The Year's Top Short SF Novels 4 by Allan Kaster

Author:Allan Kaster [Kaster, Allan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Infinivox
Published: 2014-12-28T06:00:00+00:00

“Lie down, lie down!” Landor was yelling before his feet even reached the floor. “Hands over head. Down, down, down!”

The apartment had a complicated three-dimensional layout, with sleeping and other private areas dropping down below the entertainment/eating area that was their initial target. It hadn’t been chosen because it was an easy tactical problem. It had been chosen because it was the most likely spot for Kingsman to test the new hypothesis.

And because he had information that led him to think Elise might have been around this volume in the days and hours before the Alliance assault on Phobos. That was something he hadn’t shared with Ferhat.

It was a high room with lights shining upward onto a domed ceiling, a ceiling that now had a hole in it. A few fragments floated down after Kingsman and Landor.

The front of the room opened out onto the main corridor for this residential area. Kingsman, as practiced, jumped over and put up the privacy screens, then shot a preliminary defensive net across the openings. He could hear the hum of conversation from the corridor as people went about their business. If things went as planned, the three men would be gone before anyone got suspicious.

A woman and two children had been sitting down to a meal. For a long moment they just sat straight up as the two armored figures dropped through their ceiling and food flew.

Then, as requested, they got on the floor.

Landor secured their wrists and ankles. “This is a temporary occupation.” He quoted the standard message. “You will be informed of what to do. You will not be harmed. You are not the target. We apologize for any inconvenience.”

To Kingsman: “Someone ran. We’ve given them enough head start. Chase them down to the left bottom.”

Kingsman had already launched himself out of the dining area and down the passage to the lower sleeping spaces.

There he was, a boy, maybe early teens, screaming. Why fire a disrupter grenade when you could use a member of the household to do the job for you? He couldn’t convey any information, only panic. Kingsman let him keep his lead.

The apartment was packed with stuff. Clothes, arranged by color and texture, filled shelves. Elaborate hats dangled from hooks. Spherical aquatic environments full of fish and other creatures hung from the ceiling. Scurrying toy animals crunched underfoot. You took your life in your hands moving around a Phobos apartment even in peacetime.

You needed the clothes to catch skin fragments, because otherwise the moon would have filled with piles of dust, but the rest was just for entertainment.

Turning a corner, Kingsman ran into a woman, her black hair wild, wearing only a pale-blue sleepsuit.

“Please stop,” Kingsman said. “Stop or be processed.”

Instead, she kicked over a case of decorative plates, which spun slowly into Kingsman’s path.

Two more kids came out, one crying, one sleepily rubbing his eyes. Not in the records—some kind of sleepover or other annoying social event.

There was a lower exit here, one leading to waste disposal and other support functions.

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