Ogilvy’s combat claws made contact with Gabriel’s armour, pressing against the weak points in his neck armour. If he was going to survive, he had to fight back now. His muscles were on fire from the effort of pushing back, and he had very little strength left to resist.
But he did have one last trick left to play.
“Override: Lieutenant Ogilvy, root access.” Gabriel said through gritted teeth, straining to pronounce the words into his mic, “Victory. Sovereign. One. Seven. Zero. Seven.”
The pain in Gabriel’s muscles made it a challenge just to enunciate clearly enough to be acknowledged. But it worked; a command link was established remotely from the computer in his suit to the computer in Ogilvy’s suit.
“Override: shield…over-pulse…” Gabriel could barely get the syllables to leave his mouth clearly, and he felt Ogilvy’s combat claws find the weak points in his armour and the cold sting of the claws starting to pierce his flesh.
“NOW!” he screamed.
Gabriel’s voice command remotely triggered the over-pulse mechanism in Ogilvy’s armour, violently repelling all matter around him. Gabriel was already on the floor, and was knocked flat again, but the Swarm-possessed Ogilvy was catapulted straight into the air.
Ogilvy’s flailing body travelled straight upwards in a steep parabolic arc over the dais, crying out with a keening scream of thwarted rage all the way up and all the way down again until he fell through the top of the containment shield.
The timer jumped to: 00:00:10.
THE TRUTH
Sitting in a cramped and windowless interview room with her wrists secured to the table, Jezebel Thorn was outwardly silent and calm. Inside, she was fuming with impatience. Since it was the DNI who had detained her – apparently, on the ACS’s behalf – she wasn’t technically under arrest, and hence couldn’t be formally questioned. Instead, she had to sit there and listen as the details of her alleged guilt were discussed in front of her.
“So this data chip she took,” the ACS detective said to the DNI agent, “you said it was some kind of tracking device?”
“Oh, it was a lot more than just a tracking device.” The DNI agent replied, “it’s a shame she tossed it down the chute; otherwise I could have given you a live demonstration.”
“I still have no idea what either of you are talking about.” Jezebel lied.
“The chip was part of what we call a ‘MacGuffin trap’,” the DNI agent explained, ignoring the suspect, “it’s a kind of sting operation where we plant something supposedly important, make it out to be really valuable, and then see who comes to collect it. That way, we can lure out suspects, moles, and other people of interest.”
“I hate to presume to lecture a civil security officer on the law,” Jezebel interjected with a slight sneer, “but I believe it’s illegal to speak to a suspect without legal counsel present.”
“Good thing no one’s speaking to you, then.” the DNI agent retorted, “Now as I was saying, the data chip was also covered in a very fine layer of biometric sensors capable of scanning the DNA of whoever touched it. We were able to record not just where the chip was, but the identity of everyone who touched it as well as when and where they touched it.”
The DNI agent produced a holographic display on his wrist-top computer, displaying a list of dates, times, and faces. Jezebel saw Aster Thorn’s face displayed, followed by Felix Kessler’s face. She found it hard to keep her composure when her own face appeared.
“See right here?” the DNI agent pointed to Jezebel’s face, “She took the chip from your murder victim shortly before he was murdered, in the exact same place where he died.”
Jezebel was silent. Assuming the DNI agent wasn’t bluffing, there was no conceivable explanation or answer that she could give to make that fact go away, and opening her mouth to try would only make things worse.
“What about the other suspect?” the detective asked.
“She was blackmailed by Madam Jezebel.” The agent explained.
“For which I presume you have evidence.” Jezebel interjected with lofty sarcasm.
“Indeed, I do,” the agent replied, “Take a listen.”
The DNI agent pulled up another file – an audio file this time – and pressed play.
“And by coming, you’re officially complicit. Unless, of course, the real reason – the one you’d like me to corroborate if the investigators ask – is that you simply came to pick up your children from their grandmother’s home.”
Jezebel remained silent. There really was no explaining that away, assuming they had the whole recording in their possession.
“By the way, yes, we have the whole recording.” The DNI agent said, closing the audio file, “Which we can give you, along with the tracking logs from the data chip.”
“None of that proves that I had anything to do with Felix Kessler’s murder,” Jezebel said unconvincingly, “or that Aster Thorn wasn’t the one who killed him.”
“Aster Thorn was at home around the same time that the victim passed the data chip to you,” the DNI agent replied, “we have data to show that too. Bottom line: you’re fricked.”
* * *
Within a fist-sized containment bottle forged from material suitable for starship hulls, an electromagnetic suspension field was deactivated, and a globule of antimatter weighing precisely 2 grams dropped under gravity and inertia until it touched the side.
The resulting mutual annihilation of matter and antimatter resembled the life and death of a star compressed into a single blinding flash. The observatory’s containment shield barely held against the force of the explosion, sparing the witnesses from obliteration, and releasing energy only in the form of light.
As suddenly as it began, the explosion was over. A blaze of astral light that had lasted for a twinkling in time was gone, leaving the retinas of those who witnessed it bleached by the sight. The containment shield continued to glow faintly, but no trace remained of the Swarm or its Human host. The chamber was as silent as a tomb.
Gabriel lay sprawled on the ground where he had been pinned, lying as still as a corpse. He resembled a life-sized toy soldier, or a circus prop discarded on the ground to gather dust and dirt after the show had packed up and moved on.
He stirred.
The muscles in his arms were burning, and he could feel a set of stinging wounds in his neck where the combat claws had started to push through into his flesh. And yet, even though the bomb had detonated early, he was alive. Even though his arms hurt, his legs felt fine, so he kicked his feet into the air, lifting his ankles over his head and using the momentum to roll backwards onto his feet.
His armour had seen better days. Most of his shield emitters had been shorted out by the over-pulse he had triggered, as well as by the energy required to protect him from being crushed by the over-pulse from Ogilvy’s armour. Parts of his suit had taken physical damage as well, with the redundant motors in his exoskeleton picking up the slack for the ones which had been overloaded by electrocution.
But more importantly, he was alive, something which could not be said for most of the swarm of brainwashed zealots. Thankfully, the remaining members of his squad were also still alive. The bio-readings of Viker and Bale were orange, but they were alive and conscious, and Cato’s bio-readings were green.
Someone else was still alive. A figure kneeling motionless on the dais, dressed in a white hazmat overcoat covered in symbols and glyphs written in blood, his overgrown hair and beard covering his face. From the righteous and triumphant image he had projected earlier, the figure he now cut was miserable and defeated.