical click, as if someone had thrown a lever. He
quickly lunged, grabbing Starling by the arm and dragged him forcefully to the
floor. Unprepared for Owens’ rough handling, Starling dropped his weapon and it
bounced about a meter away from his extended hand.

Starling rolled over to face Owens lying near him. His
eyes bulged from their sockets, “What in the hell are you trying to do? You
almost yanked my arm out of its socket.” A split second later, the wall of the
nearest cubicle exploded in a shower of debris as a deafening roar assaulted
their ears. “Shit, shit,” Starling exclaimed. His eyes suddenly widened, “That
was a projectile gun,” he told Owens unnecessarily.

Owens put a finger to his lips.

Starling nodded jerkily, rattled from the weapon’s
loud blast. Still wincing from Owens’ rough handling, he crawled the short
distance and fumbled for his weapon. With his gun back in his hand, he returned
to Owens’ side and whispered, “Did you see ‘em?  How many are there?”

Owens shook his head and whispered back, “They’re
somewhere at the other end of this room. I don’t know how many; these cubicles
are blocking my view. Don’t move. I’ll take a look.”

“Don’t get your ass shot off. I don’t want to have to
train another rookie.”

Owens didn’t reply as he began to inch forward in a
low crouch. He needed to find exactly where the gunman or gunmen were
positioned. He stopped before he reached the end of the line of cubicles. He
extended his hand around the corner and fired his own weapon in the approximate
direction of where he thought the gunshot had originated. The muzzle of his gun
flashed in bright discharge. In contrast to the projectile gun, his weapon made
a sharp cracking sound as the laser pulse was released.

He quickly retracted his arm and raised his head for a
quick look, then immediately slouched back down. He turned around to Starling
and mouthed, “They’re at the other end of the cubicles. I think I saw two
heads.”
 
He held up two fingers. Just
then, the gunmen fired again and more pieces of cubicle and dust rained down on
them. “We need to separate.”

Starling nodded that he understood. Owens then reached
around the cubicle he crouched behind and fired two more shots down the aisle. After
he fired, he rolled across the aisle to gain concealment behind another set of
cubicles. Starling dove in the opposite direction and ducked behind a large
metal desk sitting near the cubicles closest to the door.

There was another thunderous roar and a part of the
cubicle Owens was sheltering against erupted. A large chunk of paneling and
metal framework disintegrated. A flying shard grazed his right cheek.  His
face burned and drops of blood fell to the carpeted floor, disappearing into
the dark nap. He swiped at his stinging cheek with the back of his hand and
fired his weapon again. Depending on how much ammunition the gunmen had, he
knew the flimsy shielding provided by the cubicles wouldn’t last long.

Owens kept low and tried to think clearly. He had to
fight back his growing frustration. They walked into the ambush like a pair of
rookies. They hadn’t called in, and with the P-com inoperative, they could
expect no backup.

It’s done, he thought, so now it was time to think of
a way out. He suddenly smiled to himself. He and Starling had been caught
completely off-guard. The gunmen had relied on surprise. Perhaps he could turn
the element of surprise back on the gunmen. It was time to make use of his
heritage; his unique advantage. It would be risky, but at the very least, it
should be totally unexpected.

He quickly stripped off his jacket, shirt and then
removed the gravity harness. Prime was a planet with about eighty-five percent
Earth-normal gravity, which made it about forty percent less than that of
Lode’s gravity. He used the harness to compensate. Now unfettered, his
physique, bred and toned to Lode’s heavy gravity, should provide him a distinct
advantage and one he hoped that the gunmen would be totally unprepared to deal
with.

From his vantage point, Starling caught the motion and
looked over towards his partner as Owens discarded the harness. His face went
slack-jawed with wonder at the sight of Owens’ heavily muscled torso. Owens
caught his eye and shrugged.

Owens hunkered further down and repositioned his feet,
readying himself. Then, tensing his legs, he drove himself upwards in an abrupt
leap; the great muscles in his legs propelled him in an arc, over a row of
cubicles. Though he tried to angle his leap, he still sailed well above the
tops of the cubicles. The two gunmen at the far end of the room were
momentarily startled by Owens’ unexpected aerial maneuver. As Owens was falling
back to the floor, he managed to get a shot off. He missed but hoped it was enough
to make his assailants duck. He knew exactly where they were now. There still
seemed to be only two of them.

His feet had barely touched the floor in the center of
an aisle when he immediately launched himself again; this time in the direction
of the gunmen’s position. At the top of his arc, he saw they were just
regaining their feet and bringing up their weapons. They had recovered faster
than he had hoped.

One of the gunmen had managed to get his weapon
pointed in Owens’ general direction and must have fired instinctively. It was a
near miss. Owens heard the gun’s roar and felt the impact of multiple pellets
hitting his left side. He couldn’t tell how badly he was injured, but he didn’t
feel any immediate pain. That would come later. He knew he couldn’t stop now;
he was committed. He fervently hoped he could finish what he had started.

He hit the floor and rolled to his feet, running at a
crouch towards the incredulous gunmen’s position behind a line of cubicles. He
heard once more the angry blasts of their weapons’ discharge. Another nearby
cubicle wall disintegrated. He was once more battered by falling debris, but
couldn’t tell if he had been hit again. He stifled a cough and didn’t break his
stride. He was much closer now. 

He ducked further down, changing his direction along
an aisle to his left and traveled parallel to the gunmen’s position. He stopped
at the end of a line of cubicles. The gunmen’s weapons went off again. A
cubicle was hit just behind him. At this rate, he was going to run out of
cover. Still crouching, he went right, going down another aisle leading
towards, but still to the left, of the gunmen’s position. He was only two rows
of cubicles away from the shooters.

He gathered himself and leapt again, angling to the
right, but much lower this time. He was close and they must have heard him. The
gunmen figured him to jump again and had tried to anticipate where he would go.
As he jumped, they were already firing.
 
But this time he traveled in a much shallower arc, barely clearing the
cubicles.
 
Thinking he would repeat what
he had done in the previous two jumps, they had aimed high and were off enough
to miss him outright. Owens stretched his body in midair and grazed the top of
a cubicle and over the upturned desk the gunmen were positioned behind.

As he landed behind them, they didn’t have time to get
off another shot. They were crouched close together and Owens rebounded,
managing to hit them both at once with his full weight. One of the gunmen was
knocked backward, his rifle spinning from his hands. The other one had fallen
to the floor and was trying to raise his weapon. Owens had dropped his own
weapon when he struck the two men. Unarmed, he was forced to dive again for the
rising gunman. He reached the weapon before the gunman could fire and ripped
the shot-rifle from his hands. Popping and snapping sounds could be heard as
some of the gunmen’s fingers were violently dislocated from Owens’ furious yank
on the weapon. The gunman’s eyes bulged in pain, but he did not cry out.