The Reign is Over

Part 1 - Journies

A quiet sob escaped the young cadet sitting next to Lieutenant McNamera in the assault shuttle as it made it's slow (and extremely stealthy) way towards the Reignover compound. It was quiet enough that no one else had heard, but the grizzled veteran let out a chuckle and bumped her armored shoulder into the young man who hadn't been able to contain his fear.

"Don't worry Cadet. I've got your six. Besides, even Lazlo Reignover isn't immune to pulse rifles."

She cracked a wide, nasty smirk at this last, and it was so full of knowing confidence and hard-earned experience that the young cadet couldn't help but match the grin with his own. His hands ceased shaking, taking a new and firmer grip upon the inactive pulse rifle. His breathing slowed, and his training had a chance to catch back up and keep him in the right mindset for the assault. She leaned back, grinning for no one but herself now. She'd been that way too, once, in what felt like another lifetime.

The grin faded as she faced the truth she was desperately trying to hide; she was probably more frightened than the cadet had been. She'd been nipping at Lazlo's heels for all her adult life, so she had good reason to be. Lalzo Reignover ran the Europa Ring with an iron fist, merciless without the attendant cruelty of his kind. He was intelligent, cunning, and above all calculating. Never two deaths when one would do. Never one when blackmail was the best solution. His subordinates worshiped him, showing him fanatical loyalty no matter the personal costs. It had taken the Organized Crime unit almost ten years to crack into the lower echelons of Reignover's business dealings, and the blood of many undercover officers had been the price of the knowledge gleaned sinec. It was appalling to think how many funerals she had attended in pursuing the one-armed bastard.

All of the tears and folded flags had led to this moment, to this military-grade stealth-transport, full to the gills with thirty officers and fifty cadets pulled from various posts around Alpha Centauri so that there was no chance their loyalty had been compromised. And then there was one Lieutenant McNamera, whose loyalty had never been, nor would it ever be, a concern. Undercover officers hadn't been the only funerals Lazlo had forced her to attend. Before she had attended the Academy, before her turn in the Armada, before twenty years on the force in the Organized Crime unit, she had stood beside two empty coffins. What was left of her parents hadn't been fit for presentation, and the coffins were present only to give those gathered something to grieve. Only DNA testing had proved that Naomi and Richard McNamera were indeed the poor souls spread about their respective offices in a howling whirlwind of gore.

Their death had been a message. Both had been powerful attorneys in the District Office of the United Human Government, both tasked with prosecuting the cases laid out against one young Lazlo O'Connor as he had began the bloody task of consolidating his power-base and removing his rivals. He hadn't been called Reignover then, but the assumed name was more accurate than his matriarchal designator ever was. His act, savage and grotesque, had played a huge part in tampering the investigations into his work. The McNamera couple had been inside their offices, under the watchful eye of the United Human Government soldiers, protected by all the security measures that the deep government pockets could buy. Convincing men and women to stake their lives as well as their reputations on the line was too much for most. So the cases lingered, going nowhere, gathering dust.

There hadn't even been a trace of Reignover's DNA in the carnage. Yet the acts of vicious dismemberment were only possible with the nightmarish strength afforded by a nanographinite appendage, and Reignover had carved the sigil of his house bare-handed into the armored doors that had secured each office. A crown in a simple lines, the top and bottom closing into a sharpened point at the right end. From the point flowed tiny droplets of blood. There was no question who was responsible; exactly as Reignover had planned.

The transport rattled and jounced as it wound it's way along the artificial night of the Ring. Memories of laughter, old aches and pains, and the smoldering rage of righteous retribution kept Lieutenant McNamera company as the silent minutes ticked down. The lights which blazed from the buildings in defiance of the dark and the silence were muted, as though they too knew what events the night held in store. The Ring held it's breath, knowing that dawn would bring changes no matter who stood on top.

To be continued....