EMPIRE: Resistance

by Richard F. Weyand

  “Yes, Sire. We don’t have anything for you yet on those.”

  “Understood, General Hargreaves. They were acting under their own names. What we are seeing in the sectors, however, is spies who were once in the Imperial Police. They’re equipped with multiple-alias VR nanites, and are not acting under their own names.”

  “I see, Sire.”

  “General Hargreaves, I think the Imperial Guard should scan everyone on the Imperial staff and look for multiple-ID persons on the staff.”

  “We can do that, Sire.”

  “See how many you can get in one day, General Hargreaves. Let’s see if we can’t keep them from getting away by simply not coming in to work tomorrow.”

  “We’ll start first thing in the morning tomorrow, and try to get to everyone in one day. We can also lock down the Palace until we’re finished, Sire.”

  “Very well, General Hargreaves.”

  More Unmaskings

  Across the Empire, sector governors and descendants of royalty tried different methods of screening their staff.

  The wanna-be royalty often had it easier, because they were more likely to hire family members for close-in staff. That meant there was someone they could trust to assist with the screening.

  Some of the sector governors, too, had family members on staff. Manfred von Hesse found Their Majesties’ message waiting in his queue when he got up that morning. His brother-in-law Frank Portman had been his chief of staff since von Hesse had been a planetary governor. His sister had chosen well, and it had made it an easy choice for von Hesse. Von Hesse would not have been a target for such an embedded spy back then, and he knew Portman had not been in the Imperial Police. Still....

  There was also a guard in the governor’s residence whom von Hesse had hired as a favor to his mother. Her husband had served von Hesse honorably and died relatively young, in a traffic accident. He could probably be trusted as well. Probably.

  Hmm. This would take some planning.

  Frank Portman got a request to see Sector Governor Manfred von Hesse in VR. Von Hesse was up early this morning. The request came in VR, because von Hesse and Portman had both flushed nanites weeks ago, and were back up and operating on VR, along with the basic health maintenance nanites. They were no longer vulnerable to the premium health nanites hack.

  Von Hesse sent a guard, young Mike Brand, to escort Portman to the meeting. Portman had of course known his father, Michael Brand, who had served on von Hesse’s house guard for many years. It spoke to von Hesse’s sense of danger he sent such a trusted guard to escort Portman to the meeting. What had happened this morning to fuel that sense of danger?

  “Good morning, sir,” Portman said, entering von Hesse’s office.

  “Come in, both of you. Close the door,” von Hesse said.

  Von Hesse seemed on edge to Portman. Nervous, or excited.

  Portman and Brand walked forward until they were half way to von Hesse’s desk. When they got halfway, von Hesse held up his left hand. His right hand was in his lap, out of sight.

  “Stop right there. Now, both of you, don’t move. Not at all.”

  Von Hesse lifted his right hand up onto the desk. He was holding a semi-automatic pistol, which he pointed at the space between the two men standing in front of him.

  “I received a message from Their Majesties this morning. Paul Bowdoin, who fancied himself the king of Phalia, was murdered yesterday by a spy in his own household. The message warned all sector governors and heads of former royal houses they may have such agents on their staff.

  “You are the two people I trust most, of everyone, but I am taking no chances. Mr. Brand, you will – very carefully, mind you – scan the VR ID of Mr. Portman, and push me the results.”

  Von Hesse knew Portman had claimed to flush his nanites, and was unavailable in VR for about twelve days, but that could have been faked. As he had told them, he was taking no chances.

  Brand, carefully not moving his hand anywhere near his sidearm, extracted his VR ID scanner and scanned Portman, holding the device up to Portman’s head until the indicator flashed green. He pushed the results to von Hesse. One VR ID, and it checked to Portman.

  “Now, Mr. Brand, you will scan your own VR ID.”

  Brand held the device up to his own head and activated it. When the indicator flashed green, he pushed the results to von Hesse. One VR ID, and it checked to Brand.

  “OK. Good. What I expected. One more check.”

  Von Hesse put a VR ID scanner on the far edge of his desk, toward Portman.

  “Mr. Portman. Take this scanner and scan both Mr. Brand and yourself.”

  Portman stepped forward carefully and took the VR ID scanner off the desk. He stepped back, then scanned first himself, then Brand. Von Hesse was logged into this VR ID scanner himself, and it gave him the results directly. Both VR IDs checked with the other two.

  Von Hesse relaxed, clicked on the safety on the pistol, and put it in his right side desk drawer.

  “OK. Good. We’re done with all that for you two. But there’s someone on my staff – I’m sure of it – who’s a spy for parties unknown. And he has one of those damned murder-box transmitters. You two need to find him. Scan all the guard first, then have them scan everybody. We’re looking for someone who scans with multiple VR IDs.

  “Whoever he is, he’s dangerous as hell, so three-man teams. Two of them with sidearms drawn. We’re not fooling around. Any funny business from anyone, shoot him. Their Majesties have decreed possession of one of those transmitters a capital crime and authorized deadly force to get these people.

  “Once you find someone with multiple VR IDs, search his room. Find the transmitter.”

  “But who are these people agents for? Who are they working for?” Portman asked.

  “I don’t know, but I’ll give you one guess.”

  Portman nodded.

  “So start with the guard. Then post two people you’ve cleared on my office door. No one gets in to see me until you’re done. No one.”

  The house guard all checked clean, and the guardsmen, in groups of three, began working their way through the building, scanning the VR IDs of everyone. They worked their way down the office rows.

  They were scanning the occupant of one office when the fellow in the office across the hall, the deputy chief of staff for sector trade, came to his office door.

  “What’s going on?”

  “We’re scanning everyone’s VR IDs.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  He started to turn casually as if to go back in his office, then broke into a run down the hallway.

  “Stop or I’ll shoot!”

  He kept running. There was no one beyond him in the hallway, and the two guardsmen took careful aim and each fired three shots. The runner went down and slid several feet along the hallway. He tried to get up, then collapsed.

  “Scan him! Quick!”

  The third guardsman, with the scanner, ran down the hall and scanned the dying bureaucrat.

  “He’s got four VR IDs,” he said.

  “Tell Mr. Portman. Let’s search his office.”

  They found the transmitter, hidden in the back of the supply cabinet in his office.

  Greta Feick, the Odessa Sector Governor, was in a similar position to von Hesse’s, in that she had a trusted chief of staff, Denis Feick, her husband of thirty years. The two schemed at the best way to scan the staff while capturing – not killing – the perpetrator. They decided simplest was best.

  Feick called in the commander and assistant commander of her house guard. They both arrived together.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Come in. Both of you.”

  They walked in and toward her desk. Denis closed the door behind them. He had been behind the door, and they hadn’t seen him. He had a small semi-automatic pistol, and stood to one side so Feick wasn’t in his line of fire.

  “Stop right there. Neither of you move.”

  Feick got up from behind her d
esk and scanned them both, staying out of her husband’s way in covering them. Both scanned with a single VR ID that checked to them. Feick nodded to her husband and he turned on the safety of the pistol and pocketed it.

  “Their Majesties have warned us that sector governors and some others almost certainly have malevolent agents on their staff. They have multiple VR IDs and nanite-murder transmitters. One of them killed Paul Bowdoin, the pretend king of Phalia, yesterday. So we are going to find him.

  “What I want you to do is scan all the guardsmen on your force for multiple VR IDs. Once all have been cleared, issue tranq rifles. Also get the canine units deployed on the grounds. I want to close the gates of the compound, and then hit the fire alarm. We haven’t had a fire drill in a while.

  “We’ll VR and infrared scan the building and make sure it’s empty, then we let everybody in one at a time, scanning them as they come in. If our agent tries to make a break for it, we set the dogs on him, then tranq him. But I want him alive.”

  The guard commander nodded.

  “We can certainly do that, Governor.”

  “Good. Mr. Feick and I will stay here during the fire drill. You’re to post a detail of two men to secure that door. Two men with tranq guns. Sidearms, too, if push comes to shove, but let’s try to get him both alive and sedated.”

  “Yes, Governor.”

  The guard all checked clean, with single VR IDs. Two guards were posted on Feick’s office door, then guards armed with tranq rifles were detailed to patrol the walled grounds of the governor’s residence. The canine units were also sent out patrolling. The entrances to the walled grounds were closed.

  At that point the fire alarm was pulled, and they announced the fire drill in VR to all staff members.

  Viktor Zima was getting nervous. There was a lot of house guard activity this morning, but he hadn’t heard of anything going on. As senior adviser for foreign affairs, he wasn’t in the loop on domestic stuff. Of course, foreign affairs in a sector context meant other sectors, which was his specialty.

  What made him nervous was he was also – and originally – Hector Dimas.

  The fire alarm went off, which everyone was notified in VR was a drill. Everyone walked the hallways to the exits and filed out into the grounds around the building. Governor Feick and her husband stayed in her office, the two guards remained at her door. Then the guard went through the building with VR detectors and infrared imaging cameras.

  Zima thought about staying put until he saw the guard moving through the hallways with sensors, then headed outside. He noted the heavy guard presence outside, including the canine patrols walking the grounds.

  People milled about outside complaining about the fire drill, as people have been wont to do since the concept was first implemented. Zima went through the motions, looking about. Then people were let back into the building. They queued up at the doors. Zima noticed it wasn’t going very quickly though. What was going on?

  He had been one of the first in line to get back in, but as he grew closer, he saw guardsmen were scanning VR IDs. Shit.

  “You know, this line is so long, I think I’ll take some time and stroll around outside.”

  “You’re almost in, now,” the fellow behind him said.

  “Sure, but I can probably take a half-hour walk and come back at the end. Get some sunshine and exercise.”

  Zima got out of line and started walking the paths that wound through the grounds around the building. He was looking for a place he might go over the wall or a place where he could hide until they reopened the gates to let people go home at quitting time.

  What Zima didn’t know is he was being watched by IR cameras mounted on the parapet of the building. His behavior stood out to the guardsman watching the cameras in VR.

  “Hey, look at this guy,” he said to his fellow.

  “Yeah. That’s weird. Like he doesn’t want to go back in.”

  “I’m going to let the outside patrols know.”

  “We got a guy wandering around, they say.”

  “Let’s go check him out.”

  They wandered around the grounds to that side of the building, the dog following along docilely. He was wound up, because he was on patrol, but he was well-behaved. Another canine patrol was headed in the same direction from around the other side.

  As Zima walked past the side of the building, he could see a canine guard unit coming in his direction. He reversed course, heading back the way he had come, only to find another coming in from that direction. He headed away from the building, looking for a way over the wall. There. That tree. He was forty-eight years old, but he could probably climb up that tree and get over the wall right there.

  Zima broke into a run.

  The handler of the closest canine unit released the dog.

  “FASS!”

  It was a close race. Zima was close to the tree and the dog had a lot of ground to cover. Zima was clear of the ground and climbing when the dog got there and jumped for him. The dog got a grip on his trouser leg and hung on like grim death, snarling and shaking it, trying to bring him down. Zima shook his leg, trying to break the dog’s grip.

  Zima’s trouser leg started to rip. He was going to get away! The dog could have a mouthful of pants leg. What did he care?

  That’s when the tranquilizer dart hit him in the thigh. He struggled on for a bit, then he blacked out and he and the dog fell from the tree.

  “AUF! KOMM!”

  The dog let go of Zima’s trouser leg and sniffed at him, then trotted back to his trainer.

  “Good boy. Good dog.”

  The dog agreed, and he got a treat for his efforts.

  Medics were called and Zima was transported on a gurney to the clinic in the governor’s residence. They kept him sedated, lest he find a way to kill himself rather than be questioned.

  In her office, Greta Feick was apprised of the situation.

  “Did you search his office and room?” she asked.

  “We’re doing that now, Governor,” the guard commander said.

  “Good. Keep screening people as you let them in. Nobody says there can’t be two, or this guy is the one we’re looking for.”

  “He did scan with six VR IDs, ma’am.”

  “Even so. Maybe he simply retired from the Imperial Police and got a different job. Scan them all.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Director Lamp,” Imperial Police Sector Director Adrian Lamp said.

  “Yes, Director Lamp. Sector Governor Greta Feick here.”

  “Yes, Governor. What can I do for you today?”

  “We found the agent on my staff Their Majesties warned about this morning. We think we did, anyway. We have a guy who scans with six VR IDs and had one of those nanite-murder transmitters.”

  “You have him, Governor? He’s alive?”

  “Yes, Director. I told my people to try to get him alive and they pulled it off. Why?”

  “There are reports from all over the Empire coming in now, Governor. They have all been, so far at least, killed in the attempt to arrest them.”

  “Well, we have him alive, Director Lamp. We’re keeping him sedated so he can’t kill himself before questioning. Your people can pop round and pick him and this damn box up any time you’d like.”

  Interrogation

  Imperial Police Odessa Sector Director Adrian Lamp assigned Imperial Police Senior Inspector Leona Wood to the investigation. Wood sent the six VR IDs on to the Imperial Investigations Office. She wanted some guidance on how to conduct the interrogation of Viktor Zima. They had to begin soon, as they couldn’t keep him sedated long or they could lose him, but she’d see how fast she got a response.

  It was mid-afternoon in Imperial City. Lina Schneider sent the VR IDs from Odessa on to Olivia Darden. She also informed Their Majesties of the capture of one of the agents.

  “That’s lucky,” Burke said.

  “What is, Gail?” Ardmore asked.

  “That they captured the
guy on Odessa. Isn’t that where Dr. Scharansky is?”

  “Yes. And our friend Tom has a capable asset there. That gives me an idea.”

  “Yeah,” Donahue said to his caller.

  Donahue knew who it was – who it had to be – but no names was better.

  “How you doin’?” Pitney asked.

  “Good. Whatcha got?”

  “Governor Feick caught a guy on her staff who has one of the boxes that can send the nanite murder commands. They want you to sit in on the interrogation and offer any questions you got.”

  “How’s that supposed to work?”

  “The Co-Consul is going to watch, too. He opens the channel for you, which nobody else can see, you tell him, then he tells them.”

  “Kinda roundabout.”

  “Yeah, but it keeps us hidden.”

  “What about the Co-Consul?”

  “He knows about us. Him, the Emperor, the Empress, and that Becker guy. That’s it.”

  “Oh, yeah. OK. That works then.”

  “You’ll get a message. Soon.”

  “All right.”

  “See ya.”

  Donahue started notes on what kind of questions he wanted to ask.

  Wood was surprised when she got a message back the Co-Consul would watch in VR and be offering questions. The Co-Consul? Really? OK. Whatever the bosses wanted.

  Of course, the interrogation was being recorded in VR, so that wasn’t a problem. And the Co-Consul could have a call open to the interrogator in VR so he could send the interrogator questions. It all worked, but Wood had never heard of the Co-Consul being involved in an interrogation. Interesting times.

  Wood had assigned the interrogation to the Odessa Sector’s best interrogator, Rory Caldwell.

  The other fellow in VR watching the interrogation was using an obvious avatar. That was OK with the Co-Consul, Paul Diener.

  “I don’t know your name and I don’t want to. You send me your questions as text and I’ll send them on to the interrogator. That’ll be faster and more accurate than you telling me and me repeating. Does that work for you?”