When Diplomacy Fails… fc-3

by Michael Z. Williamson

  After they had a collective sigh and swapped guarded smiles, he continued. “Whoever did this was very experienced. It’s large scale damage, but none of it is traumatic enough for lethality. My guess is they planned to leave him to rest a bit after this, possibly even treat the contusions and use anesthetics. After they wore off, the pain would be that much more palpable, but they’d only need to prod him to trigger it.”

  “Sick fuckers,” Elke said.

  “Very. However, that’s part of why he’s still alive.”

  Alex asked, “When are you transporting off planet?”

  Shaman almost smiled. “Oh, that shouldn’t be necessary. The damage is substantial, but superficial. The jaw and cheek repair will be complete in a week. The rest is just muscle bruising with some bone bruising. It will remain painful, but is entirely repairable.”

  “That’s not the only issue. How is his mental state and is it fair to keep him in place after that?” Alex looked tense again.

  Horace asked, “Is it fair to send him home?”

  Alex paused, then nodded slowly. “I hadn’t considered that. Well, we need a substitute until he’s better either way. We can reassess then.”

  “Most certainly. I will want his input, and to assess his emotional state before concluding a decision.”

  “When will he wake?”

  “I expect to bring him out of induced coma in about eight hours.”

  “We’d like to be back then. Highland isn’t scheduled for anything else today.”

  “Yes. In the meantime, my medical advice is for all of us to rest. We are approaching reduced functionality.”

  Jason had something he needed to do, but he understood the advice. With a glance back at his wired and intubated friend, he turned to ride back to their lodging and rest.

  CHAPTER 12

  “He should be conscious. Aramis, are you there?”

  He croaked. His mouth was full of…splints? He was splinted all over. Tubes, wires, stents that would be painful if he didn’t feel as if he’d been rolled under a tank.

  That voice. It was Shaman.

  “I…” He couldn’t get “Am” out.

  “You’re going to live. You are in a military hospital, so I’m using powders and potions to supplement their care.”

  He could hear all around. Shaman. That was Elke shifting in a seat. Some troop in armor and weapon, the rubbing sound was clear, near the door. Just outside, someone said, “-Bed Nine, and fifty milligrams for, good God what happened to him? Um, fifty milligrams-“

  So, I look dead, or worse. I’m alive, though, and not sedated on a transport off this rock.

  “Ima sleep,” he muttered. He didn’t know if they could hear him. He was alive, though. If he hurt it meant he could be healed. He felt tears well up and run hotly from the corners of his eyes.

  It meant what he and Caron had was complicated. He could never tell her about this. Or could he? He knew he felt fuzzy and was falling asleep.

  Alex had a coded message waiting. He downloaded it to his connectionless module, ran it through three decryptions, and read it.

  “I support you, but there’s a lot of press. Lawyer arriving tomorrow. Try not to frag any officers before then-Meyer.”

  That was expected, but reassuring. Was the lawyer from Earth, or someone they’d tagged locally? Actually, for future reference that was something they should plan for. They really did need legal intervention regularly.

  At least they had that. The military were simply hogtied by laws, regulations, instructions, policies, guidances… he felt sorry for them. That captain had trod a very delicate line in Aramis’ recovery.

  He wiped the read message and sent back, “Need further leads on potential hostiles to principal. No significant leads, all speculation.”

  In the meantime, they’d hold their own war council and discuss that issue.

  But first, the next message said Highland wanted to talk again. He took several deep breaths, reminded himself how much money he made and that Aramis was alive, then walked through to her apartment.

  Without preamble, she shouted, “Marlow, you will fucking explain what happened this morning. Why was I delayed, then stalled, then hindered from my transport? Why were you late?”

  She really doesn’t know, he thought. That did mean they’d been discreet.

  “Ma’am, Agent Anderson was kidnapped while on assignment. We took a few hours to locate and recover him, in a joint mission with the military. Our intelligence indicated he was likely to be murdered if we didn’t respond at once.”

  She seemed taken aback, and at a loss for words. It was an entire ten seconds before she said, “Okay, then I will excuse you. However, I expect you will inform me before any of these missions take place.”

  Not a chance in hell, but I’ll smile and nod, he thought, as he said, “I understand, ma’am.”

  “Exactly what assignment was he working on?” she asked.

  “He is tasked with mapping, which includes reviewing escape routes to determine their quality. In addition, he stockpiles gear where we can reach it in a hurry while traveling.”

  “You mean ‘weapons’?” She looked suspicious and angry again.

  “Not generally. Food, water, local cash and clothes. We are usually carrying weapons, but if a vehicle gets damaged or otherwise compromised and must be abandoned, we need to have support logistics.”

  “Very well. You can go.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said, turned and left.

  At no point had she either asked how Aramis was doing or expressed concern about him. There was no point in being angry. She probably wasn’t aware of him as a human being. People were just numbers to her, or potential votes, or exploitable counters.

  He didn’t have to like her, but it would help if she wasn’t actively antagonistic to them.

  Once he got back to their quarters he said so.

  Bart said, “Perhaps you should treat her as an obstacle. Assume she will hinder at every turn.”

  He twitched his eyebrows and said, “You know, that’s very logical. I hadn’t thought of it, but it makes sense.”

  Elke said, “You will have to juggle the diplomacy of not calling her a self-aggrandizing, hatchet-faced narcissist, while working around her, but I am sure you can do it.”

  “Indeed. She really can’t hear in here, right?” he said, looking at Elke.

  “She cannot, nor can anyone else. It is possible Intel has snuck something past me and Jason, but I can’t see them sharing with her.” She stretched, hands in her hair, then working her shoulders gently. She was a bit bruised and battered from the day’s events.

  Jason said, “Unless there’s a profit in it for them.”

  Alex cocked his head. “We can’t rule that out, though there’s no existing pattern of it, that I know of.”

  “That, and you can see how the BuState rep reacts.”

  He checked the time. “Yeah, he’s coming up now. Can we clear this room?”

  Jason said, “I’ll go check on Aramis and relieve Shaman.” He grabbed a day pack and left the room.

  Two minutes later, Mister Gillette, with BuState intel arrived. Bart let him in, and Alex decided against any searches for now. They wanted the man as comfortable and agreeable as possible. Alex would have Jason and Elke sweep it again later, just in case. The table had a well with water, sodas and snacks.

  “Good to see you, sir,” he offered.

  “And you.” Gillette took the offered seat and grabbed a water gratefully. “Thanks for this,” he said with a nod.

  “Long day?”

  “Yes, I forget to drink, or I drink too much coffee. Ice water is refreshing. So what can I do for you?”

  “Before we start, let me say this is in person for confidentiality. We should be secure in here, and welcome any additional precautions you wish to take.”

  Gillette nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind. I’m fine for now.”

  “Very well. We’re trying to build
a threat matrix for Ms Highland. Any hostile or potentially hostile groups or significant individuals.”

  “Ah, ‘significant individuals.’ Well, that’s the complication.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Gillette leaned back and said, “Well, obviously, in her duties, she does things that help or hinder any number of companies, to the detriment or benefit of others. Their interests, though, are limited to financial. Some will donate to her campaign, some to her opponents, this will change as the platforms and odds stabilize closer to the election, and some will split their bets and contribute to more than one.”

  “Of course. Do you think any of them would contribute to a physical response? Whether intended to harm, scare, or attract notice.”

  He considered a moment, then shook his head. “It’s not impossible, but none have done so in previous elections.”

  “Right. Though there was speculation about Mister Crindi’s death.”

  “There’s always speculation. He died, his wife ran in his stead, and she was dumped by the electorate on the next cycle. She accomplished little. Hardly a worthwhile endeavor.”

  Alex nodded. That was mostly how he took it. However, that had helped swing party numbers. He wasn’t sure how much benefit that had been, but if it suggested to him it was a potentially viable method, it might suggest it to others. And Gillette was readily aware of the incident.

  “Then what about well-trained or financed kooks without economic interests?”

  “It’s impossible to rule out, of course, but hundreds of anonymous threats come in weekly. A handful are deemed credible. Every few weeks one turns up someone violating the law. Twice they’d actually started overt action.”

  “And groups here?”

  “Yes, here is the interesting part,” Gillette said, running a hand through his hair. “The Amala don’t like her at all. She’s female, powerful, publicly called her husband out over that waste disposal vote last year. However, they’re generally not wealthy enough to do anything, and have poor access to communication, due to cultural factors.”

  Alex heard that as, They’re backward savages who hate technology.

  “Go on, please,” he said.

  “There are certainly members and subfactions who’d like to harm her. We expect that to be more along the lines you’ve seen-rocks, sticks. They might consider an explosive device.”

  “Okay. We can monitor that.”

  “The Sunni like her, generally. The Shia perceive her as favoring the Sunni and don’t like that. Some have been very vocal about it. The Mowahidoon, the Baha’i and Sufis have nothing against her. They’re very modern and productive. The Coalition Christians run on a spectrum from disliking any woman in office, to disliking her policies. They aren’t friendly but are no more actively hostile than anyone else. A few outliers.”

  “That leaves the Faithful group.”

  “Yes, those people. Actively hostile, though they tend to seek to instigate incidents so they can sue.”

  “Which has happened already over our response.”

  “Expect more of that. They’ll do anything to get attention.”

  “What about credible threats, though? Not them?”

  “No. We’re at a loss. Obviously, there is at least one element. We don’t know who. You were brought in to offer protection while we devote resources to observation and deduction,” he said.

  Interesting. That was pretty much an admission they were being spied on. They’d need to review their procedures and make ongoing checks for surveillance.

  “So you’re pointing at the Amala as potential physical threats, and the Faithful as hostile distractions.”

  “That’s how we interpret it, yes.”

  “So who tracked, kidnapped and tortured my man?”

  “We don’t know,” Gillette said. He seemed genuinely troubled and embarrassed.

  “Allright,” Alex said. “We’ll coordinate with other agencies and share what we find.” Pursuant to massaging it ourselves first, and not sharing details we need. “Can you do the same?”

  “We will,” Gillette agreed.

  And no doubt with the same provisos, he thought.

  Alex said, “And these harassment attacks. What are those about?”

  “We presume those are to goad a response. It’s essential you not overreact to those.”

  “We try not to, but it’s impossible to tell a paint balloon from a grenade in the time it takes someone to throw one.”

  “I understand,” he said, though Alex got the impression he only understood as a mental exercise, not as the recipient of something potentially hot, fast and lethal. “But that’s the officially suggested response.”

  “I concur. It’s just hard to implement in a fraction of a second, while guaranteeing Ms. Highland’s safety. Are you able to tell me if she’s planned more demonstrations to promote her stability under fire?” Damn, and I said that with a straight face, too.

  Gillette shook his head. “Not that we can tell, and we officially advised her against doing so, as it opens up a potential window and leak.”

  Okay, so the guy was a chair-warmer, but at least he was an astute and educated chair-warmer.

  “Alright, then we’ll do what we can,” Alex said. “And swap what information comes our way.” After we use it first. Ripple Creek understood allies. It just didn’t have many, and fewer that were reliable.

  Jason noted when Aramis shifted again. The rebuilding nanos had some effect. Swelling was down considerably. He now looked like a broken human rather than a bloated roadkill.

  “Aramis, it’s Jason, I’m here.”

  “Yes,” the man mumbled. Jason was surprised he could talk with his jaw in that shape. Sonofabitch. that had to redefine pain.

  “No need to talk if you don’t want to. We’re taking turns watching.” He didn’t mention losing sleep or being worried. They all volunteered for this and stood shift as well.

  Aramis managed actual speech. “I’ng conshus. Hurd like heww. Goan ngake ih, tho.”

  “Good. I know you are.” Now, yes. Yesterday, thirty percent. Damned good medical work, and the man had a serious constitution.

  “Had do figh through fain.”

  “Yeah, you mentioned Caron a lot in that context,” he advised. In detail. Though it didn’t sound like a fair trade.

  “Ah, shid.”

  “Don’t worry. The docs don’t know who she is, and we won’t talk. If that got you through it, good. You’re unreal. Anyone else would be dead, but you’re just too brutal for it.” He wanted to keep the man’s morale up, and keep him tracking on anything real.

  Aramis sounded a bit strained, but said, “Ih had this insane, flyne, crazy feeln. The indenzdy. Ih uz aww I could think of. I ngus ve a ferverd.”

  It took Jason a moment to translate “I must be a pervert.”

  He said, “You’re alive, it worked, no need to be ashamed at all. You probably shouldn’t tell her, though.”

  “Yeah. I’ng goan ve quie for a whi. Ngusic? Case or cuve.”

  “Probably not at the moment. I’ll call and ask. Alex and Shaman will hear my notes and recordings. They’ll be destroyed soonest, per policy.” Actually, policy said any communication related to a government operation should be kept, and he was fucked if his friend’s personal issues were going to be archived.

  He was just glad, and amazed the man was alive.

  On his glasses, Shaman’s image hand signed approval, and sent a text confirmation for record. “Shaman says okay. I’ll look for a music load,” he said. Also, a second blanket to cover the man’s groin.

  It was possible his brain had completely rewired pain as arousal. Was it important enough to discuss with Shaman? Maybe.

  Bart arrived, and he rose and stretched. They didn’t need to sit watch, but they wanted to, and Aramis should appreciate it.

  Back at the billet, Alex met him at the door.

  “Jason, I have a specific instruction for you, which is not an order.”


  “Oh?”

  “I have no authority to require this, but as your boss and your friend, I am telling you not to look at any news or comments regarding the attack on Aramis. Best case, you’ll want to smash things.”

  Jason sighed deeply. “Yeah, I can imagine. That’s good advice, and I’ll give it a few days to age off the list. We’re all mercenary scum and deserve anything that happens to us, yes?”

  “If that was all, I’d be happy. The depths that ‘tolerant’ people will sink to never cease to amaze me.”

  “Okay, then I’m already pissed enough and will avoid it further. Thanks.”

  There was an emotional toll to being an unemotional mercenary scum.

  Alex was drained. Lionel and Corcoran were reliable, but they weren’t part of the regular team. Shaman was back most of the time, but still checked Aramis twice a day. They’d been painted and egged again, and now he had another brief with Captain Das.

  “Good morning, Captain,” he said as he arrived. He wanted to be polite, but he didn’t want to call anyone in the military “sir.” It was too easy for them to take it as subordination.

  “Good morning, Agent Marlow,” Das returned. He probably had the same guideline in mind. They were polite, courteous and supportive of each other, while recognizing that they might have to diverge on strategy at any moment.

  He asked, “Were you able to get the packet from BuState intel?”

  “No, I was not. They won’t release it.”

  “What? That’s ridiculous. I was briefed in person and there wasn’t even a recording or a release.”

  “Therefore that briefing never took place.”

  Alex took a moment to ponder that. Shit. He’d missed that.

  “Okay, so why would they do us a favor and not the military?”

  “It could be some territorial issue. It could also be unofficial, but sanctioned because you’re protecting their boss.”

  “They generally stay well out of our way. But I appreciate the heads up they gave.”