The Reign is Over – Part 19
I had fully intended for this to be the final entry for The Reign is Over.
Like all good stories however, this one refuses to go down without a fight.
So here we are. The finale will likely be two or three parts over the next few weeks. I’m slaughtering my day tomorrow to make sure I get this part up, as I’ve come to loathe missing posts.
I’m still over the moon about my new job, so don’t expect this to become a habit.
The Reign is Over – Part 19
Lieutenant McNamara wasn’t dead.
Barely.
She was, however, out of the fight. According to the clinically detached report of Laszlo Reignover’s personal physician, she was also out of every other fight that came her way. McNamara had lost almost sixty percent of the skin along the front of her body, her elbow was a collection of scorched bone and sinew, and no amount of reconstructive surgery or stem-cell therapy would change the fact that she’d never use that arm again.
The physician had required a cold, unmoving, almost inhuman stare from Lieutenant Armsworth to prevent her from simply amputating the limb. Seeing the look of a man prepared to do anything to prevent just such an occurrence, she decided discretion would be the better part of valor and settled for treating it and then wrapping it as best she could.
All told, they’d lost three in the ambush, not counting McNamara. Corporal Hidera had fallen first, his reactions slowed by the medication which had allowed him to be in the fight at all. Officer Lipscomb had taken a vicious sucker-punch in the gut from Lieutenant Raithe, followed by an unceremonious plasma blast to the face. Sergeant Hubert had thrown herself on top of a frag grenade some viper had rolled into the cover she was sharing with two other officers.
Reignover himself looked haggard as he sat recovering in his office. His face was drawn, his collar dirty with sweat. His suit was tattered around the edges, and the sleeve around his bionic arm was missing. It was easy to forget in all the mystique and power that he wrapped around himself that Laszlo Reignover was sixty eight years old. Fit or not, the demands of close quarter combat plus the physical strain of bionic enhancements were too much for a man well past his prime to endure without cost.
Liuetenant Armsworth looked like an angry boulder wearing body armor. He was perhaps more dented than when the melee had begun, but was otherwise unharmed. He stood across Reignover’s desk, back straight, arms clasped behind him as he studied the screens which lined Reignover’s office walls. His eyes were glued to the section reserved for monitoring the shipyard traffic. It appeared that the ISF Hidalgo was slowly closing the distance between it and the kingpin’s shipyards. It couldn’t get too close for fear of damaging the large ship on the nigh-impenetrable atmosphere shields, but from this distance the topside guns would have no trouble pounding the shipyard to splinters.
Captain Walsh was out of reliable troops, and as this mission had required him to run the most skeleton of crews, he appeared to be finished with subtlety. Armsworth grunted, pointing a finger at the images which displayed the enlarged ship profile.
Reignover looked over, and let out a grim bark of laughter as he followed the finger. As though it were the signal to begin, the rhythmic thumping of capital ship blasts on siege armor filled in the background. Captain Walsh, denied his chance to resolve the situation cleanly, was going to pound the hell out of the shipyards until nothing was left but a smoking crater on the bottom of the habitation ring.
Reignover, far from looking angry or terrified at the situation, wore an expression of surprised optimism.
“Captain Walsh has made his first mistake of the day. Let us hope that in his haste to resolve matters, he hasn’t thought his defenses through.”
Reignover pressed a button on his desk, and as Armsworth watched over an imposing shoulder, Reignover asked a woman named Karran if she would be able to establish a connection with the capital ship now that it had closed the distance between them.
Several tense moments later, a cool assurance to the affirmative came through the desk, and Reignover clenched a fist in triumph.
“Now Karran, I need you to hack the long range communication terminal on the Hidalgo and execute plan Sigma Beta Two. What? Well Karran, if you hadn’t noticed, Captain Walsh is content to simply pound us to dust and fill out the paperwork required to justify it. Plan Sigma Beta Two, please. Reignover out.”
Reignover leaned back in his chair, fingers laced in front of him as he regarded Lieutenant Armsworth. Armsworth turned to answer the direct stare of the old gangster with one of his own.
“Tell me Lieutenant Armsworth, are you a gambling man?”
Armsworth considered the question, rolling fingers under his chin as he did so.
“No. I was a soldier and I lead the police assault teams, so I’m no stranger to working the percentages of a situation. In the end, I do whatever I can to take as little actual risks as possible.”
Reignover mulled over the answer, eyebrows lifted as he reflected on the Lieutenants words. After a few moments, he locked eyes with the big man once more, answer ready.
“You and I are alike then, Lieutenant Armsworth. I too despise unnecessary risks. However, I believe we are at a stage where such risks are unavoidable, wouldn’t you agree?”
Armsworth rolled his shoulders, searching for any way out of his next words. No distracting explosions saved him from answering, so he bit down on his pride and gave his reply.
“Yes, we do seem to be trapped here, with little in the way of options. If we don’t do something, Captain Walsh will simply grind us out now and deal with the fallout later.”
Reignover nodded, leaning forward to put his elbows on the desk as he continued.
“Right you are. That’s where plan Sigma Beta Two comes in. My colleague Karran has just hijacked the good Captains long range communications array to send an in-system express com wave to the Mars naval yard. More specifically, it was sent with the private authorization codes and priority flags to land it directly in front of Fleet Admiral Yakima.”
Armsworth couldn’t help the shock which flitted across his face. He recovered quickly, nodding for Reignover to proceed.
“Yes, obtaining that was no small coup, let me tell you. The com wave contains every single arms deal that I have brokered for Captain Walsh, either on my own behalf or acting as his middleman. I have left no detail out. It contains thirty years of illegal schemes with Captain Walsh that have helped both of us become rich and powerful men.”
Now Armsworth mouth was a grim line, and his words were bit out with such an edge they could have taken out the ship firing relentlessly above.
“You’re telling me it was Captain Walsh that helped your career? Wait.. was it Walsh that helped you infiltrate and assassinate McNamara’s parents!?”
Reignover didn’t cower at the accusation, but he did ready himself so he could spring into action if 130 kilos of Reginald Armsworth came calling for his blood.
When the seconds ticked by and a brutal death hadn’t yet claimed one Laszlo Reignover, he answered the question. Carefully.
“Yes. He provided me with the necessary authorization codes to gain entry into the building. I will not deny my own part in planning the operation, as the McNamara’s were on the cusp of landing the both of us. It was Walsh who gave me the government access codes. I could never have covered both our tracks without them.”
Armsworth leaned over the desk, putting his face centimeters from Reignovers. He said nothing. He didn’t blink. His fingers curled, crunching wood and inviting Reignover to make haste with his explanation before destroying the desk wasn’t enough to hold him at bay.
Reignover didn’t react, a credit to his lifetime spent in similar situations. He continued in calm, measured tones, pulling no punches, attempting no dissembling.
“I am not trying to justify my actions Lieutenant Armsworth, nor their consequences. I have led the life I have without regrets, and I shall not attempt to mollify you with statements of false contrition.”
The wood splintered slower after this, but Reignover continued in the same fashion one might when faced by an enraged beast.
“Sigma Beta Two also contains the current data on our situation. As well as copies of our most recent conversations with the good Captain and the recently departed Lieutenant Raithe. Fleet Admiral Yakima might be too conservative for his own good, but he never refuses to act when action is required of him.”
Blink. Deep breaths. The crunching stopped, and with barely restrained anger the large man leaned back. Reignover did everything he could not to let his relief show on his face. Reignover peeked down; his heirloom quality desk was ground to splinters where the Lieutenant had gripped it.
“Reignover, it will take an hour to get a warship prepped and launched. Furthermore, the distance to Titan from Mars will be almost thirty minutes of sub-light.”
Laszlo Reignover nodded, and broke out a cunning smile.
“Then I ask that you join me in the desperate gambit which will buy the Fleet enough time to get here, Lieutenant. It is time for us to roll the dice.”
To be continued…
Gamitfully,
The Unsheathed Quill
