Even Stars Go Cold

Chapter 13 - Ambush

The art of manipulation, the power of persuasion, the price of failure

It started off easily enough.

She made her way to the training floor of the complex, as directed by her omni-tool. Abi was already present, making her way through the rather tame obstacle course of see-saw beams, climbing frames, walls and ropes. Indeed, everything seemed more basic and low-tech: the end of each apparatus was colour coded to the beginning of the next.

At a handful of points were more puzzle exercises, starting with actual wooden blocks but becoming much more complex as she progressed, including navigational computation. Towards the end, Sam found those a little more difficult to complete, though doable. She reminded herself that it was just an evaluation having little bearing on the real world.

Abi, also dressed in black, was only ahead by a few seconds; she was checking her omni-tool as Sam jumped her last hurdle. For the first time for both of them, the green on the end of the obstacle matched the door that was the exit.

With matching instructions, they found themselves mounting the same stairs they had used during their escape attempt, over a week before. Sam was duly cautious; but, this time, no ambush awaited. Apart from the stairs themselves, they were unchallenged throughout their ascent. Though not explicitly instructed to work together, it was easy to fall into the routine of overlapping moves on every flight of stairs.

Sam still had little real idea what Abi would bring to the table if it came to an actual fight, but she hoped it would be more than a few harsh words. Sam, at least, had exhibited some semblance of biotic power, though it was limited and hard for her to control. Abi, by contrast, only professed the ability to increase intelligence. That had yet to be proven: if anything, it had been the opposite, especially where Drick was concerned.

Nevertheless, in Sam's eyes, the overlap tactic at least halved her chances of a grenade in the face.

Ultimately, they reached the top level of the complex, without hindrance. Following the ceiling light patterns, they quickly located an armoury. There, two duty staff impassively supplied them with rifles and pistols, each identifiable as training weapons by the yellow capped muzzles.

As they consulted their omni-tools for their next move, they found themselves side by side heading for the ramp up to the surface. On leaving the bunker, however, it became immediately obvious that their paths would diverge once more. The sun beat down on them as Abi was directed North, while Sam headed west.

Still there was no sign of Drick and, once again, Sam made the mistake of believing she would probably not see him again.

--*--

Kent Lancaster did not have what anyone would call an exciting life.

Running security and driving for government big shots was an easy gig. His passengers were mostly anonymous, and there was no war going on. An Army veteran, he had benefited hugely from the training and discipline. Spending most of his five tours travelling around Alliance space he had, mostly, enjoyed it.

Lancaster's rise to Staff Sergeant was mostly due to persistence and attrition. He was organised, by the book and capable, more like a rumbling tank than an agile warrior. He considered himself fair in his dealings with those in his charge, and they had seemed honestly sad to see him go at the end of his twenty years.

Not one to settle into a life of leisure, he had emigrated to Mindoir to start anew. He found himself in demand as an ex-serviceman without a post-traumatic stress disorder or a debilitating injury.

Relationships had mostly passed him by, though. He had his kinship with his fellow soldiers, some of whom still managed to maintain a loose connection. Social or romantic links were in short supply, given his job; though it paid well, he found himself on call twelve out of fourteen days. It was not so much that he had to work hard; the job was usually simple and straightforward, but much of the time it involved waiting. The employees he usually ferried were prone to working long and unsociable hours and therefore, by default, so was he.