She spun and kicked, sending the training dummy spiralling across the room to crash into a corner. Grabbing a quarter-staff from the weapons rack, she attacked a second dummy in a blur of speed. When the dust settled, the dummy lay in pieces on the floor.
She dropped and rolled, reached another weaponry rack groaning under the weight of its tools of destruction. Her hand shot out, relieving the rack of a laser pistol, and she rolled on, coming up on one knee to fire at a third dummy.
As this third collapsed in a burst of flame and energy, she spun on the ball of one foot and planted the other firmly just beneath a fourth dummy's neck. Such was her precision that the head tore off and went flying across the room.
Carl Reisenberg, Spartan Diplomatic Director, ducked to avoid the flying appendage as it screamed towards his head. His expression was one of wry amusement mixed with condescending tolerance - he was an older man, and as such did not subscribe to the Spartan training regimens, preferring instead to spend his time honing his mental Ki for diplomatic battle.
However, as the Colonel looked up he quickly erased all sign of condescension from his face and replaced it with an expression of subservience.
«Colonel Santiago,» he murmured as she drew near, panting and wiping the sweat from her face, «we believe that the time will come soon when the Cybernetic Consciousness begins to move against us.»
A spasm of anxiety crossed her face; fleeting as it was, his acute vision caught it before it fled.
She turned away quickly to hide her expression, and began a muscle-building exercise.
«Are our forces prepared?»
«In a manner of speaking, Colonel, but we cannot be sure where they will strike. Their air forces are powerful, but the greatest danger to us is ground troops loaded onto sea transports and transported to our coastlines.»
«There is a simple way to combat that threat,» she snapped. «Have our air units patrol our coastlines and destroy any troop transports which approach our territory.»
«According to our infiltrator, the Consciousness have commissioned the building of large fleets of SAM-equipped ships and powerful needlejets. We believe that these will be used to safeguard the transports, much like the convoys used in World War Two.»
«That is irrelevant,» she snapped, her body tensing. «Our troops have superior training, and will prevail against them.»
He drew in a soft breath, dreading having to correct her but knowing that, if he did not, he stood to lose a lot more in the long run.
«Our troops may have superior training, but the Cyborgs have superior weaponry. In addition, it is possible that they will land in CEO Morgan's territory and push northwards from there, using him as a shield against our troops. If we should march into his territory and begin skirmishing with the Cyborgs, he will surely order us out.»
Again she tensed, and he flinched, anticipating a blow. Instead, she spoke, with barely concealed anger in her voice.
«CEO Morgan has no authority to order us around. If he should attempt to do so, we will wipe him from the face of Planet.»
His expression showed signs of inner conflict for the barest second, as he debated with himself whether or not to provoke her anger further.
«Colonel, if we declared war on CEO Morgan, then the Nautilus Pirates and Free Drones would also be dragged into this conflict, on his side. With their combined forces stacked against us, we wouldn't have a...»
He anticipated the blow and rolled his head with it, using the momentum to soften the force. Even so, it half-stunned him and rattled his teeth in their sockets.
As she brought her arm back for a second blow, he grabbed onto it and twisted. She brought her other arm across for a blow which would have laid him senseless on the floor, if he had not jabbed his index finger into a nerve cluster on the inside of her elbow. Her arm duly folded up, hanging limp and useless.
They stood there for a few seconds, then he released her undamaged arm and stepped back out of her range, fastidiously dusting himself off.
«Your will, Colonel? The Spartan Council is convening shortly, and I must inform them of your decision if they are to vote on it.»
She straightened, and something approaching the old fire came back into her eyes, replacing the hard, flint-like expression that he knew only too well.
«I will come myself.»
* * * * *
Far away, in her small, unsophisticated audience chamber, the Lady Frances Carrell lay back and smiled to herself. Even now, the three cabals seeking to depose her were manoeuvring against each other and against her, each one seeking a weakness, each one straining itself to the limit in an effort to eliminate every one of its weaknesses.
Well, she had weaknesses in great supply. Let them come, let them seek every crack in her defences. She would not survive for long, but at least she would go down fighting.
Would they never learn? It was her directives, her decisions, that had kept them hidden and, more importantly, alive all these years. Every single one of the cabals nursed a secret desire to go out and take a greater part of Planet's surface for themselves - but their military strength was far too weak, and the minute they exposed themselves the warlike Spartans to the south would sweep northward and conquer their lands.
Leaning over to the touchpanel to her right - one of the last few Unity artefacts still functional - she keyed in the sequence to bring one of her last loyal aides to her chambers.
A few minutes later, Sarrah ran in, visibly trying to control her breathing. She pulled herself together and stood to attention as her Lady spoke.
«Sarrah, we must defend against this latest assault. Have my guards prepare. We estimate that the attack will come at around 8 p.m. - almost halfway through the sleep cycle. That is when Karha will expect us to be least prepared.»
Sarrah bowed out, and Lady Carrell heard her footsteps disappear down the corridor. She smiled to herself - only four days before, she had had confirmation from the chief of her Intelligence services. Sarrah was a double agent, in the pay of Karha, her greatest and most powerful rival, and therefore could not be trusted. The attack was never planned for 8 p.m., and never had been - in reality, it was planned for tomorrow, in the early hours of the morning. With the massive 'troop build-up' by 8 p.m., Karha would now anticipate an anticlimax by that time, with Lady Frances's guards having got bored and less alert.
She chuckled softly to herself. Wheels within wheels within wheels...and soon Karha would be having to repair a sizeable puncture in his plans.
She tapped on her keypad again, accessing a secure channel to bring her last loyal aide to her chambers.
To be continued…
As soon as I get a decent number of reviews! Please R&R!