“That would be wonderful, Ms. Greenlee. Thank you.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Donnelly. They said occupancy next week would be no problem.”
When the IPS Empress Julia dropped out of hyperspace in the Center system, and QE communications were re-established, Ambrose Dickens received a typically cryptic message from the Department.
To: Ambrose Dickens
From: Susan Dern
Subject: Contact
Upon arrival Imperial City, contact Barry Donnelly to form three-man team under him.
The message included Donnelly’s ID for communications, and Dickens sent him a note that he was inbound on Empress Julia, arriving planetside tomorrow.
Donahue sent him back a message that he had secured the next apartment in the same building for Dickens, and he would pick Dickens up at the Imperial Spaceport when he arrived. Dickens should look for his driver at the escalators down to the trains.
The big capital-planet passenger shuttle touched down on the epoxycrete pad at Imperial City spaceport. Dickens had lived in Imperial City before, quite a few years back, when he had worked in Section Nine of the Imperial Police. That’s how he had come to know Thomas Pitney, who was then in the Imperial Police, and how he had come to be recruited to the Department.
When the pad had cooled, the passengers disembarked and made their way to the escalator lobby that had lifted out of the pavement. Dickens had one small bag with him. The bulk of his luggage would be taken to his apartment by the passenger line.
Dickens took the escalator down to the slidewalk level and rode the network of converging slidewalks toward the central terminal of the spaceport. When he arrived in the central lobby, he walked toward the escalators down to the trains. There was a big fellow in a livery uniform standing to one side of the escalators, holding aloft a sign that said ‘DICKENS’ in hand-drawn capital letters.
“I’m Ambrose Dickens.”
The big fellow took his bag.
“This way, sir.”
The liveried man led Dickens across the lobby and out to the street doors of the terminal. Despite the size of the spaceport, most of the traffic took the trains into the city, and the pickup lanes weren’t very crowded. They didn’t have to walk very far down the sidewalk before the driver walked up to a big limousine parked at the curb and opened the rear door for him.
“Thank you,” Dickens said.
Dickens got into the car and found himself looking into the face, and pistol muzzle, of Victor Donleavy.
Donahue was sitting in the limo waiting for Odom to return with Dickens. He sat in the rear-facing seat in the back compartment, so he could see them approaching. He picked Odom out right away, and concentrated on the other man.
Oh, fuck. It couldn’t be. But it was. Horace Perkins.
Goddammit.
Dickens looked diagonally across the limo’s passenger compartment to where Donahue sat, a semi-automatic pistol pointed unerringly at Dickens’ center of mass.
“Mr. ‘Donnelly,’ I presume.”
“Yes. And you’re ‘Dickens?’”
“Yes. It’s been a long time.”
“Not long enough.”
Odom had walked around the car, gotten in the driver’s side door, and pressed the ‘Home’ button in his VR interface to the car. Leaving it to auto-drive to the apartment building, he used the passenger compartment camera to take in the scene in the compartment behind him. The communicating window was down.
“I take it you fellas know each other,” Odom said.
“Yes, unfortunately,” Donahue said. “We were adverse to each other in the Imperial Police.”
“Structural antagonists only,” Dickens said. “We were on different teams. Nothing personal.”
“Personal enough. You’re the reason I left.”
“A victory for my team, getting you out of the way. Your team reciprocated with my own departure not long after.”
“And now we both find ourselves here,” Donahue said.
“And on the same team this time. An improvement, surely.”
“Who is he, anyway?” Odom said.
“The best intelligence researcher and communications specialist the Imperial Police ever had,” Donahue said.
“At your service, Mr....?”
“Odom. Mike Odom. Hey, Troy. Intelligence is good. We can use this guy.”
“As long as you don’t forget who I am, Mr. Dickens,” Donahue said.
“The best wet-work specialist the Imperial Police ever had. I am unlikely to forget it, Mr. Donahue. And, this time, my superior.”
“But where are your loyalties, Mr. Dickens?” Odom asked.
“To the Throne, Mr. Odom. We all thought we were acting in the best interests of the Throne in the Imperial Police, the intramural scrimmage notwithstanding. I hear that’s all been cleaned up, by the way.”
Donahue relaxed and reholstered the pistol in his armpit holster.
“All right. Our mutual acquaintance picked you, and I’m willing to acquiesce to his judgment in the matter. Mr. Odom is the third member of our team. Imperial Navy technical specialist. Weapons. Equipment. Direct action.”
“Excellent,” Dickens said. “Then I think we have a good set of skills for this assignment. Complementary skills. Very good.”
Donahue nodded.
“Did you bring all your toys along?” he asked.
“Oh, yes. Several trunks full, to be delivered to the apartment. Is the apartment nice?”
“It’s perfect,” Donahue said. “Servant’s quarters, which means Odom and I are together. Perfect cover for him. A driver can go anywhere. Nobody even sees him. Your apartment is the same, which gives us room to bring one more team member aboard if we need to without having to set up additional quarters. And it’s in Imperial Park West.”
“I noted that,” Dickens said. “The location’s perfect, based on what I saw in the communications I analyzed during the trip. Whatever’s going down, we’re likely to be right on top of it.”
“That’s the general idea,” Donahue said.
They arrived at the apartment building, the car parking itself in the reserved oversized space right by the garage’s street entrance. They went up to Dickens’ apartment and he looked around.
“Yes, yes, this will be fine. Just one critical item.”
Dickens sat on the couch, bounced a little to test it.
“Yes, this will be perfect.”
To Odom’s raised eyebrow, Donahue had a quick answer.
“If you spend sixteen, eighteen, twenty hours at a time in VR with your analysis tools, you need a good sofa. Otherwise you come out of VR and you’re an invalid.”
Dickens nodded.
“An even more important consideration as I have gotten older, I’m afraid. But this will work splendidly.”
There was a knock on the door.
“That should be my trunks,” Dickens said, walking over to the door.
“That was quick,” Odom said.
“I paid extra for expedited service,” Dickens said.
Dickens opened the door, and two burly men in the uniform of the passenger line were there with an electric cart.
“Mr. Ambrose Dickens?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“If you could push me your ID, sir.”
Dickens did, and the fellow nodded.
“OK. Eight trunks. Where would you like them?”
“Right here in the living room is fine. In a line there along that wall.”
The two men brought in eight trunks, each eighteen inches square by three feet long and set them along the wall, then departed.
“Jeeze, look at that,” Odom said.
“You’re traveling light these days,” Donahue said.
“The modern stuff is so much smaller,” Dickens said. “I have a lot more capability here than I did before.”
The trunks were all numbered. Dickens went over and opened a trunk, started fussing with the contents.
�
��Give me some time to get set up,” Dickens said. “Check back in a couple hours.”
“We’ll come by around supper time,” Donahue said. “There’s some good delivery around here.”
“Excellent.”
Donahue and Odom let themselves out, Dickens mumbling to himself as he pulled equipment out of the crate.
Back in their own apartment, Odom had a question.
“He’s really that good?”
“Yes. The best there is, plain and simple.”
“Wow. That’s great.”
“Yeah. I still hate his guts.”
“Well, maybe he’ll fuck up, and you can kill him later.”
“That’s you. Always looking on the bright side.”
They went back over to Dickens’s apartment later. When they knocked, they got a VR message to come in, then heard the door lock cycle.
“That’s him. He’ll never get up off his lazy ass unless he has to,” Donahue said.
Odom shrugged.
“Makes sense to me.”
They went on in, and saw Dickens had moved the dining area table out into the living room. It was now covered with boxes of equipment, which he was wiring together.
“Well, that bottom one I recognize,” Odom said. “Imperial Marines field system.”
“Modified, but essentially correct,” Dickens replied.
Odom gestured to the other boxes, some of which had the hallmark look of handmade devices.
“And all those?” Odom asked.
“An assortment of additional capabilities,” Dickens said. “Not all of them, er, strictly legal.”
“How are they illegal?” Donahue asked.
“They violate basic rights of privacy,” Dickens said. “Allow me to listen in or track someone more than I should. Including police communications, such as, in the most recent instance, police communications with regard to the curious death of Paul Bowdoin.”
“That was you?” Donahue asked, then answered his own question. “I should have known.”
“Indeed,” Dickens said.
“Well, we ordered dinner,” Odom said. “Egg fried rice, General Tso’s chicken, some sort of spicy beef and pepper thing Donahue likes. Oh, and hot and sour soup. But you don’t have a kitchen table anymore, so we should go back to our place.”
“All personal favorites,” Dickens said.
“Come along, then,” Donahue said.
The next morning, Dickens joined Donahue and Odom for breakfast. Odom liked a big breakfast, with scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, orange juice, and coffee. Donahue, and now Dickens, were easily accommodated with a few extra of each.
“Are you all up and running now?” Donahue asked Dickens.
“Oh, yes. I spent last night incorporating all the messages that had come in while I was in hyperspace.”
“You was up all night?” Odom asked.
“Well, in VR, yes,” Dickens said. “It’s not like I was running a marathon or something.”
Nevertheless, Odom looked impressed.
“So, did you learn anything?” Donahue asked.
“Yes. The most interesting bits weren’t the locations of people when they sent communications to the agents or the families, but their locations when they sent normal messages to uninvolved people.”
“We have those, too?” Odom asked.
“Oh, yes,” Dickens said. “They’re tracking those looking for additional linkages.”
“Oh. OK. I get that.”
“But from that, I know where those people live and work, I think,” Dickens said. “And if we get imagery of them there, it’s easier to figure out who they’re meeting with in other locations.”
“So we need more surveillance cameras installed,” Donahue said.
“Well, yes and no,” Dickens said. “For some locations, we do. For others, I can tap into the Imperial Police surveillance on the arcade level.”
“You still have access to Imperial Police surveillance cameras in the arcade?” Donahue asked.
“Yes. Isn’t that remarkable?” Dickens asked.
“I thought you would have been locked out of the Imperial Police systems when you left the department,” Donahue said.
“Oh, I was, I was,” Dickens said. “But they did not close any of the other accounts I had established. I still have complete access to Imperial Police systems. Legitimately now, of course.”
Donahue snorted. As a member of the Department, if Dickens needed that access, he could have it, Donahue was sure. But he didn’t need to ask, because he had wired trapdoors into the systems for himself before he left.
“Well, I have to go to the Imperial War Museum today to present our designs,” Donahue said. “I have an appointment with Colonel Ryan I can’t postpone. Can you two get the cameras where you need them?”
“I have recommended locations,” Dickens said.
“Yeah, I can place cameras today,” Odom said. “You don’t need a ride to the museum?”
“No, that point’s been made, I think.”
“Then I can place the cameras,” Odom said. “No problem.”
“Excellent,” Dickens said.
Thomas Pitney reviewed the reports coming in from his agents working in Imperial City. He was especially interested in the reports of Donleavy and Perkins, both of whom he knew from his time in the Imperial Police. It appeared things were going pretty well.
At least they hadn’t killed each other yet.
Digging Deeper
Troy Donahue met Gerard Lavaud at the arcade-level entrance of the Imperial War Museum. For the client meeting Lavaud had somehow managed a suit and tie, though he still managed to look like an artist. They were met by an assistant to Colonel Ryan, who led them up two runs of escalators to the second floor.
“Ah, Mr. Donnelly. Good to see you again,” Ryan said.
“And you, Colonel. May I introduce our most creative designer, Gerard Lavaud.”
“Mr. Lavaud,” Ryan said, shaking his hand.
“M’sieur Colonel.”
“We’d like to show you the simulations for the seating areas, Colonel. I wanted Mr. Lavaud along to hear your feedback directly. Better than me being a noisy communications channel between you.”
“I understand, Mr. Donnelly. Please, proceed.”
Lavaud walked Ryan through his plans for the seating area on each floor in VR, showing him both what would be the seating area in the physical museum and the exhibit for the VR version of the museum. Ryan asked intelligent questions, which Lavaud answered respectfully.
Ryan also offered ideas and suggestions of his own, which, to Donahue’s surprise, Lavaud carefully considered. Donahue had been prepared to intermediate the discussion, but he didn’t have to. Ryan showed remarkable respect for the artist’s work, while Lavaud was ecstatic to be discussing his work with someone who appreciated it for other than purely commercial advantage.
When Lavaud was concluded, Ryan surprised Donahue yet again. They went back down to the first floor. Behind the still-empty great entry hall lay the cafeteria and the museum gift shop. Ryan indicated the space with a wave of his hand.
“M’sieur Lavaud, I have here for your consideration another space to which to apply your art,” Ryan said. “Here will be the museum cafeteria and gift shop. Perhaps you have an idea of something creative we can do with this space, along the same lines as your other work here.”
They looked in VR at the mock-up of the space provided by the current front-running bidder. Cafeteria, one of; gift shop, one of. Ho-hum.
Lavaud was immediately on it. His research into military matters over the last two weeks was immediately evident.
“The cafeteria, that should be an Imperial Marines mess tent, surely,” Lavaud said. “And the gift shop....”
“Imperial Marines field facilities have a supplies tent as well, M’sieur Lavaud,” Ryan said.
“Certainement, mon Colonel. This I will research, but both would be an improvement over this, this, this desolation.”
“I will leave you to it, then, M’sieur Lavaud. You certainly know my mind in this matter.”
Ryan turned to Donahue.
“Thank you for coming by, Mr. Donnelly. It has been both enjoyable and productive.”
“Until next time, Colonel Ryan.”
Once outside, they headed for the train under Imperial Park to their offices in downtown Imperial City.
“Well, Mr. Lavaud,” Donahue said. “I don’t know quite how you’ve done it, but the Colonel has expanded our role on the strength of your designs.”
“Ah, but it is simple, Mr. Donnelly. Colonel Ryan is un vrai mécène des arts – a true patron of the arts. A man with an eye for good design, who also knows his own mind. It is very easy to work with such a man.”
Ryan had his own thoughts about Donnelly and Lavaud, mostly Donnelly. Lavaud was simple. Ryan understood the artsy types. Show interest, get them talking. Put in your own thoughts once in a while, show they have your attention. Show some appreciation. They’ll eat it up.
Donnelly was a different matter. Ryan hadn’t been sure the first time, but he was sure now. That man was an operator, or had been at some point in the past. The way he looked at everything, weighed everything. As if he might have to– what?
As if he might have to kill everyone in the room.
Ryan had seen the type before, in the Imperial Marines. That fellow who was always ready, because he had seen it coming.
Well, that was fine. As long as Ryan knew who he was. The way things were going along, they would be far too late.
No matter how ready Donnelly thought he was.
The pacing item, of course, was the refurbishment of all the exhibits. Some VR simulations had to be updated, others repaired. The physical exhibits needed to be reconditioned, or repainted, or refinished. The new display cabinets had to be prepared.
All of these items would be heading to the museum soon, for their final placement in the reorganized collection.
And in Silver City, on Argent, a truck stopped by a shipping warehouse to pick up a container with one of the refurbished exhibits for shipping to Imperial City.
EMPIRE: Resurgence Page 11