“When stuck or in doubt, blow shit up; kill people,” said an old friend of mine, Columbus’ best graphic artist. And that is where we are. 

It’s interesting that whereas Ivan said there were two more, there are, as you’ll see, more than that. That’s how cells work: cut off from one another with only the bare information to get done whatever a central committee wants done.

Hindsight being 20/20, I think there will be six parts. The next deals with immediate aftermath of the terrorist attack – Aurie’s mom, Henge, gets a chance to literally shine. Part 6/5 will be several hours, perhaps a day, later, when the Hartmanns try to piece together what happen, and more importantly, why.

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Faustina had finished talking at eleven.  The crowd of subjects and legionaries out in the field which had once been the Redstone Arsenal airstrip of Huntsville of over thirty thousand cheered her to the sky.  With the presentation of her successor at her right, the cheers were for her, too.

But not from everyone, Aurelia thought, eyes everywhere.  I have thought and thought about the vision until it seems more real to me than what I see now.  The background details:  shadows, the clouds, the mix of civilian clothes and uniforms, anything that will help me pin-point the blast and take immediate action.

Under her legionary uniform jacket on her left side was a thin plastic box, two by four inches with a tiny bump in the center.  A variant of the epi-mix she had used nearly thirty five years ago to kill twenty seven pirates; some by hand.  All she had to do was slam her left elbow down to activate it.

But I am older now, and aware it will stress my heart.  Daddy warned me against using it, but understood I have to have it as an option.

Empress Aurelia stepped to the microphone on a stand.  Her mouth began her speech while her eyes looked this way and that.  Faustina, aware something was going to happen, had two centuries, one hundred and sixty men, at the ready behind the temporary stage.  Local emergency services were quivering like greyhounds before a race.

And I’ve my two hole cards, Aurelia thought while saying, “…a place for everyone!  Not only shall we take what Canada – now a nothing – held in the old Midwest, but Emeritus Empress Faustina, over the next few years, shall fulfill her promise!  She shall at last personally lead nearly eighty thousand of you, our beloved people, to their new home on Mars!”

With more cheering, she noted that cloud, there! and thought to her two…

The blast to her right, fifty yards away, was less than a second later.

About where I expected, she thought, jumping forward off of the stage.  I cannot have my first act one of retreat.  Still, it’s nice to know I’ve the body armor over my torso.

 Aware in a corner of her mind Faustina had ordered the two centuries into action, Aurelia was much more interested in what her two special assistants were doing.

It was a suicide vest, Nichole 5 Clarke, an android from Japan and a captain in their Aerospace Force, thought at her.  Her reflexes and strength was many times that of even a demi-human.  I am being heartless and ignoring the wounded right now, to see if there are any more terrorists or unusual packages.

Like this one?  Another android, belonging to someone who looked like a towheaded twelve-year-old boy, laughed into her mind.  Through his eyes, she watched Ivan Mendrovovitch with a literal death grip on the head of a man in his twenties.  The brutal Thinking Machine scoured information from the human’s brain so fast, it liquefied and began to pour out of eyes, nose, and ears.  At least two more, the vicious machine called to her mind.

With those two as the twin tips of her spear, Aurelia mentally switched her role to first responder medic.  The first casualty she came upon was a woman in her fifties, but already dead.  Next to her, a young legionary sat on the grass, staring in shock at where his left forearm used to be.  At least the blast seems to have partly cauterized it, she thought while tearing the sleeve off of her jacket and tying around the remaining stump.

“You-uns is our new empress,” he muttered, not really understanding what happened.  “I’ll be fine, Ma’am…”

“Stay where you are!” she ordered with a touch of sonics in her voice.  About to stand, he sat right back down.  “I’ve got medics on their way to you right now.  Behave yourself.”

He blinked a little and she moved on to another on the ground.  Dead.  A yard away a woman was crying, feebly trying to reach the shrapnel in her back.  As fast as she could, Aurelia kept Faustina, her father, and several others of their kind informed.  But the entire family cannot be down in this mess at the same time!  Come on, Ivan and Nichole!

I have another, came Nichole’s immediate answer.  Male, about mid-thirties.  Another explosive vest.  I have disabled both it and him.  Sending location to the security forces.

“Woo hoo!” was the wildly inappropriate happy shout from perhaps thirty yards further east.  Ivan.  “Oopsie!  Broke his neck!  I can still rape his mind for memories as he’s dying, though!”

“Please stop shouting shit like that, Ivan,” Aurelia muttered, now with her right sleeve off for another bandage. 

Seeing medical professionals thoroughly mixed into the crowd – and didn’t the Russian android say there were only two more? – the new empress stood and looked about.  Turning, she bumped into a man she recognized.

“Tribune Hoyt,” she said, relieved.  “A mess of a day.”

Wait…his eyes look – she slammed her left arm down and the world seemed to slow as the drugs went into her body.  At the same time, she saw him draw his service pistol.  A tribune!  One of my boys from the NorFed expedition…!

Not remotely strong enough to wrest the gun from him, she did move her left arm just enough to deflect it down as he fired it.

Ouch.  That was dumb; I should have let my vest take the shot.  Now I’ve a hole in my leg.

The semiauto was coming back up when there was a blur behind the man, followed by the sound of bones snapping.  Hoyt dropped away and Aurelia saw Nichole.  With a snarl on her face.  It was gone and she was tying a tourniquet around the demi’s upper left leg before tossing her over her left shoulder.  They were behind the stage with most of her family seconds later.

“Thought I was fast,” she muttered, suppressing the shock reflex in body.  Aurelia looked up to her father:  a doctor and surgeon.  “Sorry, Daddy.  Screwed up again.”