FENRIR: Chapter 35

[seawasp]

 Didn't get to post this yesterday. 

Some people are  more surprised than others by this turn of events...

 

Chapter 35: Unexpected Awakening

Days to Launch: 18

     Damn. I feel like I got totally wasted.

     For a moment, that was all that Silver could think. It took a few more for his mind to recognize that in addition to the foggy nausea making him reluctant to even open his eyes, he was feeling pain with every breath, a strange, tight pain.

     Beeping noises. That smell. I'm in a hospital?

     Memory burst in on him. The explosion of the antimatter container, seeing the faintest movement on one of the rooftops, and –

     His eyes snapped open. I didn't.

     IV bags hung next to him from stainless-steel stands. The rails of a hospital bed stood up on each side, ensuring he couldn't accidentally roll off. Typical white and light green hospital sheets covered him, and wincingly-bright light streamed in from the windows, along with the sterile white illumination from the ceiling-mounted LED lights.

     Next to him, in a recliner, Peter Flint was sleeping, his face looking more lined than usual.

     Son of a bitch. I did. He didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or rage, and settled for an inward, bemused chuckle.

     Silver couldn't make out exactly what was in the IVs, but he couldn't help but wonder if it was for more than a bullet. That truck's detonation could have – likely would have – irradiated everyone in the crowd.

     But in that case, Pete ought to have an IV, or be in his own bed. The hospital would be stacked two deep with patients. So why…

     As chagrined understanding came, he did laugh – a brief, pained chortle. A decoy. A fake. They planned for the attack.

     Pete stirred, looked up. "Angus! You're awake! How do you feel?"

     "Like I was on a weekend bender and someone kicked me in the ribs. What happened?"

     "Well, you saved my life, that's what. Mine and maybe a couple others," Pete said gravely. "Near's we can figure, you moved first, and that got others who saw you moving just in time. They're wonderin' just what set you off."

     Silver briefly considered the various alternatives, decided that limited honesty was preferable. "Saw a movement, just a tiny something off, on one of the rooftops. After the truck went up I was already worried someone else might try something, so when I saw it I just… reacted."

     "Well, you've got some damned good reactions, is all I can say." Pete grinned. "Sorry you had to take the shot for me, though."

     "You said there were others?" It was obvious what Needle had been after, and it made sense. Instead of limiting yourself to one target, take out several – maybe even some extras to confuse the motivations.

     "Yeah. Six or seven at least; maybe more, but it'll take 'em more time to figure that out; the way the stands got unbalanced, they guess quite a few shots could've missed. Anyway, they got the UK Prime Minister, and almost took out the President and Director Bronson."

     Silver made sure to let his face show relief. "But they didn't."

     Pete grimaced. "No, because when you shoved me, York blocked for Steph, and Rog Stone beat the Secret Service to the punch with the President."

     Needle will be livid at me. The thought was beautifully entertaining, a distillation of irony that Silver had rarely encountered. "How are they? Dr. Dobyns and Mr. Stone?"

     "Stone's still in ICU, critical condition. Dobyns… Dobyns didn't make it."

     "Jesus. Those bastards. How's our Director holding up?" York Dobyns had been Stephanie Bronson's main support; on consideration, he could have been an excellent target on his own. But the other possibility was…

     Pete chuckled, and there was a spark of grim amusement in his eye. "She's on the warpath, Angus, and no mistake. They're rebuilding the launch structure, the antimatter's already loaded, and the way she's pushing, launch might be as much as a week early. She doesn't want to give anyone a chance to try again."

     … that. Silver had been afraid of exactly this reaction, which was why he had deliberately excluded Dobyns from consideration.  The younger Stephanie Bronson, from the early days of Fenrir's discovery, she wouldn't have been able to deal with Dr. Dobyns being shot dead. But she's grown a hell of a lot in two years.

     "Hold on a moment. What happened to the launch structure?"

     Pete summarized everything that happened, and Silver's reluctant admiration for Needle, which had been waning with these failures, renewed itself.

     Silver also had to give credit to the Director and President Sacco, because they obviously had orchestrated the razzle-dazzle with the fake antimatter tankers and kept everyone not directly involved in the dark. They had anticipated the vulnerability of the antimatter and found a way to use that tempting target as bait. "Have they caught any of the bastards?"

     "Heard they got quite a few, but no more. Everyone's security's clamped down the lid hard."

     Silver nodded. "What about me?"

     "Better ask the doc." Pete stood carefully. "Whoof! These chairs ain't exactly the best beds, know what I mean? Now that I can see you're doing okay, I need to go turn in for a few good hours before I get back to work."

     He put a hand gently on Silver's shoulder. "But thanks a whole damn bunch, Angus. They say if you hadn't done it, I'd've taken that shot right through my head. I'd return the favor, but I hope I never get the chance, if you know what I mean."

     Silver grinned. "Pete, I absolutely agree. You don't owe me anything; I know you'd have done the same for me. Just what friends do. Right?"

     "Only the real friends. But yeah, that's it. I'll drop by soon's I can, but I'm beat."

     "No problem. You get your rest. I'm guessing they'll make me get mine."

     "Bet on it."

     Silver heard Pete call to the nurse as he walked out, so he was unsurprised to see both a nurse and a physician enter a few moments later.

     They performed the usual examinations of vital signs before allowing him to ask questions. "So how am I? What happened?"

     "You were very fortunate," Dr. Habib said, nodding. "The bullet penetrated you from back to front from near your left shoulder and then out between two ribs, striking no solid obstacles aside from nicking one rib on the way out; the bullet is one of only two recovered intact, buried in the bleacher step near where you fell. The projectile just missed directly damaging the lungs, causing a small pneumothorax due to penetrating the chest cavity, but this was able to be addressed and repaired fairly quickly."

     I was lucky. "Why do I feel so… out of it, then?"

     "You responded strongly to the anaesthesia, possibly due to the initial shock," she replied. "We of course reduced dosage, but you apparently retained a considerable amount. You do not seem to have suffered any actual ill effects, which is a relief."

     Silver remembered the one other time he'd been operated on. Yes, I was hit hard then, too. "How long before I'm up?"

     "You may have mostly recovered in a week," Habib answered. "If you follow directions."

     "I am very good at following directions for my own health," he said honestly.

     "Good." Dr. Habib smiled and departed, the nurse trailing behind.

     A week. That was encouraging. Leveraging the same determination the Director was using to keep the project going, he was sure that he would be able to keep his position onboard Carpathia, which was the one absolutely vital task remaining to him.

     The instinctive protection of Pete, however, was a matter of grave concern. He hadn't realized, until the very instant he was in motion, that he was no longer feigning his friendship with the older engineer, that he genuinely liked Pete and the thought of him being hurt was simply intolerable.

     I cannot afford this kind of sentiment. Being honest with himself – something Silver always insisted on – it was not nearly so easy to remove an attachment than it was to prevent one from forming. But he'd not had the option to avoid contact; even relative loners had to have a few contacts that were regular and social on a crew such as this, and the fact was the he and Pete connected on a personal level that was rare in Silver's life. Peter Flint was extremely smart, well-read, easygoing yet driven in an unusual way. He was interesting.

     Tactically and strategically, of course, saving Pete was a masterstroke. It would be almost impossible for people to suspect him of being an enemy of the project, barring them getting some real clear evidence of his true nature. Pete would trust him implicitly, and likely so would most of the others on the project. With that trust would come more latitude, and vastly increased chance of success of his final sabotage.

     I will just have to prepare myself and guard against my personal feelings. I really honestly do not want Pete to be hurt… but I must be ready to if I must. I must be willing to even kill him, if the situation demands it. He did not like that thought. But it was a thought that had to be accepted and turned into action and determination.

Sudden impulses of friendship, throwing himself between a friend and a bullet, all right; it was impossible to predict or guard against that. But in his final actions, he would know what he must do, and be prepared to do what must be done.

Even if it meant shooting a friend.

     Needle, he hoped, would be dealt with. All the contingencies he had arranged would have gone into effect the moment her attack was known, regardless of his own condition. There were a few other actions awaiting his personal direction – or his death – but those could be addressed later.

     He had to recover and see that Carpathia launched safely before he could destroy her.

 

But why wait?