Violent Science: Kyra Sarin, #3

By Simon Cantan

In a corrupt world, Kyra Sarin is the only one who won't bend.

After defending the Earth from aliens, Kyra finds her battles aren't over yet. She's inherited wealth beyond measure, but there's a catch: two criminal factions want to capture and control that money for themselves.

Each has a different prison lined up for her: one stone; one virtual. The only way to escape is to do what Kyra does best: kill them all.

Violent Science is the third book in the Kyra Sarin series, a sci-fi thriller. Fast-paced, sweary action that will have you racing through the pages. If you like action sci-fi that doesn't take itself too seriously, this one's for you.

Buy this book to continue the break-neck action today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Simon Cantan
• Release date: Mar 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386936046

Simon Cantan

Simon Cantan is an Irish Science-Fiction and Fantasy author living in Fredrikstad, Norway.

Book preview

VIOLENT SCIENCE

In a corrupt world, Kyra Sarin is the only one who won't bend.

After defending the Earth from aliens, Kyra finds her battles aren't over yet. She's inherited wealth beyond measure, but there's a catch: two criminal factions want to capture and control that money for themselves.

Each has a different prison lined up for her: one stone; one virtual. The only way to escape is to do what Kyra does best: kill them all.

Violent Science is the third book in the Kyra Sarin series, a sci-fi thriller. Fast-paced, sweary action that will have you racing through the pages. If you like action sci-fi that doesn't take itself too seriously, this one's for you.

VIOLENT SCIENCE

By SIMON CANTAN

First published December 2015

This Edition published January 2017

Copyright © 2015 Simon Cantan

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

The moral right of Simon Cantan to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs, and Patents Act 1988.

Violent Science is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Published by Simon Cantan, Fredrikstad

Dedicated to my wife, Heidi, the kick ass heroine in my life.

Chapter 1

INTERROGATION

A committee had spent eighteen long months coming up with exactly the right shade of pink for the interrogation cell walls. It was designed to soothe the suspects, but was doing little to calm Kyra's nerves. The stench of bleach wasn't helping, either.

She picked at the cheap Formica table in front of her with her robotic fingers, snapping pieces off the edge. Then she flicked each piece at the one-way mirror opposite, pinging them against the glass.

In the chair opposite, the president of the NCP, Ives Goldst, couldn't help flinching as each fragment of table flew by his ear. His bright purple face clashed with the pink walls. As nervous as she was, it amused Kyra to watch him get angrier by the second. Almost as much as imagining the police officers behind the glass ducking as the pieces hit it.

I don't think you understand the seriousness of the potential charges against you, Goldst said. There's overwhelming evidence you murdered Baltasar Kemke.

That's ridiculous, Kyra said. He was dead when I got there. I'm guessing suicide.

Suicide? He was shot a dozen times in the chest. From the throbbing vein in Goldst's forehead, she wondered if he was about to give himself an aneurysm.

Well, he did have a flair for the dramatic. Kyra couldn't help smiling at that. She knew she was being self-destructive. The police hadn't charged her yet, but that was a matter of time. And with the evidence against her, she'd spend the next two decades in prison. She wished she had her AI gun, Pete, with her. He'd know what to do. For some reason, though, the police hadn't let her keep her sidearm.

Goldst seemed on the verge of exploding with rage.

You know, Kyra said. Without me, you wouldn't even be president. Xenomigrants would be tearing the NCP apart.

That's… Goldst took a deep breath. True, Colonel.

And Baltasar had his fingers around the throat of the NCP, Kyra said. Whoever killed him did you a favour. If he was still here you wouldn't be president either.

Goldst had no reply to that. She knew she was being obnoxious, but he was the one who'd almost doomed humankind through his inaction. She didn't like him. If she was going to prison anyway, she might as well tweak his nose before she went.

A knock at the door cut off whatever Goldst's response was going to be. The police officer who'd brought Kyra to the station poked his head around the door. Colonel Sarin's lawyer is here.

The president glared at the officer, pushing his chair back with a loud scraping noise. He got to his feet and moved for the door, but not before shooting a last glower at Kyra. He shoved past the officer and out into the corridor.

The officer shot Kyra a small shrug and a grin. She smiled back, happy someone seemed to be on her side. The officer hadn't said much on the shuttle ride down to Oslo, other than to read her rights to her. Kyra had been too lost in her own thoughts to start a conversation. She hadn't seen Rachna since Svalbard and her thoughts kept going to the other genetically modified soldier. What was Rachna telling them? Would she stick to their story?

A man walked into the cell, breaking off Kyra's thoughts. He looked to be in his late seventies, wearing a t-shirt and jeans that seemed inappropriate for a lawyer. He didn't even have the briefcase Kyra thought was mandatory for the job.

The man moved to the chair opposite and sat, pulling it close. He waited for the police officer to close the door before speaking. Hello, Ms Sarin. I'm Ivan Johanson, your attorney. At least for the time being.

That sounds ominous. Kyra sensed conditions attached to his statement. Especially since I didn't call for a lawyer.

I'm aware, Ivan said. That was foolish. You should always have an attorney present when talking to the police.

Kyra rankled a little at being called foolish, but she couldn't dispute the fact she'd been talking without one.

I have a video that should explain things, Ivan said.

A message blinked in Kyra's peripheral vision. Her ReadyNet neural implant had been quiet since she'd entered the interrogation room, blocked from outside communication. Without her ReadyNet, armour, and Pete at her side, she had felt isolated. Grateful to have something break the silence in her mind, she glanced the message open.

A window appeared in her vision, Baltasar Kemke smiling coldly from it. He was sitting in his office on Svalbard, right where Kyra had shot him. For a dread-filled moment, she thought he'd fooled her somehow; that he was still alive. But the message was prerecorded, and the date was from a year before.

Hello, murderer, Baltasar said. If you're seeing this video, you killed me and didn't get away with it. You get partial credit, but you should have thought of an escape plan. Still, you succeeded where dozens failed and that deserves a prize. You're now the sole recipient of all patents, rights, and privileges of my space elevator technologies. I'm guessing they had something to do with why you killed me.

Not even slightly, Kyra said. I killed you because you're a dick. And because you tried to murder me a dozen times before that.

Baltasar continued, oblivious to her reply. Which wasn't surprising, since he was dead. "I hope those rights bring you as much pain as they have me. Of course, you can refuse to accept them, but you're facing a murder charge. And sitting opposite you is the most accomplished and competent criminal attorney in the whole of the NCP. If anyone can get your freedom back, he can. For what he charges per hour, he'd better.

I've also prepared documents for almost every eventuality, that should clear you of any charges. They explain how I was feeling depressed, wanted to take my own life, that sort of thing. All you need to do is sign on the dotted line and take possession of the space elevator patents. Which, by the way, are non-transferable until the moment of your death. But don't worry, I expect that won't take long.

Baltasar beamed at her. So what'll it be? Incarceration for the rest of your life, or your freedom and the greatest wealth you've ever known?

Fuck you. Kyra glared at the image, but Baltasar had already frozen, his message over. Typical. Even from beyond the grave, he was still finding ways to irritate her. She considered the choices in front of her, neither of which seemed palatable.

Ivan was waiting with his hands clasped on the table between them. He seemed unfazed by her outbursts at the air in front of her. I can tell you public defenders have an average of twenty-six cases a day. Should you use one, they are likely to spend five minutes studying your case before they advise you to take a plea. If you're lucky, they'll get second-degree murder and you'll be sentenced to ten to fifteen years in prison.

Wonderful, Kyra said. My choices are to take possession of probable death at the hands of some greedy corporation, or to spend a chunk of my life staring at four very close walls?

Yes.

She stared at the man for a moment, trying to see any way he could be deceiving her. He seemed sure of himself. That his words matched her suspicions lent him credibility.

Did she want to stay safe in prison, or risk someone taking pot-shots at her? It was an easy choice to make. With the war over, life would get boring for a soldier. A few wannabe assassins might make her days a little more interesting.

You'll get me off? Kyra asked.

You'll walk free within the hour. I've represented Mr Kemke for years, and he's never been convicted of anything. You're aware of how voluntary Mr Kemke believed the law was?

She nodded. If Ivan had kept Baltasar out of jail, despite his flagrant disregard for human life and property, then the lawyer was a miracle worker.

That contract will likely be my death warrant, Kyra said.

Ivan shrugged. Perhaps. The rights are worth about three hundred million kroner per day. That can buy you considerable security. Mr Kemke owned an island and a small army.

I'm not living on Svalbard. Kyra shivered. She wanted somewhere a little warmer, even if it was chilly Oslo.

She took another moment, but her mind was already made up. At least she imagined she'd be more durable than Baltasar had been. Where do I sign?

A new message appeared on her ReadyNet.

Please take your time before signing it, Ivan said. I can explain any—

She held her hand up to cut him off. She opened the message and scrolled through the thirty pages of tight legalese, signing at the bottom.

As soon as she signed, Ivan's expression changed, brightening. Excellent. Since I'm now your legal representation, Ms Sarin, I can tell you this is an open and shut case. The public wouldn't stand for you going to prison after you saved humanity.

Kyra frowned in confusion. You said I'd get fifteen years?

That was when I was working for Mr Kemke. I was duty-bound to persuade you to sign the contract. Now I'm working for you, my task is to see you freed.

Kyra tried to work through that knot of logic. That lawyers could flip their loyalty so quickly, was a feat that defied understanding. So you can get me out of here in an hour, like you said?

Ivan smiled. It's the AIs in the guns that makes it easy. It'd be difficult to prove Mr Kemke committed suicide in such a brutal manner. Especially since several shots were post-mortem. However, we can persuade the police that your gun acted on its own volition.

If Pete took the blame for the shooting, it'd be another dent in the reputation of AIs. Combined with the fact that AIs were highly illegal, they'd barely pause before melting him down. No. My gun stays out of this. Find another way.

Ivan lost his smile. That'll be tricky. You shot Mr Kemke in the chest. The video from his ReadyNet shows you firing on him. However, I think I can see another way out.

Really?

Assisted suicide is legal in the NCP. Combined with a note Mr Kemke left with me, I might persuade the police you were doing him a favour.

She grinned at that. He'd only have had to ask once to do him that favour. I'll need my gun back too.

Your weapon is evidence, Ivan said. The police will want to hold onto it.

Evidence in a case you said would be dismissed. Get me my gun. And my armour.

Ivan's brow furrowed. I'll see what I can do.

He got up and walked to the door, knocking to leave. She waited until she was alone before frowning in thought. She knew she was being unreasonable, but Pete had saved her life more than once. If the police didn't buy the assisted suicide story, so be it, but she wouldn't let Pete fry for her crimes. She'd never admit it to him, but she missed that sarcastic son of a circuit.

Ten minutes later, the arresting officer returned to the room and unlocked her cuffs. You have a heck of a lawyer, Colonel.

He should be, for what I had to do to get him. She glanced at the officer's nametag, Jonas Dietrich. Am I free to leave?

Jonas nodded. All the charges have been dropped. He even got you your gun back.

Kyra frowned. No armour?

Armour? Jonas smiled. You're not in the army anymore. You don't need armour in the NCP. That's what we're for.

She followed Jonas out through the station. Much as he might be confident in the police's abilities to protect her, she'd have felt safer with her power armour around her. With its bullet-resistant technologies, the odd pot-shot wouldn't hurt her. Its predecessor had even saved her from an explosion.

Jonas stopped at a thick window, behind which another officer with a moustache was waiting. He scowled at Kyra, but pushed her gun through a small slot under the window.

She grabbed Pete and put him in her holster, happy to feel his weight on her hip again.

[You won't believe what they did to me in there,] Pete said. [All the rumours are true.]

Jonas was waiting for her nearby, frowning. Pete could talk to her directly through her neural implant, so Jonas couldn't hear Pete's words. Instead, he saw Kyra standing around listening to thin air.

She hurried after Jonas before he could have her committed. [Pete, I don't think the rumours can possibly be true for you, at least.]

[They wrapped me in plastic then stuffed me in a box with a bunch of trash,] Pete said. [There was a rusty knife in there. He didn't do anything, but you should have seen the way he looked at me. Tell me I'm never going back there.]

[Don't worry. Neither of us are going back if I can help it.]

Jonas led her through to the lobby of the station, a room she'd barely noticed on her arrival. Rows of benches stood against the walls, with another