Elien shook his head. “Doubtful they’d even notice. However, I’ve taken great pains to hide this activity. I’m confident in its success.”
“I’m not sold on it,” Berricks said leaning back into his chair. “The idea of using outlaws to sow discord relies too heavily on random chance.”
“And yet,” Lee raised one hand slightly, upturning his palm, “it holds the merit of distraction. We gain access to military secrets. And if only the potential exists of the Council declaring martial law, it would be worth the efforts.”
Berricks still had that skeptical expression, but Elien was certain he’d garnered an agreement from Lee. “Do you think President Grant will see those same merits?”
Lee raised a brow. “We will take your proposal to the President. In the meantime, continue to set up your networks. We will reach out to you within two months.”
When word came back, though, it had been to say President Grant had declined the offer respectfully and determined to leave Hinon to its own devices. Colonel Lee, however, disagreed with the President’s assessment and, together with Berricks, brought a single regiment back to attempt an implementation of the plan. With all the networks in place, it was just a matter of hiring the right sort of miscreants to sow discord. Elien was certain that the Council would impose martial law, cause independent territories to revolt. While the Chuhukon forces were occupied with the chaos, Lee and Berricks’ troops, disguised as the Chuhukon army, would infiltrate the capital city and stage a coup in the Council chambers. The hopeful outcome being the government blaming rioters and renegades leading to one of two results: they would overthrow the Council, leaving a broken government in its wake (an outcome in which a certain Senator Sonoros would reach out to the Union pleading for aid and re-establishing a link to Earth); or, they would fail, and the Council would itself reach out to the Union for aid (less likely, but Elien was confident enough he could sway that option in closed sessions).
It was a gamble, and one he’d be sure would work. Professor Wilson he’d set up in the converted labs, his team quite useful. Just like the outlaws, no two people knew exactly what was going on. The professor had almost blown the plan, though. Somehow, he’d learned there was a Union presence in the Wastelands and gone to the Council about the rumors. However, they’d waved his concerns off as little more than scuttlebutt and they’d yet to hear any of the regional governors bring it up in session. They’d then proceeded to explain to him that even if there were a Union presence of some sort, the Colonial Independence Treaty allowed for up to two warships in orbit at any given time anyhow. Therefore, they weren’t concerned.
Even with his meddling, it still could have worked… Yet, everything got so derailed. It has to have been that damn hunter he brought on board. Don’t even know where or how he met her! But it wasn’t until she showed up that everything started falling apart! Irrelevant now, I suppose. However, if Berricks is back, maybe that means Lee is taking me seriously. And this time, it’ll be different…
Anyone brought on board now would have to get his authorization to hire outside help. A much more thorough vetting process would be implemented. Particularly given the fact that the woman Wilson hired wasn’t just some regular hunter, but rather moonlighted as a Red Star Sheriff.
Red Star Sheriffs… What a joke. Glorified hunters with an imaginary badge. Glad their ilk are gone! It was bad enough having a hunter on board, gumming up the works. It was quite another thing involving a Red Star. Theirs was an ancient order that believed in justice at all costs. Once a prevalent people during old colonial eras centuries earlier, they’d been formed by the Rossumi back when they were just automatons after their little insurrection on Earth. They were an order that functioned as law enforcement when no policing authority existed. They were particularly noticeable in the really lawless regions of Sol.
Killing wasn’t their specialty (though they did it with a certain fervency if they felt there was no other way). They answered to no one save themselves and always meddled where they weren’t wanted. They had a strange cultist adherence to some ancient principle. Elien had never been to one of their officiating ceremonies, but he’d heard through thirdhand sources that it was an ominous affair. Bending a knee to some phantom ideal of justice. If injustice existed, they brought their own narrow notion of justice. If it refused to bend, that source of injustice was eliminated fanatically.
No authority officiated over them. No government had say over their actions. If a law was written that said, ‘You may kill one person if you perceive a threat to your life’, the Red Star would ask, ‘Did you exhaust all options not to take that life?’ And if the answer was ‘no’, then your own life was owed to justice. And if the government refused to incarcerate them? Then ‘true justice’ demanded punishment. Which all too often was an ‘eye-for-an-eye’.
Oh, how he loathed them! The very idea that ‘true justice’ was anything that existed outside of established law was ludicrous. There was no ‘true justice’. There was only what legislatures deemed necessary for society to thrive. And those people made up their own laws and punished anyone who actually followed established law.
He had tried years ago to ban Red Stars and their order. But, of course, the Chuhukon Council once more turned a blind eye.
‘We are obligated to follow the old doctrines. They will not violate established law. And so, we will uphold the attested to agreements with the Rossumi as our colonial governments have done for centuries,’ the Council had declared when he’d brought the motion to the floor. ‘Unless the people vote to eliminate the order’s influence on Hinon soil, your motion is denied.’ He had tried hard to get that vote, but the very legend of Red Stars in popular culture just didn’t allow for much support from the populace. So, the petition to get the ban on the ballot failed. Miserably. He’d say that the Union would’ve done away with the order all together, but they’d been in charge for over a century and were reluctant to be bothered with them as well.
But, maybe with President Lee in charge…
No. Their order was a blight to Hinon, the Union, and, indeed, to the whole of Sol. There had been just a handful of Red Stars over the years (he’d heard in their heyday their numbers had been in the hundreds). Maybe a soldier here, a convert there, who was willing to bend the knee and pledge whatever foolish pledge they pledged. Never an army of them, though. Fortunately. But that woman had been one of them. A year or two after she’d been brought on by Professor Wilson, the materials networks so carefully laid out, started crumbling. He’d set them up to run weapons and intel via uninformed outlaws and merchants. And when shipments started going missing and merchants started dropping dead, he had a harder time recruiting the necessary smugglers. Even Lee and Berricks packed it up and left (two years later, there was a coup that saw Lee rise to power on Earth).
Elien had never truly discovered what had happened to his smuggling operations and nobody he contacted in relation to it had much clue either. Just that hunters had been waylaying supply chains and making arrests which was making the outlaws and smugglers nervous. And rumor was spreading like wildfire not to accept jobs for undeclared clients (he never used his real name with who he brought on, only said he was an ambitious trader).
After all that was going down, that woman, the Red Star Wilson had hired, was always watching him. She smiled pleasantly enough in the company of Wilson. But once his back was turned, her unnerving glare was back on Elien until he left. He started spending less and less time talking to Wilson after that. So, it was with some relief when the professor requested permanent use of the Crags labs.
‘Fine, fine. I’m sure your work will be more productive from there,’ Elien had waved him off and tried to smile.
The woman went with him. Thankfully. At the time, he’d had no suspicions of her. Only felt she wasn’t someone he wanted to enrage. It was some years later when his suspicions were raised. Perhaps it was coincidence, but he thought not. There were just too many minor coincidences
, and one major incident he couldn’t ignore.
IT’D BEEN ROUGHLY five years earlier an old contact of his reached out seeking a private meeting. Generally, it was his policy to never meet a contact in person. The most obvious reason being most were Wastelander outlaws. There was also the sticky fact he was a senator. However, it’d been some time since there’d been a need for any action on his contact’s part, and his refusal to communicate via projector had that sense of dread crawling up Elien’s spine. Particularly when he said the information acquired was too sensitive. Given this man had little use for hyperbole, Elien was inclined to acquiesce to his wishes. There was also the fact he was one of the few to survive his plan relatively unscathed and, though Elien had secured his release after those hunters had arrested him, he felt he still owed the man at least the benefit of the doubt.
So, Elien had agreed to meet him privately on a remote overlook near the city’s center. As far as secret meeting places went, the Presidium Overlook—a wide open balcony overhang ringed with a glass barrier and steel railings (which gave the citizen standing there a top down and impressive view of the Chuhukon Consul Presidium below) was the perfect locale. Mostly due to the fact that the lighting was out half of the time in most of the overlook leaving it pitch black after dusk. He wasn’t sure why that was, but clearly the electricians were bad at their job. And, for once, he was fine with that.
He leaned against the railing staring out into the glittering ocean of window light and the neon nightlife, diffuse blues and greens intermingling with some pinks highlighting the front of his body.
“Always did like the view from here. Gawdy as it is.”
Elien nearly jumped out of his skin, but somehow managed to keep his composure as he slowly turned towards his old contact and tried to smile. Though it was an unnecessary gesture given how dark the overlook was. The city lights were to his back, and what lighting worked nearby was too far off to cast anything brighter than a dim casting their way. His old contact stood like a silhouette against that distant light, his face highlighted in subtle pinks.
“Don’ none of this make me nostalgic fer the Wastelands. No, sir,” the man grumbled politely.
“We’d best be quick about this,” Elien said and waved away any forthcoming pleasantries. “No time for that. What is it you want?”
“Well, nice ta see you too, mister. Guess ah should be flattered ya ain’ fergot ‘bout me, though.”
“Get to the point.”
The man, Colin Jackson, grinned and Elien seemed to recall that his gangmates used to call him ‘Jacks’. A trivial piece of information acquired while getting good old ‘Jacks’ legal representation. He had performed admirably while over in the Wastelands assisting in maintaining the smuggling networks, keeping the various players safe from what little law existed in the Wastelands. And, also, one of the only two people who knew a wider scope of the overall plan since he was with Elien at the meeting aboard the union ship.
Though he despised everything Wastelands related (including the people), Elien had grown to respect and rely on the man. So, when Jacks had been captured by local hunters, Elien had worked hard to get him transferred to the Aquila Mons Criminal Tribunal. He worked quietly behind the scenes, of course. Securing a lawyer who could easily get the charges dismissed. Once freed, Jacks had elected to stay in Aquila Mons saying he was done with the lawless region.
Elien couldn’t blame him. Though finishing the Terraforming Project was a priority, he wanted nothing to do with the people there. Maybe when the Union was back in power, he could have them all shipped to some worthless sector in a domain on the other side of the planet. Or, better yet, one of the polar work yards.
“Ya recall a feller by the name o’Wilfred Karson?”
Elien was shocked. Wilfred Karson was dead. Wasn’t he? Killed in one of the network collapses. At least, that’s what he’d been told.
“What of him?”
“Well, ah hear tell old Mr. Karson is runnin’ guns fer the Union out of Dunston. Now, there’s a lot in that rumor that’s got mah eye. But the bigger thing is, din’t we scuttle that run? Ah din’t know we’d re-engaged wit’ the Union?”
Elien scowled as he shook his head, a nervous sweat breaking out on his forehead. “I never authorized any interactions. I wasn’t aware the Union had returned. There are no Union ships in orbit, that I’m aware of. You said out of Dunston?”
Jacks flashed an eat shit grin and nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“No, the Dunston operation ceased years ago. All of them dead by whoever was dogging our network. If it is Karson, returning from the dead or whoever, they’ve failed to contact me about it. Strange they’d reach out to you rather than me.”
“Well, beats me what’s what. Who reached out ta me was an old… acquaintance o’mine. She tol’ me there was money in it. But ah politely declined. Said ah was retired from that line o’work. Did suggest ah might know someone interested though. She got real skittish then. Said no that’s okay and disconnected.” Jacks scratched his nose. “Gots me ta thinkin’, then. So, ah done contacted few o’mah old runnin’ mates. Guys who always gots their ears ta the ground. They tells me some real intriguin’ things. That Karson feller, done went an’ picked himself up a thirty-man crew. Real roughnecks, thossuns. Not exactly known fer their tact, if’n ya catch mah meanin’. Not the sorta men ya hire ta be subtle. ‘Specially if’n yer claimin’ ta be runnin’ fer the Union. Too much risk fer ‘em ta be talkin’. Such as word gittin’ out the real brain’s Travis Kent.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“Not really important ta know ‘im. Let’s jus’ say Karson might not be runnin’ fer who he thinks he is. If’n he thinks he really is at all. Anyhow, what really caught mah attention was who Karson is runnin’ with. Mirra Wilson.”
“Who?”
Jacks smiled and chuckled. “Come on now, Elien. Ya kent tell me ya done fergot ‘bout that Red Star Wilson done went and hired hisself years ago. The one who worked ‘long side Lynch ta catch mah ass? Her’n Wilson got married an’ shacked up, what ah hear. Figured if’n ah found that out, you’d hafta know. She’s the one what interfered when we were tryin’ ta shut up ol’ Fenton’s piehole when he was ‘bout ta spoil our fun ter the Council. Not a guy ah really ‘spected havin’ a conscience, but there ya go.”
Elien furrowed his brow and turned back to the railing to grip it tightly with trembling hands. Alarm was singing a riotous tune in his head. It can’t be Karson… and he’s with that…
“Red Star…”
Dread bloomed greater and his head pounded thinking back to his Dunston operation. That had been out in the Rivet Hills, if he remembered correctly. It’d been well hidden from prying eyes and the local outlaws didn’t find it an appealing location to concern themselves with. Something about that area was escaping him. Something important. He’d chosen it for a reason.
Those eyes always watching me… That Red Star’s glare, like she suspected me of some—
His eyes went wide. What was important about that location, there’d been a refinery owned by his father and, before him, his grandfather. It had long since fallen out of use, the mine built deep into the earth not touched since Spirits knew when. However, as a smuggling location, it’d been perfect and well hidden. Used right up until Lee had called it quits on the operation. And now, here was Karson (if indeed that was who he really was), who’d never even been part of that operation let alone knew about it, blundering about in a not-so-secret attempt to smuggle to the Union. His gut slunk deeper. A certain someone must have discovered the refinery’s old use and its connection to himself.
“I need you to do something for me,” Elien said turning back to Jacks. “I need you to hire someone to bring Karson back to the city. Alive.”
“Okay. Have a particular sod in mind?”
“Yes. You said this Red Star, Wilson’s lovely ‘wife’, worked alongside, uhm, Lynch, was it?” Jacks nodded waiting for him to continue. “Do you
know if they still ride together?”
“Don’ right likely know, Mr. Sonoros. Might be able ta find out, though.”
“Well, even if not, it might still matter to Mrs. Wilson. Hire this Lynch. Offer her a million credits for Karson alive. Twenty-five thousand dead.”
Jacks’ smile broadened. “Ya gots a real mean streak in ya, sir. Ah admire that ‘bout you. Lynch might not be too keen ta see me, though. What with our history’n all.”
“Find one of your contacts to do it, then. I don’t care who does the hiring. So long as it gets done.”
“Who should ah say is doin’ the hirin’?”
Elien thought for a moment then grinned. “Tell them the truth. That I’m the one putting the bounty out. It would seem a gang of outlaws has seized control of my family’s estate and prior business holdings. And I very much want them all off of it whether it’s in use or not. Since I know the fool in charge, I want him brought back kicking and screaming. All of his hired hands can go straight to hell, for all I care.”
Jacks tipped the brim of his hat smiling brightly, clearly visible despite the low lighting, like a desert manger baring its teeth. “Yer the boss, boss. Ah’ll make the necessary calls.”
Jacks turned and left, leaving Elien standing there to ruminate over how significant Wilson finding out his family heritage was or if it meant anything at all. Either way, he would soon discover the truth of it all.
ELIEN GLARED OUT his window, sipping tea and thinking back. All his best laid plans wasted by one nosy Red Star. At least, that’s what he believed. He could never prove she was involved or even that Professor Wilson even knew. Though he thought it would explain his haste to be removed from Elien’s sponsorship and oversight of his labs. Regrettable that loss was. No longer having access to military secrets certainly hurt. But by then the networks had all collapsed anyhow. Proving ultimately an irrelevant loss. Unless Berricks was really back.
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