Andrew Mackay - Pink Symphony

“Sheck is secure,” he said into his black-coated utility sleeve. The USARIC logo adorned the underside of his forearm, along with his first initial and surname – K. Too .

He listened intently to the response.

“Kaoz,” Marr shifting his behind across the length of the limousine’s back seat, “Are we going or what?”

“Team, listen up,” Kaoz addressed his three subordinates and pointed at the peninsula in the not-too-distant horizon. “We’ve had a major security breach at the Animal compound, Sector Z118.”

“What happened?” asked one of the mercenaries, ready to spring into action. “What kind of breach?”

“Most escaped. The perps have been dealt with but the subjects in the second bay escaped.”

“Escaped?”

“They’re headed for the peninsula.”

The reflection of the incomplete Space Opera Charlie vessel smeared across Kaoz’s visor.

“Set up a task and finish team to bring them back. They’re not regular felines.”

“They’re not?”

“No. Don’t ask any questions. Just find them and bring them back. Dead or alive, I don’t much care at this point.”

“Understood,” Kaoz stepped into the limousine and took a seat opposite Maar. He thumped on the driver’s compartment, “Let’s go.”

The driver slammed on the gas and drove toward the gated exit. A kick of dust lifted from the ground and into dusky haze of the setting sun.

Maar almost freaking out inside the car. He couldn’t get comfortable, fidgeting around with the belt clip in the padding of the plush seat.

“Don’t be anxious,” Kaoz flipped his visor over his head and pinched his mouthpiece, “You’re perfectly safe now. ETA, ten minutes.”

“Good, good,” Maar looked over his shoulder and saw the USARIC building vanish into the distance, “Please tell me this damn car is bulletproof?”

“Of course it is.”

“I’m sorry. Can we talk business, please?”

Kaoz and Maar turned to a stern-looking man with silver hair sitting opposite them. He pressed his back against the glass compartment between them and the driver.

“Sorry, Crain. What’s the update?”

Crain McDormand – USARIC’s head of the legal counsel and the chair of the select committee. Not someone you’d want to get on the wrong side of. He had a manner about him that suggested he’d take you down in court for looking at him the wrong way.

Crain opened his palm and pulled out his thumbnail, “About fifteen minutes after Vasilov was executed someone sent an Individimedia broadcast from within USARIC’s animal compound.”

He set his cuticle down on the champagne unit next to his knee.

“Some guy with blue hair you might recognize.”

The thumbnail projected a paused holographic image of Handax Skill in the middle of the limousine.

“I think I’d recognize a cretin with blue hair,” Maar kept his head away from the passenger window. He wasn’t terribly interested in a stray bullet flying through his cranium. “Who is this guy?”

“His name is Handax Skill,” the man explained, “Sort of the leader of PAAC.”

“People Against Animal Cruelty?” Kaoz asked and shook his head. “They’re always disturbing us.”

“They did a great job in the past hour, I’m afraid to say,” Crain snapped his fingers and sat back into the chair, “I could fill you in verbally. The broadcast does a better job of explaining just how bad this is than I ever could.”

“They kill Dimitri and there’s more bad news?”

“Just watch.”

Maar leaned forward as the recording played. A sound of gunfire and commotion rattled around the walls of the limousine.

Even though Handax was long dead it felt like he was directly addressing everyone in the vehicle. Maar found it doubly worrying. He’d failed to realize that Handax addressed a lot more people than just those in the car.

“Bisoubisou never boarded Opera Beta. We found her body at the compound along with hundreds of others. Those we found alive and well, we rescued. USARIC has killed three of my team. Moses, Denny and Leif—”

“—Oh no… no…” Maar gasped and held his mouth in shock, “Did this Individimedia go live?”

“I’m afraid so,” Crain frowned.

“What? How many saw it?”

“Tens of thousands, if not more. Keep watching.”

“That’s okay,” Maar tried to calm himself down, “We’ll just deny it and claim—”

“—They’ll deny it, of course,” Handax’s recording continued much to Maar’s worry, “They’ll claim they went missing and have no involvement. In a matter of seconds, I’ll be joining them.”

“Over there!” screamed another voice in the recording. “Hey, you. Put your arms above your head and drop to your knees.”

Handax turned away from the broadcast to a cacophony of bullets. The recording paused, offering Crain, Maar and Kaoz a view of the ground.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Maar thumped the seat in anger and wiped his sweating brow, “USARIC shot the protesters dead on a live feed?”

Kaoz and Crain didn’t know how to respond. They watched their boss try to calm down.

The roads were empty right now. Maar was surrounded by advisers and bodyguards, two of whom were with him in the limousine. Many more were stationed at USARIC’s Research & Development Institute twenty miles away to the north.

“I’m…” Maar whimpered, “This was a mistake. A big mistake.”

“What was a mistake?” Crain asked with no hint of emotion.

“The Star Cat Project,” Maar pointed around the interior of the limousine, “Opera Beta, all this. How long ago was the broadcast?”

“Thirty minutes or so.”

“Ugh,” Maar hung his head and sniffed, “All hell is going to break loose.”

“Maar, if I may say so. I don’t think any of this was a mistake. You made decisions in USARIC’s best interests. If you had failed to act on Saturn Cry, or Tripp Healy’s request to find a suitable subject, we could well have regretted it. In my view, you had no choice.”

“Try telling that to Dimitri,” Maar looked up and stared Crain out with his now-reddened eyes, “He’s not even around anymore to argue with you.”

“It’s terriful what happened to him,’ Crain tried to sympathize, ‘but this was always going to be a contentious issue. It’s just very unfortunate—”

“—They shot him in the chest and practically destroyed the animal compound,” Maar interjected with a healthy dose of venom, “They’ve set a dangerous precedent. You know what people are like. When one maniac shoots a place up and becomes a household name they spawn thousands of imitators!”

“I’m sure it won’t come to that, Marr,”

“Thank God social media is a thing of the past. Everyone would be getting ideas.”

Crain tried for a smile of reassurance. “They targeted Vasilov because of his Russian connection. The two aboard Beta who defected and tried to sabotage the mission.”

“You’re not the one in my shoes, Crain,” Maar said. “I want my wife and son relocated to safety.”

“It’s not necessary—”

“—Have it done right now, Crain,” Maar snapped in a fit of rage, “I can’t have them in the firing line. Compounds collapse. Important people get shot. Innocent bystanders die.”

Crain slipped his thumbnail onto his thumb and shook his head.

“Crain?” Maar threw the man a remorseless look, “Wives and children burn , Crain.”

Seven-year-old Remy Gagarin looked up at his mother with an angelic smile. She spat into her palm and wiped a black smudge from his cheek.