Andrew Mackay - Pink Symphony

Handax took a deep breath. The severity of what they were about to do socked him in the gut. “How are we all feeling?”

“It needs to be done, man,” Moses clocked Handax’s anxiety instantly. “Hey! You’re not chickening out now, are you? This was your idea.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just that…”

He never finished his sentence, which caused consternation for the others. Handax knew he had to remain in control for their sake. He lifted his head, angrily.

“Guys, we can’t allow these murderous, corporate scumbags to get away with what they’ve done—”

“—I’d say bastards is about right,” Leif said, inspecting her handgun. “Let’s hit them where it hurts.”

Handax thought very carefully about his next statement. “If you could save those tortured creatures and stick it to USARIC’s nefarious practices by killing just one man… would you do it?”

“Hell yeah,” Denny smiled. “For that alone, sure, but also for sneaking Russians on an American vessel. Two reasons, one bullet.”

Leif and Moses nodded in quiet agreement, leaving their leader feeling invigorated and confident. Handax slipped on his balaclava and reached into his belt.

“God help us all.”

Hundreds of journalists crowded the entrance to USARIC’s headquarters. The podium remained empty. Tensions were high – almost as much as the scores of drones that buzzed around in the air vying for the best view.

Dreenagh secured one of the best positions in cordoned-off press area. Five armed security guards lined the front of the podium, itching for the opportunity to take someone out.

“Hey, you!” Dreenagh shouted to one of the guards. “When is Vasilov coming out?”

“Stay back, please,” he said. “We’re expecting him soon.”

Dreenagh looked up and saw her drone get knocked by another. “What the hell?”

She turned to her left and clocked her silver-haired, suited-and-booted rival, Santiago Sibald. He shot her an evil wink. “Hey, Dreenagh.”

“Is that your drone attacking mine?”

“Seems so,” he said. “Your useless piece of junk doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Denny, do you read me?” Handax’s voice was stern, yet precise.

“Yeah, man. I’m all set.”

Denny placed his index finger in his ear and grabbed the steering wheel. He’d set up his long-range rifle across the front seats. The barrel rested against the opened passenger window, perfectly lined-up to take a shot at USARIC’s frontage.

“There’s literally thousands of people in the way,” Denny said into his forearm. “It’s okay, though. I have a clear line of sight to the podium.”

“Good.”

“Are you in position?”

Handax, Leif, and Moses moved to the corner of the building. Dressed as civilians in shirts and jeans, they blended into the furious crowd extremely well.

“We’re about thirty meters from breach,” Handax looked at the inked countdown on his forearm. “Twenty-six seconds into the speech. Then we’re on.”

“Understood,” Denny’s voice came through earpiece.

Handax nodded at two security guards standing in front of the side entrance to the compound.

“There they are,” he said to Leif and Moses.

The emotion from the crowd doubled as the doors to the entrance opened. “We demand answers!” screamed a civilian from within the virus-like baying mob.

Dreenagh slid her fingers across her forearm and moved her drone down to scan her face. “Hey, good people. Dreenagh Remix, here. It seems Dimitri Vasilov is making an appearance.”

A dozen officials exited the building protecting an elderly man. They ushered him to the podium, keeping an eye out for trouble from the crowd.

“Yes, yes. If you look at your screens now, we can see that Dimitri Vasilov is on time and about to make a statement. It had better be good. As I stand here there are thousands of civilians demanding answers.”

The crowd erupted with anger. The armed guards grabbed their weapons and forced them back, threatening to attack.

“Stay back! Stay back!”

A large man screamed at the top of his lungs “USARIC scumbags!”

“Stay back,” a security guard threatened a man attempting to climb over the cordon. He lost his balance and fell to the ground in pain.

“My God. It’s a jungle out here,” Dimitri caught sight of the security guard burying the nozzle of his gun against the protester’s head.

“Get up, you chunk of whale blubber,” the guard screamed in the fat man’s face.

“Please, d-don’t shoot me!”

The fat man rolled onto his belly and surrendered in front of the restless crowd.

“Ignore it, sir,” advised one of the officials as he escorted Dimitri to the podium. “We have a schedule to keep.”

Handax kept an eye on the two armed guards by the side entrance to the building. They turned away to look at the commotion at the front of the building. “What’s going on over there?”

“Okay, an unexpected gift, guys,” Handax whispered to Leif and Moses. “Get ready. Looks like Vasilov is about to do his thing.”

The two guards at the side entrance stepped away from their markers, taking a keen interest in the fat man’s arrest.

“Denny, can you see what we’re seeing?”

“I’m too far away. It looks like a fight has broken out, or something.”

“Some fat guy did us a favor,” Handax hopped over the cordon and waved Moses and Leif over to the door. “The guards at the animal compound have moved off. I don’t know for how long.”

“Okay, cool,” Denny said. “I’m ready.”

“Good luck, everyone.”

A USARIC official stepped up to the podium and moved his face to the microphone. Feedback from the speakers wailed across the grounds, diverting everyone’s attention from the fat man. “Good people. Can I have your attention, please?”

“We want answers!” the crowd roared back.

“You’ll get them in due course. I would ask everyone here, including our respected journalists, to keep the fuss to a minimum.”

Dimitri scanned the blood-hungry mob from behind the safety of his security team. The guards weren’t messing around. A contentious moment such as this needed order.

“Dimitri?” The official turned to the elderly man and offered him the podium. “Let’s get this over with as quick as possible.”

“Oh, I intend to,” Dimitri moved through the sea of officials and reached the microphones. The crowds whooped and booed at the sight of him.

He leaned into the microphone. “Good people, please, allow me—”

“U-SUCK-RICK!” U-SUCK-RICK!”

A security guard quelled the noise by firing three shots into the air. “Shut the hell up.” The crowd fell silent and obedient in an instant.

Dimitri smiled and nodded at the guard. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Dimitri cleared his throat and reached for a sheet of paper from his blazer pocket. “I understand that you are all angry and want answers. I have a prepared statement and I will not be taking any questions.”

The angry crowd allowed the man to have his say, poised to scold him at the first opportunity.

“I, Dimitri Vasilov, wish to deny any and all allegations of sabotage. To be clear, USARIC’s Infinity Claws in accordance with the Bering Treaty of 2085 stipulates that no Russian national may join any manned mission to space, or beyond. Despite our reluctance to these terms, the Russian contingent of USARIC had steadfastly agreed to them and continue to do so.”

“You’re talking lessense !” screamed a woman from the crowd.

“Please, let me finish,” Dimitri continued. “USARIC can confirm that we received communication from Space Opera Beta advising that two Russians had made themselves known amongst the crew. This was shortly before the disappearance of the ship, which also had the winner of the Star Cat Trials, Bisoubisou, amongst its crew members. Despite her Russian nationality it was deemed acceptable that she join the mission on account of her being the most suitable candidate—”