30

In the growing light of dawn, Yo-Tsai stood at the bottom of the shuttle’s boarding ramp and watched as his troops streamed out of the city, hurrying back toward the transports. The retreat was disorganized, confused: different units were getting mixed up with one another, their men running scared from the terror of the precision darts. He saw only a handful of vehicles pull out of the city. It was a stark contrast to the well-coordinated maneuvers during the landing, just a few hours before.

A naval officer hurried down the ramp. “Sir?”

Yo-Tsai did not bother turning around. “Yes?”

“The fleet commander has completed his assessment. He believes he’ll lose at least thirty percent of his ships if we attempt to seize the transfer station again, and recapture the Rampart Guardian.”

Yo-Tsai considered this in silence.

“… and he asked me to inform you that several major news outlets are reporting destruction of the drones in orbit above other Federacy planets, sir. It’s possible they’re bluffing, but …” he trailed off.

In mute anger, the general strode back up the ramp, into the ship’s operations center.

“How much longer?” he demanded.

“Ground commanders are asking for another half hour to get full accountability, sir,” an officer told him.

“Tell them they have ten minutes, and then the ships are leaving, whether they are on them or not.”

“Yes, sir. At least they’ve stopped firing the darts.”

Yo-Tsai ignored the comment. “Take off,” he ordered. “Head for the spaceport. And go to battle stations.”

 

* * *

 

Rath set the wounded officer down under the overhang of the terminal’s roof, grunting as he tried to shift the unconscious man to the ground as gently as possible. Jaymy finished bandaging another policeman, looked up, and saw Rath. She hurried over and hugged him, hard.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Rath told her, smiling gently. “Haven’t lost my good luck, I guess. Are you okay?”

Jaymy nodded, and stepped back, wiping a bloody arm across her forehead. “I’m okay,” she said. “We’re running low on supplies. Is it over?”

“I think so,” Rath said. “I think they’re going home.” He pointed at the wounded man, as Jaymy knelt beside the officer. “He’s in shock, I think. But I heard a pulse.”

“Good,” she said, setting her medic bag on the ground. “I got him.”

Rath squeezed her shoulder. “I’m going to go check the perimeter for anyone else that needs treatment.”

“Right,” she said. “Bring any you find.”

Rath crossed to the far side of the platform. He found Beauceron checking a prostrated officer’s neck for a pulse. The detective shook his head sadly, and stood up.

“We lost so many,” he said, quietly.

Rath opened his mouth to respond and then paused, listening.

“What?” Beauceron asked.

“Ship approaching,” Rath said, turning to look out over the parking lot. “I can hear deep-space engines.”

With a sudden roar, the Jokuan transport burst into view over the top of the terminal building. Rath saw a heavy cannon under the ship’s belly swivel on its mount and then open fire, shells exploding amongst the broken vehicles around the platform. Rath grabbed Beauceron and shoved him toward the ground, but a shell exploded next to them a split second later.

Rath found himself on his back, in the midst of a haze of smoke and debris. His ribs hurt – his heads-up display notified him that he had a shrapnel wound along the left side of his chest. He groaned and rolled over to his side, and saw Beauceron lying a few feet away. Rath coughed in the smoke, and crawled toward the detective.

“Martin!” Rath shook his arm, but Beauceron didn’t stir. “Fuck. Come on, Martin.” Rath put his head to the detective’s chest.

Heartbeat. He’s alive.

Rath looked over his shoulder. The Jokuan transport was hovering low over the platform, its cannon pointed directly at the terminal building and the makeshift aid station filled with wounded IP officers. Rath saw Jaymy and the EMTs holding their hands above their heads, eyes wide. The ship’s boarding ramp lowered, touching the pavement, and the loudspeaker came on.

“Martin Beauceron! Surrender yourself, or your comrades die.”

Rath glanced back at Beauceron, but the detective was still unconscious – concussed by the blast.

“We will open fire in ten seconds,” the voice warned.

Rath sighed, and pushed himself to his knees. He locked eyes with Jaymy, across the platform, and then shifted his face, transforming into his friend. Rath stood up, and when he spoke, it was with Beauceron’s voice.

“I’m here,” he said. “I surrender.”

Jaymy’s eyes went wide with alarm. “No!” she screamed, but two Jokuan officers were already hurrying down the ramp to grab Rath. They hauled him aboard, and the ramp closed. The transport slipped back, away from the terminal building, and then its engines rumbled, and it swooped upward into the hazy early morning sky.