Gabriel's Redemption (17 page)

“Let’s move,” Gabriel said, and led the team to the main doors.

Sowers knelt in front of the door’s glowing keypad and plugged in his jailbreaker. In a few seconds, the keypad light turned green and the doors slid open. He stepped back quickly and allowed Jimenez and Lamber to sprint past him, the rest of the team on their heels, as he put away his equipment and armed his weapon systems.

Inside, the team was greeted with a long empty corridor, with environment suits and boots lining one wall near the door they had just entered, and several small cargo containers along the opposite wall. Jimenez and Lamber stood weapons-ready on either side of the corridor, aiming forward. St. Laurent and Takahashi jogged ahead to the end of the corridor and took up positions on either side of it.

Gabriel and the others followed at a quick pace as his neuretics ran passive scans. As he had suspected, no resistance, and as he reached the far door and sent the scan beyond, found no personnel there either. Apparently the weapons fire didn’t attract any attention inside, something he was quite thankful for.
 

The next door was just a basic hinged door, no locking mechanism or seal, so he stepped forward. With a burst signal to his flankers, he pushed the door open and allowed St. Laurent and Takahashi to enter, arm-mounted pulse rifles and stunners raised.

The hub was pentagonal in shape, five flat walls arranged at angles to each other, providing four more directions in which to travel further into the compound. In the center of the large room sat a sculpture, an illuminated silver sphere which must have represented Poliahu, a corner of Gabriel’s mind thought. St. Laurent and Takahashi were on either side of it, facing outwards with their arm weapons, as the rest of the team filed in. As Gabriel’s scans had noted, the hub was devoid of life.

He scanned the room visually, seeing that the four other closed doors each had glowing signs above them. From left to right, he read
Housing
,
Medical
,
Operations
, and
Executives Only
. The signs jibed with the schematics showing in his heads-up, which also showed that the Medical buildings had an additional corridor behind it that led to Processing, and Operations had a similar one that led to Utilities. A quick glance behind him showed the door they just entered was marked
Icebox
, an oddly humorous label, he thought.

He sent a burst to Sowers to have him take care of the Operations door panel. Sowers hurried over and bent to work. Gabriel instructed the rest of the team to be ready, and moved forward to the center of the doors. His passive scan showed twelve targets beyond, and curiously no sign of energy weapons.
 

Lamber and Jimenez again were flank positions, weapons at the ready. Brevik was in the rear, and Gabriel’s heads-up showed him that he had just mounted and armed the massive plasma cannon he carried. Gabriel desperately hoped he didn’t need to use that, especially in such close quarters. There wouldn’t be anything left of Operations if that cannon got loose.

Sowers contacted Gabriel, signaling the door was ready to be opened. Gabriel sent an acknowledgement, and tensed his muscles. The door slid open, and the team burst in.

The room was full of cubicles and workstations, screens illuminated on several walls, showing various images of the colony. Gabriel’s neuretics confirmed the twelve people inside, and again the lack of weaponry, and noted that everyone was seated, seemingly at work for the morning and completely unaware of the impending danger.

Jimenez and Lamber went right and left, sweeping arm weapons and running active scans. Gabriel stepped into the room in a combat stance, stunner arm up and ready to fire. He activated his helmet’s speaker.

“Everyone down on the floor!” his helmet boomed as the rest of the team poured in the door behind him and began moving towards the workstations.

Several seconds passed before the people at the workstations realized what was happening, then mass panic set in. Shouts of surprise and anger rang out, more than one coffee mug was knocked to the floor, and a few people did just the opposite of the order and stood up. Gabriel’s team swept through the room quickly, pushing people to the floor, and doing weapons scans. Sowers went to the far door marked
Utilities
and jammed the lock with his jailbreaker. Jimenez and Lamber remained by the door, covering the action, while Brevik planted himself squarely in the doorway facing back into the corridor, the plasma cannon held in both hands and fully charged.

Gabriel saw that two men were in the center of the room at the raised platform, standing at a holotable, and hadn’t moved, calmly watching the goings-on. Gabriel moved towards the center, receiving ‘
clear
’ bursts from each of his team as he walked. His pulse rifle arm was still pointed forwards as he approached, and the man facing towards him slowly raised his hands towards the ceiling. The second man was standing with his head down, hands on his hips, staring at the floor.

“You,” said Gabriel through the speaker, his arm indicating the man with his hands in the air. “To your left and on the floor.” The man immediately complied, lying face down in a spread-eagled position.

“Look at me,” Gabriel ordered the second man.

Raising his head slowly, the man replied in quiet yet firm tones. “I’m the chairman here. We have no weapons to speak of, and we protest this unwarranted invasion of our sovereign state.”
 

Gabriel frowned. This wasn’t what he was expecting of a drug lord. “We are here on orders from the North American Federation to shut down this operation.”

As the man’s face was illuminated by the overhead lights, Gabriel’s arm wavered.
No, it couldn’t be
, he thought. His knees buckled slightly and he felt nausea sweeping over him. “You?” he asked weakly over the speaker.

“Me?” the chairman answered. “Who are
you
, and what right do you have to shut down a peaceful research colony?” he demanded, striding towards Gabriel with determination in every step.
 

Gabriel’s arm dropped and his breath caught in his throat. “I don’t understand,” he said over the speaker. “What are you doing here?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” the chairman asked, now standing in front of Gabriel within arm’s reach, looking up into the combat helmet. By this time the rest of the team, who had the colony’s personnel gathered together in one corner of the room, were all watching the two men.

Gabriel reached up and unlocked his combat helmet, a hiss of air escaping from the collar. He slowly lifted it over his head, and dropped it to the floor with a loud clatter.

The chairman’s jaw dropped. “My God,” he said, taking a half step back.

Gabriel looked his older brother in the eyes. “God or whoever, someone has some explaining to do.”

Chapter 19

Juan Martin Tevez, Minister of Finance for the SAR, sat quietly with his hands folded in his lap, distractedly watching the cultural presentation on the large stage in front of him. The world-famous Reykjavik Ballet was performing their interpretation of Argentina’s wild and untamed history, with the colorfully-dressed gauchos dancing through the pampas, singing renditions of songs not heard in South America in hundreds of years. Tevez couldn’t care less.

He grimaced as his wife screeched a laugh next to him, slapping him on the arm. “Izz beautiful, no, Juanito?”

Tevez gritted his teeth in a smile, glancing over at their four dinner companions, a French diplomat and her husband, and two trade ministers from India, in Buenos Aires for the G-28 conference taking place downtown. None of them seemed to mind that Carola was four or five sheets to the wind, and was barely speaking English. Matter of fact, Tevez thought, they seemed to be just as in the bag as his wife. All the better, since he had no interest in any type of forced economic conversation tonight.

Carola laughed again, reaching for her red wine. Her long expensively-manicured fingernails clinked the glass, which toppled over onto the table, staining the lily-white tablecloth with a deep purple Rorschach pattern. “
Ay de mi!
” she snorted, covering her mouth with her hand. “I so clumsy!” She turned in her seat, searching the crowded ballroom. “Waiter, wine pleesh!” she called.

Tevez rolled his eyes, and politely excused himself from the table. Carola didn’t notice him leaving his seat.
Not that she’d care
, he thought. He made a mental note to have his driver take her home after the show so he could attend the minister get-together later in the evening.

He weaved his way through the tables, smiling and shaking hands with several attendees. As he reached the main double doors, the phone in his inside jacket pocket vibrated. He reached for it as an attendant opened the door for him.

As one of the less than three percent of humans who was unable to have neuretics implanted, Tevez relied on good old fashioned phones and flexscreens. He had no regrets, however. He put far more trust into a device he could hold onto than one surgically inserted into his brain. Not to mention the butchery his cousin, now a near-vegetable, had gone through years back, trying to get black market Russian neuretics implanted.

He stepped into the anteroom, which had several men smoking cigars, complaining about their drunk wives, so Tevez stepped outside into the warm summer evening to take the call. The ID on the screen was blocked; certainly not an official government call.

“
Adelante
,” he said as the outer glass doors closed behind him, shutting out the noise.

After a series of tones that indicated a secure connection, a low voice said, “Minister, this is Hernando.”

Tevez smiled slightly. “
Si
, Hernando. May I assume this call is to ensure me that you are in place?”

“
Claro
, Minister,” the voice continued. “All of us are in place, awaiting your orders. I am calling to confirm, and also to find out if the time frame has changed at all?”

Tevez reached into his other jacket pocket, withdrawing a large cigar, which looked tiny in his chubby hands. Holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder, he took a lighter from the same pocket and flicked the igniter. The flame illuminated his face as he puffed until the end of the cigar glowed a fierce red.

“The time table is unchanged, my friend. I will be receiving word from our NAF contact by tomorrow, he assures me, and then we can start the countdown. You are a hundred percent sure you have your targets covered?”

“
Si
, Minister. The Prime Minister, President, Vice President, Secretary of Defense, Chairman of Joint Chiefs, and Speaker of the House. All will fall at your command, señor.”

“
Gracias
.” Tevez smiled and cut the connection, dropping the phone back into his jacket pocket. He stood outside a few minutes longer, puffing his cigar and watching the air traffic pass in front of the faintly glowing Southern Cross constellation.
Soon
, he thought.
Soon, I will have no more need for these ridiculous presentations, or the glad-handing, or the false interest in other people’s affairs. Soon, the NAF will bow to us, and I will take my rightful place in Buenos Aires, and they will be reporting to me.

As his cigar burned closer to his fat fingers, he sighed, tossing it into the street in front of him. Turning back to the doors, he took a deep breath, preparing himself to go through another two hours of this inane show. And another two hours of putting up with Carola.

Chapter 20

The tension in the Operations center was palpable as the two leaders faced each other in the middle of the room. Gabriel’s team still had weapons armed; the colony personnel were all seated on the floor, watching the scene unfold. The silence was only broken by the soft beeps and clicks of the workstations.

“Evan,” said the chairman, still looking up into Gabriel’s eyes. “It’s been a long time.”

Gabriel was still shaken by his brother’s appearance, and took several seconds to respond. His neuretics frantically searched databases to find the most recent records. Zachary Gabriel, born August 18, 2146 to Scott & Ekaterina Gabriel. Attended Princeton University, graduate degree in socioeconomics, left Earth for consulting position on New Tokyo in 2167. That was the last record of Zachary in the governmental database, and the last time Evan Gabriel had seen or talked to his brother.

“I don’t understand,” Gabriel repeated, his voice catching a bit. By this time, St. Laurent had moved to his side.
 

“Is there a problem, sir?” she asked through her helmet speaker, staring at the chairman, who began to relax from his aggressive posture.

Gabriel shook himself from his thoughts. “This is my brother, Zack,” he said. “And he’s got a shitload of explaining to do.”

“I think you have it backwards, little brother,” Zack replied. “You come storming in here, weapons drawn, assaulting my people, with orders to ‘shut us down’? Before we get to the family reunion, again I’m asking, and this time a little more strongly, what gives you the right?” He walked over to Vanheel, who had assumed a sitting position. Reaching out a hand he helped him to his feet, and the two of them walked back to Gabriel and St. Laurent.

“I want to know why the hell are you in charge of a drug operation!” Gabriel demanded. “We’re here on orders from the NAF to secure this facility to shut down the production of dew. Brother or not, this place is being shut down and you and your people are coming back to Earth with us to face the authorities.” He took a deep breath to calm his anger. And confusion. “And you’re just damned lucky we didn’t come in lethal.”

“
Dew
?” Zack barked, laughing out loud. “You must be out of your mind! That’s what this is all about?” Vanheel stood next to him with a confused look on his face.

“Yes, dew. I’ve seen the evidence, Zack. I can’t imagine you can be involved in this type of…cruelty, but we’ve got solid proof.”