3

“Warning: hull breach,” the PA system in the cargo terminal announced, in its expressionless, automated voice. “This sector has been sealed for safety. Remain in place and await further instructions.”

In the front passenger seat of the patrol car, Beauceron shook his head. “We seized Ricken’s ship. We cut the power to the high energy device in time. I don’t understand.”

In the backseat, Vence was skimming news feeds on her datascroll.

“News media is just saying ‘an explosion of unknown origin in the vicinity of the Senate Chamber,’ ” she said. “In other words, they don’t know what’s going on. But I found video footage of Ricken right before the blast.”

“What was he doing?” Paisen asked, from the seat beside her.

“Standing at the podium with some senator,” Vence said, shrugging. “He’s in the middle of talking to the senator, and then the feed gets cut. No one threatened him, he wasn’t waving a detonator around or anything.”

“It’s possible that Ricken had a backup device,” Atalia commented.

“No, I don’t buy it,” Paisen said, from the backseat.

“Why not?” Atalia asked.

“Even if he had a backup, it doesn’t look like he triggered the bomb,” Paisen said. “He and the two women with him were acting normally.”

“Maybe they triggered it by accident,” Atalia said.

“It just doesn’t fit,” Paisen argued.

Abruptly, the red alert lights around the bay stopped flashing, and the massive steel door sealing off the cargo terminal began to rise upwards.

“Hull breaches sealed,” the PA system said. “All non-essential personnel are requested to remain off of roadways to allow Anchorpoint emergency crews unrestricted access.”

“Fucking finally,” Atalia said. She started the cruiser’s engine again, and flipped the sirens on. “Senate building?”

“Yes,” Beauceron agreed.

“Or whatever’s left of it,” Vence said.

 

* * *

 

Atalia parked the car outside the ring of fire trucks and ambulances surrounding the Senate building, and the four of them climbed out slowly, in shocked silence.

After a time, Beauceron said, “We failed.”

Far above them, a group of drones worked to weld a pair of huge, temporary hull patches together more securely. Through the transparent patch material, they saw several small spacecraft maneuvering around the interior of the blast site, spotlights playing over offices and hallways exposed to the vacuum, searching for any survivors.

“We did the best we could,” Atalia said, squeezing Beauceron’s arm. “But that doesn’t make this any better.”

Beauceron took out his holophone and tried calling Colonel Jesk again. As before, he got an automated message that the phone was out of service.

“Still no answer from Colonel Jesk,” he said.

“He was here in the building, right?” Paisen asked.

“Yes,” Beauceron said.

Vence walked over to a nearby firefighter, who was changing the air tank on his spacesuit, sweating from exertion.

“How bad is it in there?” she asked him.

“Bad,” he said.

“Are you finding many survivors?”

The firefighter gestured to the ambulances, where a knot of EMTs stood idly, watching the building. Two of them were laying out empty body bags in a neat row along the sidewalk. “What does it look like to you?”

Vence helped him heft the new tank back onto his back. “Be safe in there,” she told him. He nodded, distracted, and headed back toward the building’s entrance. Vence walked back over to the others.

“He says they’re not finding anyone alive.”

“Anyone that wasn’t killed in the blast would have been sucked out into space,” Beauceron said, wincing.

Paisen turned and faced the group. “Look. This happened. Whether we could have prevented it or not, I don’t know. But either way, Colonel Jesk is dead, and the Senate is gone. I suggest you mourn them later. We still have responsibilities, here.”

Beauceron studied her for a moment, and then stood up straighter, appearing to reach a decision. “I’m sorry, you’re right. There will be an investigative team getting ready to tackle this. We need to find them and tell them about Ricken’s ship.”

“And the fleet that just deployed from Jokuan,” Paisen pointed out. “Whatever just went down here, it’s only one piece of the puzzle.” She pointed at the smoking remnants of the Senate building. “Everyone that knew about Ricken and the Jokuans was in that building. Except for us.”

Beauceron nodded, and then scanned the crowd of emergency workers. “Does anyone see any police personnel here?”

“No,” Atalia said. “Apart from traffic cops keeping the civilians away. And us.”

Beauceron spotted a fire chief directing the repositioning of several fire trucks. “Wait here,” he said.

He hurried over to the man. “Chief,” he called. “Any idea where the local IP commander is located?”

“Back at his office,” the chief replied, watching his crews begin spraying the building again. “No, the window on the left!” he shouted. “Yeah, that one!” He glanced at Beauceron for a second, then did a double take. “You’re Martin Beauceron.”

“I am,” Beauceron nodded.

“Some of your colleagues were poking around here earlier, but I had to kick them out,” the chief told him. “We can’t start the investigation until the fires are out, and rescue ops are concluded. What do you need?”

“I just need to talk to whoever’s in charge,” Beauceron said. “I’ve got some information that they need.”

“IP Headquarters,” the chief replied. “There’s an emergency committee meeting being held there right now.”

“Thanks,” Beauceron said. He hurried back to the others. “IP Headquarters. Let’s go.”

In the police cruiser, Atalia flipped the sirens on. They pulled out onto the main highway snaking down the battle cruiser’s central corridor, Atalia weaving the car around several slower-moving construction vehicles filled with debris from the blast site. Paisen sat frowning, drumming her fingers on her knee. A message appeared in her heads-up display from Vence.

>>>What’s our status when we get to the IP station?

Paisen looked over at her, cocking an eyebrow.

>>>Good question, she replied.

>>>We only came clean to Beauceron because we didn’t have much choice, Vence pointed out.

>>>Not sure we have much choice now, either.

Vence scowled, shaking her head. Then she glanced downward meaningfully. Paisen saw that she had her jacket open slightly, revealing a multi-purpose grenade and her auto-pistol attached to her belt.

>>>Just in case.

The police station reception area was a raucous tangle of shouting officers. Beauceron pushed his way through the crowd, heading for the security gates and the elevator banks. He and Atalia swiped their ID cards and the gates opened. Paisen took out the stolen Senate Guard’s ID, and then turned to Vence.

“I don’t have one,” Vence said, spreading her arms wide.

A young patrolman, seeing them standing outside the gate, walked over, hand resting on his pistol.

“Martin,” Paisen called.

The patrolman pointed at Vence. “No ID, no entry,” he said.

Beauceron said: “They’re with me, officer.”

The young man shook his head. “Sorry, Detective. I just got chewed out because someone hopped the gates a few minutes ago. No one gets in without an ID.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Atalia said, sighing.

Paisen walked over to the patrolman. She pointed at Beauceron. “Do you know who that is?”

The patrolman nodded. “That’s Detective Beauceron. From the Guild investigation.”

Paisen nodded. “That’s Martin. Fucking. Beauceron. And he’s telling you to let us in.”

The young man squirmed. “Can you just wait here while I go find my boss?”

“Sure,” Paisen agreed, exasperated. “We’ll just wait.”

The patrolman turned and hurried off.

“Come on,” Paisen said, when he had disappeared. She swiped her ID and gestured for Vence to follow. The younger woman jumped the gate, and it began hooting and flashing.

“Someone’s probably going to yell at me for that later on,” Beauceron told Paisen, as they headed for the elevators.

“You’re a big boy,” Paisen told him. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. Now, where are we going?”