The Hunted Assassin (6 page)

8

Jaxon found his way to the cockpit easily enough, and his only hope was that the ship had enough fuel for his escape. Otherwise … the consequences made his head spin.

As he lowered himself into the pilot’s chair, he surveyed the control panel. Most of the digital screens were dark, save for a few monitors displaying essential information about the ship. Batteries were at a hundred percent, life-support: active. Gravity simulator was also in the green. Before releasing the docking clamp and firing up the thrusters, Jaxon continued to survey each of the controls, familiarizing himself with their functions. Despite the eight-year gap between piloting a vessel, the procedures came back to him promptly. He recalled one of his instructors from the Academy telling him that it was like riding a bicycle.
You never forget.
Jaxon smiled as he activated the remaining console lights and controls to full power.

Within seconds, Jaxon began to feel a low vibration rumble up through the floor and into his chair. The ship was waking up. As he adjusted the pitch and yaw settings in preparation to leave the space dock, a broadcasting hail broke the silence.

“This is Taloo Station calling Bradbury 9613, come in,” the voice crackled through the ship’s speakers.

Jaxon paused for a moment, wondering if he should respond or ignore the hail completely. His initial instincts were to turn the speaker off completely and just make a run for it. But, he felt that, in the end, a little deception might go a long way.

“Yeah, this is Bradbury, um 96—1 … 3? Over.”

“Our readings indicate that you have initiated engine warm-up and are intending to launch. Before you can proceed, you need to file an approved flight plan with control. Power down now and report to station control, over.”

Expecting that, Jaxon had a reply at the ready. “Message received. However, if you could please review your records, an approved flight plan
has
been filed, and authorization has been given. Please confirm.”

Jaxon knew that the Flight Traffic Controller was doing just that, and he hoped it would buy him at least two or three minutes—plenty of time to finish readying the ship in preparation for launch.

Jaxon continued to monitor his control panel and was happy to see that the ship was already at 75% readiness. In another moment or two, he’d be able to take off. Nervously, Jaxon tapped his foot on the metal deck, waiting.

“Roger that, pilot. Please identify yourself. We have no authorization for your departure. Power down now, or risk suspension of your slip permit.”

“Oh no, not that,” Jaxon muttered sarcastically. He looked up at the system information board and watched the numbers tick up painfully slowly.

94%. 95%. 96%.

Then, there was a pause. It held at 96% for nearly a minute.

“What the hell?” Jaxon blurted as he tapped the digital readout with his finger. He knew good and well that the crimson numbers couldn’t be affected by his motion, but his impatience got the better of him.

“Respond, Bradbury 9613. Identify yourself.”

“Dammit,” Jaxon yelled. “What’s the problem?”

Jaxon stood and peered out the port side window and noticed the dock bay doors begin to flash at the perimeter as their closure mechanism was activated.

Shit! Come on, man.

The digital readout finally advanced to 97%, and then instantly jumped to 100%.

Jaxon’s hand at the ready, he released the docking clamp and gripped the control stick then fired the thrusters. The ship began to move forward, slowly. He slid the thruster control forward several clicks, hoping to increase the speed, but the ship continued to move at a crawl. Jaxon realized that there was probably some kind of station-oriented governor controlling maximum thruster speed while inside the station dock.

As the ship crawled forward toward the closing bay doors, the speaker broke the silence once again.

“Pilot. You were ordered to stop. Return the ship to its docking slip and surrender your vehicle. Security is in route.”

“Oh, shut up,” Jaxon yelled, as he turned down the cabin volume. Next, he dropped to a knee and ducked beneath the control panel, looking for an access panel. Within seconds, he found it and withdrew his combat knife and used the tip of the blade to loosen the attachment screws. Four screws later and the panel dropped to the floor, exposing dozens of multicolored wires and cables. He began to filter through the rat’s nest, searching for the yellow wire with the red stripe. He recalled from his cadet training that particular color combination was typically associated with station controls. Finally, located at the back of the compartment, he found it and sliced through it with his blade. The moment that the wire was severed, several warning alarms began to fill the cabin. Jaxon quickly rummaged through the wires once again and found the purple alarm cable and severed it as well.

Silence.

Jaxon returned to the chair and drove the thruster handle forward once again. Instantly, the ship lurched ahead, decreasing the ETA readout from more than four minutes to 53 seconds, 52 seconds, 51 seconds …

“Shit,” Jaxon said. It was going to be close, he realized, seeing the quickly closing doors approaching at breakneck speed. He had no idea what the beam of the ship was, but he knew it was most certainly more than the draft, and that he’d be better off adjusting the pitch ninety degrees to minimize the chance of clipping the wingtips. With a steady hand, Jaxon tilted the control stick to the left while pressing his foot on the right pedal. As expected, the ship turned on its edge.

Still concerned that the doors would close before his exit, Jaxon drove the thruster handle all the way forward, breaking even more speed regulations in the station. The intercept timer jumped from forty-three seconds to less than ten.

Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two.

The Bradbury 9613 launched into the open space, narrowly missing the closing doors by centimeters. Once clear of all station obstructions, Jaxon engaged the impulse drive and pointed the ship toward lunar base.

Satisfied, Jaxon raised the speaker volume, eager to hear the panicked voice on the other end of the radio.

“… demand you stop at once. I repeat, Martin Wheeler, you are wanted for questioning. Stop at once or suffer the consequences. Security patrol has been notified.”

How the hell did they know it was me so soon?
Jaxon wondered. Had all of the assassination attempts and carnage been linked to him already? He knew it was only a matter of time, but he’d hoped that it would be several hours before security put two and two together.

Ignoring the pleas from Taloo Station, Jaxon activated navigation control and quickly entered in his final destination. Lunar base. Within a few seconds, the screen read: Navigational Path Complete. ETA 97 minutes. Engage autopilot?

Without hesitation, Jaxon activated the autopilot, and for the first time in hours, he leaned back in his chair to relax. His repose was short-lived though, as a fiery explosion shook the ship right outside the port window.

“Jesus,” Jaxon said, hurling himself from his chair. He activated the ship’s radar and noticed security vessels chasing after him. He adjusted the cursor to the ships and brought up their information. They were Evans class frigates, and he knew right away that they’d have no chance of catching up to his superior engine power. The warning shot was just that. They couldn’t risk firing upon a valuable ship such as the Bradbury, and he knew that within another six to eight minutes, he’d be out of their firing range anyway. But, just to be safe, Jaxon disengaged the autopilot and took over manual control.

Scanning through the radar screen once again, he saw a diversion tactic that might fit his situation. A few clicks to starboard, he could be heading right to a well-known pleasure cruise belt. If he could put one of the slow-crawling cruisers between him and his chasers, he could virtually eliminate any additional shots fired in his direction.

A few moments later, the first pleasure cruiser came into view. It was an enormous ship, shaped like a jumbo submarine from Earth’s navy fleet. But at ten times the size. The attention to detail was complete, as it featured a periscope at the top of the vessel, and twin screws at its rear. Jaxon chuckled as he maneuvered his ship around and past the cruiser until it was situated between him and the chasing vessels.

Jaxon promptly reentered his destination into the navigation computer, and his revised ETA was 113 minutes. Accepting the delay instead of the remote possibility of being captured, he engaged the autopilot once again and leaned back for a short nap.

9

Eight years ago — Operation Bohemian Rapture, above Luna City.

Objective: Assassinate Kamil Marsalek and his elite entourage.

Timeframe: Immediate.

Threat level: Moderate.

Operatives: Saber, Gillette.

Method: Improvised.

“Robins Nest, to Saber. Do you read?” blasted in my ear. I accessed my environmental suit’s controls and lowered the volume.

“I copy. Go ahead?” I said, puzzled by the break in radio silence. I looked across the shaft at Gillette quizzically. He shrugged in wonder as well.

“Checking your status. Mother would like the flock to know that the bird is in flight. I repeat the bird is in flight. Over.”

I held two fingers up toward Gillette, then gave the thumbs-up. He nodded and returned the signal, indicating he was on schedule as well.

“This is Saber, over. Could you repeat? Did you say the bird is in flight? Have an ETA?” I asked, maintaining focus on my job at hand. I had already placed three charges along the support rail and had one more to go. Timing was crucial, and if the scenario was to be believable, everything needed to proceed as planned.

“This is Robins Nest, over. ETA: twenty-three minutes. Do you copy?”

Gillette nodded his head as he placed his last explosive charge on the far side of the elevator shaft.

“Copy that. We’ll be cutting it close, but should be done in fourteen. Over.”

I slid the last detonator into the explosive putty and strung the wire to the relay. I dialed up three minutes and checked my suit display for synchronization. Everything checked out.

I unlatched my safety tether and gently pushed off toward Gillette. As I floated through the airless environment, I pivoted and latched on next to him. Switching off my comms, I motioned for Gillette to do the same. He nodded.

“Timer set,” I said, annunciating my words clearly so that Gillette could read my lips.

“Same here. We’re actually going through with this?” he asked.

I nodded and unlatched from the safety hook. I slipped the tungsten carbine around the cable at the center of the elevator shaft and pushed off in the direction of Luna City. As I glided down, I turned on my comm’s channel and spoke: “This is Saber, over.” I waited.

“Ravens Nest here, go ahead.”

“Yeah, we’re having … can’t continue … trouble setting timer … abort, over,” I said, purposefully abbreviating my speech as I continued my descent toward the city.

“Saber, repeat. Your transmission is breaking up,” said Capt. Evans from his orbiting transport ship on the far side of the moon.

Evans received static in return.

“Director? It’s Evans,” he said into his secondary microphone. “It appears we have a problem.”

“Go ahead. What’s going on?” the director asked.

“I was in communication with Gillette and Saber up until about a minute ago when we lost their signal. The last clear transmission indicated they were on schedule, and—”

“Then, what’s the problem?”

“Their last communication was scrambled and fragmented, and Jaxon’s last word was abort. I’m not sure if it was a question or a comment,” Evans said. “What should we do?”

The director gave no response and Evans re-keyed the microphone. “Director? Did you copy that last—”

“I did,” the director said from behind Evans. “Precisely, what did the message say?”

Evans replayed the last transmission from Jaxon. “That was nearly three minutes ago,” he said.

“Well, unless we can raise them again … we proceed as planned. Like they said, they’re on schedule and will have time to clear out before—”

“Robins Nest, this is Saber! Severe malfunction! Detonators not responding. I repeat, not responding. Timer won’t set, and—” The broadcast broke into static.

“Saber, this is Robins Nest. Do you copy?” Evans asked.

Static continued to blare over the speakers as Evans and the director stood by.

Evans brought up the external video feed of the space elevator and directed it to the wall display. Moments after the display focused on the cylindrical shaft jutting up into space from the moon’s surface, an enormous explosion severed the shaft at its midway point.

“Oh, my God,” Evans gasped.

All they could do was watch in horror. The top portion of the shaft tilted to the side as debris from the explosion shot out in all directions.

“Director, I—” Evans said, not finding the words to express the shock of what they just witnessed.