The Fight
26 Sep 2020Kodeyne
Devil's Daydream slipped into the docking bay at Mars High. Ophelia waited as the Asp touched down, dropped it into the hanger and shut the ship down. Went to her cabin, stripped her flight suit, hung it up, so she stood in her plain black RemLok. Stared at herself in the mirror. There was no fear, no nerves, just a strangely comforting feeling of detachment. Slowly removed the glasses she did not need to wear, put them in a drawer. Shook her hair out and finally patted the hilt of the Fairbairn-Sykes knife in its sheath. Glanced at the clock."Time to go..."
Through the maze of corridors, glancing at her wristerm to make sure she was on track.
And finally to an open doorway, that led into a storeroom. Shelving units held dusty packets and boxes. A desk with a terminal, at the back. She stepped inside and actually smiled as she heard the door slam behind her. Turned and looked at the trio who appeared from behind the shelves.
"Three of you?" she said sardonically, "three of you versus one poor helpless girl? "
The one who blocked the door was a thickset brute of a man, with a stubbled head and beard, but his eyes glittered with intelligence. To her right: tall, blond, chiselled cheekbones, handsome in a devilish way. And ahead, by the desk, a slight, black-haired man with a scarred face. All three wore black tops and pants that were clearly armoured, heavy fighting gauntlets on their hands promised a world of pain. She realised that she was already picking out potential weak spots on each figure.
Scar-face spoke first. His voice was harsh and gravelly. "Your reputation precedes you, Commander. To use the old cliché, understand that none of this is personal. Just doing a job." She studied him. He looked the least threatening of them , which probably meant he was the most dangerous.
"Guess Mister Estri couldn't make it, huh?" Her fingers flexed slowly.
"He does send a message," murmured the blond man. His face remained expressionless, but there was the faintest hint of distaste in his voice. "He is very impressed with how well you've concealed his little runaway, but it is of no matter; she can't hide forever. In the meantime, though, he will be satisfied with the thought of her sobbing by your graveside."
"Charming," Ophelia said, "no wonder he has to dope girls up before he fucks them without their consent."
The darkness was sweeping towards her. The Destroying Angel was coming.
She laid a hand on the belt pouch that held the little cat-stone, the gift from Ali all those years ago. "For you, my friend, just you. To hell with justice, to hell with righteousness."
She slowly, deliberately drew her knife, so it made a scraping sound Held it up to her face, and saluted each of her opponents in turn.
Her conscious mind slipped away as she sprang towards the scarred man -
Startled people scattered as Rose and Tristan made haste through the thoroughfares of Mars High. They had not spoken since she had brought the Krait in at high speed, dodging round a Type-7 and drawing a protest from the flight controllers. Out of the ship almost before the engines had shut down, and rushing through the crowds, Rose checking their progress.
She stuck out a hand, grasped Tristan's arm and slowed their pace.
"Almost there," she gasped, "just round this next corner..."
They stopped abruptly as a door crashed open and a bloodied man with blond hair staggered backwards out into the corridor. He raised a pistol, three shots, muffled by a suppressor, back through the doorway.
Chouf. Chouf. Chouf.
Rose yelled, a hand dipping into her jacket and emerging with the stunner. The man spun and fired at them awkwardly, forcing them to duck. Her return shot went wide, a wire-thin beam of lightning smacking harmlessly into a wall. The man turned and fled, limping and stumbling.
Tristan waved her forward, and they burst through that doorway, halting as they took in the scene before them. A storeroom of some kind, now trashed. A big man lay curled near the door, twitching but otherwise stationary. Across the way, a pair of legs protruded from beneath a toppled shelving unit. And in the centre of it all, a forlorn, crumpled figure in a RemLok lay in a spreading carmine puddle. Dark blonde hair disarrayed and a bloodied knife just beyond reach.
"Keep an eye on those two," said Tristan as he dropped to one knee besides the motionless figure. Rose nodded, knelt and cradled Ophelia’s head in her lap.
"My daughter," she moaned, "my beautiful daughter... "
He worked quickly, plugging the medipack into the RemLok, tapping at the screen. It flickered and showed vital signs. In an ideal world, there ought to be lots of greens on that display. But there were only ambers, shading to red.
"Talk to me, Tris," Rose said, voice hoarse with stress. He looked at her, choking back a sob.
"I think we're too late," he said, "she's dying..."