Graham Paul: The Final Battle

For a moment Michael thought that he’d overdone it, that the drugs had killed Hartspring. The colonel lay motionless. Then, to Michael’s relief, his eyes opened. He looked around in wild confusion before his body shuddered upright, quivering and shaking.

“What the hell did you just do to me?’ Hartspring asked, his voice firming as the drugs took hold, eyes now alert but wary.

“I smacked two of these babies into you,” Michael said, waving an empty autoject.

“Kraa! No wonder I feel so good.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” Michael said. “Now it’s time to talk about how you’re going to help me.”

“Hah!” Hartspring snorted his derision. “Me? Help you?” he said with a sneer. “Why would I do that?”

“How about this?” Michael raised the laser pistol and fired into Hartspring’s shin, the sharp, metallic crack of the hair-thin laser pulse loud even over the noise of the battle raging outside. “Will that do for a reason?” he said.

Hartspring did not flinch. “You’re wasting your time,” he said. “I didn’t even feel that.”

Michael swore under his breath; he should have known Hartspring’s drug-laden system would absorb the shot without complaint. “Okay, then. Let’s try this.” Michael shot Hartspring again, this time in the stomach, low down and to one side. “I don’t suppose you felt that, either,” he went on. “Now, I’m no doctor, but my guess is you’ll be dead inside six hours if I don’t get you to a hospital. And if not dead, then pretty close to it … and in agony as those drugs wear off.”

Fear flickered in Hartspring’s eyes. “What do you want?” he said.

“I want you to set up a meeting with Polk for me.”

Hartspring stared at Michael in open disbelief. “Polk?” he said. He shook his head. “You’re kidding. Those Kraa-damned heretics are tearing McNair apart, and you want me to set up a meeting with Polk? Dream on, sonny boy. I can’t do that.”

Michael shot Hartspring in the stomach again. Hartspring looked down in disbelief at the tiny smoking hole punched through his black jumpsuit.

“How’re your guts going?” Michael said. “Not too good, I’d say. I think I’ll try for the liver next time. You’d better hope I don’t hit one of those big blood vessels, because you won’t have six hours left if I do. Hell, you might not even have one. Now, will you help me or not?”

Desperation joined fear in Hartspring’s eyes. “It’s not possible,” he said.

“That’s crap. Polk wants me real bad, remember?”

“Not anymore. Please believe me. The man’s paranoid about security. He won’t let you get anywhere near him, and even if he did, what would be the point?”

A tendril of doubt slipped into his mind. Let it go , it whispered. Polk’s not worth it . Michael stomped down hard on the slender thread. This was not the time for second thoughts, he told himself. A promise was a promise, and if he didn’t kill Polk, the man would get away. Besides, Polk would want to see him; he too was obsessed by thoughts of revenge, and that was the lever Hartspring would use.

“This is what we’re going to do,” Michael said. He tossed Hartspring’s personal comm over. “Call the man. Tell him that you’re bringing me in. Let’s start with that, and we’ll see how it goes. Come on, Colonel. Time’s running out, and don’t try anything stupid or the next shot will be through your throat.”

“Okay, okay,” Hartspring said. He fiddled with the comm, then put it to his ear. Primitive , Michael thought. There was a long pause. “Polk’s not answering. Nobody from his office is answering. He’s gone.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Michael shouted. “So where is the bastard?”

“No idea. Probably off-planet by now if he’s got any sense.”

“Get back on your comm and find out where he is or I’ll leave you here to rot. Do it! Now!”

“How am I going to do that? It’s chaos out there.”

What was left of Michael’s self-control vanished. Without a second’s consideration, he shot Hartspring in the gut a third time. “I don’t care. Just do it,” he said. He ignored the man’s whimpering protests.

“Polk was last seen in his office around midday,” Hartspring said ten minutes later. “After that, nobody’s seen or heard from him. I’m sorry; that’s the best I can do. Get me to a hospital, now! For Kraa’s sake.”

“You’re lying. He’s there, isn’t he?”

“Maybe, but I don’t think so,” Hartspring bleated. His face was twisted with pain. “The NRA attacked the Supreme Council complex this morning; the place is a ruin, and the Hammer of Kraa is finished. Why would he still be there?”

This is not good , Michael thought, angry and frustrated. What the hell do I do now?

The sudden appearance in the road of a Doctrinal Security colonel pointing a rifle at a disheveled man brought the mobibot to a screeching halt. A window opened. A man poked his head out. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded. “Get out of my … oh … ah, sorry,” the man stammered when he realized who he was looking at. “How can I help?”

“Get out!” Hartspring said. “I’m commandeering this vehicle.”

The man could not get out of the mobibot fast enough; he did so without a word of protest.

As they set off, Michael took his assault rifle back from Hartspring and replaced the empty magazine with a full one. “Now, Colonel,” he said, “you sit there and enjoy the ride. We’ll be at the complex soon.”

Hijacking the mobibot had been too much for Hartspring. His face was now a death mask of pasty, sweat-slicked white. “You promised,” he whispered. “You promised to take me to the hospital.”

“Yes, I did promise,” Michael replied, “and I will, though let me see now-” He frowned, a finger tapping his lips. “-I don’t think I ever promised to get you there alive. No, I’m pretty sure I didn’t.”

“You bastard,” Hartspring mumbled. His voice was so soft that Michael had to strain to hear him.

“Yeah, yeah.” Michael shook his head. “Anyway, after all you’ve put me and Anna through, did you really think I’d let you live? You’re a damn fool if you did. But let’s look at the upside,” he continued. “Chief Councillor Polk ordered you to bring me in, and that’s exactly what you’re doing, though it’s a pity the bastard won’t be there to say hello. When he finds out, I think he’ll give you a medal. Mind you, you’ll be dead when he pins it on, but then, you can’t have everything, can you?”

But Hartspring had stopped listening. His head fell back. With a soft choking rattle, his lungs emptied for the last time.

Hartspring was dead.

Still wide open, his eyes looked back at Michael in silent reproach. Michael leaned over, closed them, and sat back. His mind was filled with a confused jumble of emotions. Nothing made sense anymore. He had killed Hartspring, so why didn’t he feel … whatever he should have felt? Fulfillment? Satisfaction? Pleasure? He felt none of those things. He just felt flat and empty.

All he wanted was for it to be over, to go home, to be with Anna, to live a normal life.

But it was not over, not while Polk still lived. The nightmare would end only when the man was dead. Michael took a deep breath and forced himself to think straight.

In the chaos raining down on McNair-as if to make the point, the mobibot shook as a flight of NRA ground-attack landers swept overhead, the air torn apart by the howling screech of rockets as they pounded some unseen target-finding Polk had to be close to impossible. Unless Hartspring had been lying, of course. But if Polk was in the complex, how would he ever find a way past his security detail to kill the man?