Read Online Drysine Legacy (The Spiral Wars Book 2) by Joel Shepherd - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Joel Shepherd
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that with a steel grip. The muzzle went in, to Anjo’s muffled shrieks.
“Clear!” Khola instructed, and Parrikar removed her hand from the top of Anjo’s head, just before Khola blew it off. Bits of skull and brain went flying, then stillness. Both marines dropped the Fleet Admiral, as the pistol fell, then a hand. Blood dripped thickly, and Khola removed the bloody handkerchief.
Lieutenant Parrikar looked at their handiwork, and surveyed the blood spatter on her hands. “Fuck,” she summarised.
Khola nodded, scrunching the handkerchief and scanning his uniform for blood. “Always messy,” he said distastefully. “The dishonourable always are.”
The doors opened, and more spacer uniforms walked in. They carried medical bags, and pulled on rubber gloves even now. “You two,” said their leader, “the washroom’s in there, make sure you’re clean before you leave. Anderson, go with them to be sure. We’ll take care of this.”
“Yes, forensically we won’t fool anyone,” Khola said drily, handing one of the new arrivals the bloody rag. “Do a good job or Lieutenant Parrikar and myself will meet a similar fate in some prison cell, I’m sure.”
The man opened his bag on Anjo’s desk, revealing an orderly arrangement of cleaning agents, cloths, magnifying lenses and tweezers. “Oh I’m sure they’ll know exactly who did it,” he told the two Kulina marines. “We’re just betting that at this point, they’ll understand the necessity.”
----
A lice Debogande was not particularly impressed by the sight of Rear Admiral Bedi. He was a little round man with a twitchy little face, who clearly had not seen any recent combat during his service. She had met Erik’s dear Captain Pantillo while he was still alive, and even at thirty years older than Bedi (her intelligence people told her) he’d looked far more spry and fit than this.
Alice stood beside her chair in the mansion’s lower sunroom, surrounded on all sides by glass, and beyond them, wide green gardens. Bedi’s accompanying captain was invited to wait by the door from the gardens. About Alice, ten personal security, well armed with weapons prominent. In the gardens outside, many more. The Debogande family house had aerial radar and defence mechanisms. If she’d been allowed, she’d have had anti-aircraft installed. But Fleet, of course, said no.
“Rear Admiral,” she said coolly, and indicated the chair opposite.
“Madame Debogande,” Bedi tried, and offered her his hand. Alice ignored it, and took her seat. Bedi recovered well enough, and sat also. As serving Fleet, he got to keep his uniform pistol, and even Alice’s security could not by law argue with that. But if he was armed, they would be too. Bedi ran his eye across the wall of holstered weapons around him. It was unsubtle of her, but Alice was well beyond caring about subtlety, with men such as these. “You’ve heard the news then?”
“I heard,” said Alice. “Fleet Admiral Anjo is dead. Apparently there’s even a note.” With dry amusement.
Bedi cleared his throat. No doubt he would benefit from a drink. None was offered. “He did show an appalling lack of judgement. Your son was an unfortunate casualty of it.”
“Not yet he’s not,” Alice said coldly. It terrified her, what had happened to Erik, and to Lisbeth. Yet on a level that she knew was most unwise, it made her proud beyond words. Family Debogande had once stood for proud and principled things. Following Earth’s destruction, when humanity had been reduced to a hundred million Spacers squeezed into overcrowded accommodations on stations or bases, a man named Junwadh Debogande, an ordinary stationhand originally from an African place called Burkina Faso, had emerged as a brilliant organiser of desperately needed industrial activity. When the Chah’nas Continuum had funnelled money and technology into those desperate few colonies, Junwadh had quickly risen to prominence, and been granted
“Clear!” Khola instructed, and Parrikar removed her hand from the top of Anjo’s head, just before Khola blew it off. Bits of skull and brain went flying, then stillness. Both marines dropped the Fleet Admiral, as the pistol fell, then a hand. Blood dripped thickly, and Khola removed the bloody handkerchief.
Lieutenant Parrikar looked at their handiwork, and surveyed the blood spatter on her hands. “Fuck,” she summarised.
Khola nodded, scrunching the handkerchief and scanning his uniform for blood. “Always messy,” he said distastefully. “The dishonourable always are.”
The doors opened, and more spacer uniforms walked in. They carried medical bags, and pulled on rubber gloves even now. “You two,” said their leader, “the washroom’s in there, make sure you’re clean before you leave. Anderson, go with them to be sure. We’ll take care of this.”
“Yes, forensically we won’t fool anyone,” Khola said drily, handing one of the new arrivals the bloody rag. “Do a good job or Lieutenant Parrikar and myself will meet a similar fate in some prison cell, I’m sure.”
The man opened his bag on Anjo’s desk, revealing an orderly arrangement of cleaning agents, cloths, magnifying lenses and tweezers. “Oh I’m sure they’ll know exactly who did it,” he told the two Kulina marines. “We’re just betting that at this point, they’ll understand the necessity.”
----
A lice Debogande was not particularly impressed by the sight of Rear Admiral Bedi. He was a little round man with a twitchy little face, who clearly had not seen any recent combat during his service. She had met Erik’s dear Captain Pantillo while he was still alive, and even at thirty years older than Bedi (her intelligence people told her) he’d looked far more spry and fit than this.
Alice stood beside her chair in the mansion’s lower sunroom, surrounded on all sides by glass, and beyond them, wide green gardens. Bedi’s accompanying captain was invited to wait by the door from the gardens. About Alice, ten personal security, well armed with weapons prominent. In the gardens outside, many more. The Debogande family house had aerial radar and defence mechanisms. If she’d been allowed, she’d have had anti-aircraft installed. But Fleet, of course, said no.
“Rear Admiral,” she said coolly, and indicated the chair opposite.
“Madame Debogande,” Bedi tried, and offered her his hand. Alice ignored it, and took her seat. Bedi recovered well enough, and sat also. As serving Fleet, he got to keep his uniform pistol, and even Alice’s security could not by law argue with that. But if he was armed, they would be too. Bedi ran his eye across the wall of holstered weapons around him. It was unsubtle of her, but Alice was well beyond caring about subtlety, with men such as these. “You’ve heard the news then?”
“I heard,” said Alice. “Fleet Admiral Anjo is dead. Apparently there’s even a note.” With dry amusement.
Bedi cleared his throat. No doubt he would benefit from a drink. None was offered. “He did show an appalling lack of judgement. Your son was an unfortunate casualty of it.”
“Not yet he’s not,” Alice said coldly. It terrified her, what had happened to Erik, and to Lisbeth. Yet on a level that she knew was most unwise, it made her proud beyond words. Family Debogande had once stood for proud and principled things. Following Earth’s destruction, when humanity had been reduced to a hundred million Spacers squeezed into overcrowded accommodations on stations or bases, a man named Junwadh Debogande, an ordinary stationhand originally from an African place called Burkina Faso, had emerged as a brilliant organiser of desperately needed industrial activity. When the Chah’nas Continuum had funnelled money and technology into those desperate few colonies, Junwadh had quickly risen to prominence, and been granted
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