by Eric Thomson
More silence. “Railgun.”
“Pardon?”
“The assassin used a railgun. A professional’s weapon. Soundless, but the darts it fires are capable of causing indescribable trauma to a human body from a great distance. The police won’t find him — or her.”
A pleading tone entered Floros’ voice. “What do we do?”
“Lie low. Don’t attract attention, lest you end like your boss. And never contact me again. Ever. Now leave and forget this address.”
“But—”
“Someone just declared war on the Mission Colony Freedom Collective, and it’s one you won’t win. Not against ghost snipers able to kill at will. Step back and wait. In six months, or a year or even five, when whoever killed Kerlin thinks your movement died with him, it’ll be time for resurrection. Under a new name. The revolution will happen, but it’s been postponed.”
She picked up a gasp, then a door slam, followed by muttered imprecations. But Floros was no longer her immediate concern. He’d served his purpose and could wait until later. She wanted the man to whom Floros just spoke, the offworlder who’d met with Kerlin on a dozen occasions over the last two weeks. Each time it was under security tight enough to prevent her from identifying him, let alone listen in on the conversation.
Commander Hera Talyn drained her tea, strolled back toward the apartment complex, and studied it from all four sides. The unit in question was on the third floor. Judging by the angle, it was centered and faced the boulevard. She could make out three duplicate window groupings, indicating three units and that meant her target occupied the middle one.
Talyn expected him to bolt, now that the Mission Colony scheme was on the verge of collapse and Floros had compromised his location. It didn’t give her much time. She scanned the front door and found it festooned with the usual security measures — sensors, video pickups, high-grade remote locks. One entered only with the right credentials or by invitation.
Shortly after she finished her study of the front entryway, a woman approximately Talyn’s apparent age crossed the street, making a beeline for the building’s door. She seemed distracted as if in a hurry and Talyn, who’d been prepared to wait for just such an occasion, closed the distance between them while remaining at the edge of her peripheral vision.
The woman stopped short of the entrance and waited until the door opened with a faint whoosh after scanning her credentials. Talyn crowded in behind her with a reassuring smile that signaled she belonged here. The agent’s harmless appearance drew nothing more than a preoccupied, somewhat distant glance but thankfully no questions. Talyn loitered in the lobby until she was alone before taking a lift to the third floor.
Eight apartment doors lined the hallway, three toward the building’s front, three toward the back and one at each end. Talyn found the middle unit and scanned it. One life sign registered. It was moving briskly between rooms, showing the offworlder was either packing or wiping away any evidence of his temporary tenancy.
If news of Kerlin’s assassination had spooked him, so much the better. She studied the apartment door’s locking mechanism and found it to be of the same high quality as that used on the building’s main entrance. It was impregnable without making a lot of noise or a big mess. Or both. Talyn removed her glasses, pushed her hat back to expose an elderly face wrinkled like a dried apple. She touched the call button and stepped back so the mysterious offworlder could examine her via the security camera.
“What is it?” A voice made familiar by her listening device asked through a hidden speaker.
“Gustav’s wife sends her sorrowful greetings. I come with a vitally important message concerning business matters following today’s tragic events.”
Silence greeted her unexpected reply. But curiosity won out, and he opened the door. Talyn found herself face-to-face with a man of uncertain age and ethnic origin, of middling height and weight, with brown hair and eyes. Unremarkable in every aspect, someone easy to miss in a crowd but for the gun pointed at her midriff. He waved the weapon to one side.
“Come in.” When the door closed behind her, he asked, “Who are you and how did you know where to find me?”
Instead of answering, Talyn shook her right arm, releasing a needler hidden under the loose sleeve. It dropped into her palm, and before he could react, she raised it and stitched his cheek with knockout darts. A look of pure astonishment overcame him. He crumpled to the floor like a sack of wet seaweed, felled by the fast-acting narcotic.
Talyn dragged him to the bedroom before tying his wrist and ankles with virtually unbreakable plastic restraints. She found rolled socks in the open travel bag sitting on an unmade bed and shoved them in the man’s mouth. A search of his pockets produced anonymous cred chips, a rental car keycard, and an ID wafer identifying him as Alek Mannsbach, forty-two, Cimmerian citizen.
Talyn emptied the bag and searched it as well, but without coming across anything of interest. She then searched the apartment, with similar results. Other than the blaster, a standard model easily obtainable throughout the sector, there was nothing to distinguish Mannsbach from an honest citizen.
Talyn pulled a cheap-looking civilian communicator from her loose, pajama-like tunic and switched it on. It hooked into the local net almost at once. After a brief internal debate, she entered the authorization code activating the communicator’s encryption ability, turning it into a naval grade unit able to confound even the most sophisticated police surveillance algorithms.
“What’s up?” Decker’s voice asked a few seconds later. “And why are we secure?”
“I have the offworlder.”
“And I iced Kerlin.”
“So I understand. The plan worked.”
“With one wrinkle. Assistant Commissioner Kristy Bujold was among those spattered by Gustav’s liquefied brain matter.”
“Oops.”
“Yeah. The police response time was much shorter as a result, but I made it through the cordon. Barely. HQ needs to know about her being chummy with Kerlin.”
“We’ll figure out the ramifications after interrogating the offworlder. Where are you?”
“I’m about to cross the city limits.”
“Return the rental and join me at 1251 Fourth Avenue, apartment three-oh-seven.”
“Will do. Give me thirty minutes.”
Talyn cut the link. Their brief conversation would be flagged as suspicious once the Constabulary analyzed communications in search of Kerlin’s killer, but only because it was scrambled nonsense impervious to decryption efforts.
Better that than hearing her give Decker the address. She glanced at Mannsbach and wondered how long it would take her to break him.
“Are you conditioned, my friend?” She murmured, eyes tracing the contours of his face. “Will you give me a chance to practice the dark arts, or are you the type to blubber at the first hint of pain?”
— Three —
“Where’s your gear?”
Decker, eyes scanning the sparsely furnished living room, shrugged. “I left it in the forest, hidden under a bush.”
“They’ll eventually find your cache, and we can’t afford to go back there.”
“Considering I ran into a Constabulary roadblock complete with armored patrol cars, it was just as well. They’d have detected the railgun.”
Talyn nodded once.
“Fair enough. What about Assistant Commissioner Kristy Bujold?”
“Laughing and sipping champagne with the other assholes. She had her back to me before the shot so I couldn’t know.”
“Are you sure it was her?”
“Not a moment’s doubt. While I was at the roadblock, Bujold’s staff car came speeding down the road from Kerlin’s cottage. She was in the back seat, wearing the face of a woman whose career might vanish into a black hole.”
“Meaning we can expect Bujold to make hunting Kerlin’s killer a matter of self-protection.”
“Too bad the gray-legs are out of bounds. Otherwi
se, we might do your internal affairs friend a solid by exposing Constabulary corruption around here. I’m sure the Chief Constable will take a dim view of a regimental commander socializing with wannabe revolutionaries. Where’s our customer?”
“In the bedroom. The ID he was carrying make him a Cimmerian by the name Alek Mannsbach. Forgettable face, the kind that works well in our professional circles, but he didn’t show the level of paranoia that should come with it.” Talyn recounted how she’d tailed Osric Floros and talked her way into the apartment before taking Mannsbach prisoner.
When she finished, Decker let out a dismissive grunt. “Sounds like he hasn’t lost his amateur status yet. I doubt he’ll be conditioned.”
Talyn made a disappointed moue. “That’s what I figure. Shame. It’s been a while since I enjoyed a good interrogation challenge.”
“We do it here?”
“Unless you can tell me how we might transport him to the safe house without attracting notice.”
“Then we need to start now. If Bujold’s criminal intelligence folks are combing the communications net, they’ll find our encrypted call, and she’ll order them to search for the source. Last I checked they can narrow it to a fifty meter radius. Granted, this is a high-density area. Or as high-density as it gets in Ventano, but still. How long until Mannsbach wakes up?”
“On his own? Twenty minutes. But I’m carrying a full kit.”
Decker walked over to the bedroom door and stuck his head through for a glance at their prisoner. Then, he checked the apartment’s other rooms. “It’s not an ideal place. Where do you want to do it?”
“On the kitchen table. Put him on his back and tie his limbs to the legs.”
“You intend to use waterboarding?”
“No, but it’s the most uncomfortable position we can manage under the circumstances and the hardest one to struggle against.”
“True.” Decker returned to the bedroom, picked Mannsbach up by the shoulders, and dragged him across the apartment to the kitchen. A few minutes later, he said, “You can wake sleeping beauty now. He’s not going anywhere.”
Talyn entered the kitchen and slowly walked around the marble-topped, stainless steel table, studying Mannsbach from every angle, stalked by her reflection in the shiny white cabinets covering three of the four walls. She stopped and gestured at their prisoner.
“Cut our friend’s clothes off, please.”
“Is this about to turn kinky?” Decker produced his dagger and sliced through Mannsbach’s shirt, trousers and underwear, baring the front half of his prone body.
“He’s not my type, honey.” She pointed at a small tattoo on his left breast, above the nipple. “Tell me that’s a stylized spiral galaxy surrounded by a wreath of stars.”
“Okay. It’s a stylized spiral galaxy, surrounded by a wreath of stars. If it were just a galaxy logo, I’d wonder whether Deep Space Foundation employees were required to prove their loyalty by etching its symbol into their skin. Careless to wear distinctive body art when you’re working undercover, unless it’s designed to misdirect people like us in case we put him in this exact position, which I find unlikely. And since removing a tattoo that size is a five minute procedure...”
“You of all people would know.” Talyn leaned over to examine the mark more closely, then straightened and pulled a small pouch from her tunic. “Time to ask Alek about it.”
She applied a thumbnail-sized dermal patch over Mannsbach’s carotid artery, stepped back, and gestured at Decker to join her.
“Let’s stay beyond his peripheral vision for a bit.”
As they watched, the Cimmerian worked his jaw as if fighting a dry sticky mouth. His right eyelid fluttered open, then snapped shut again under the glare of the ceiling light. His shoulder and thigh muscles quivered as he tested the restraints. After half a minute, both eyes opened. They stayed that way while his head pivoted from side to side before lifting to glance at his feet.
“What the fuck,” he croaked in a weak voice. “Hey. Old woman. Where are you?” His tongue darted out to lick dry lips. “What the hell do you want?”
He must have sensed Talyn and Decker’s presence because he struggled to see over his shoulder but in vain. After testing his bonds again, Mannsbach relaxed.
“Okay. I know you’re there. What do you want?” His voice was stronger now that the dermal patch flushed away the last dregs of Talyn’s knockout drug.
Neither of the agents replied or made a sound. They possessed the patience of interrogators trained to let their subjects work themselves into a state of nervous tension if not outright fear. Almost ten minutes passed before Talyn drew a stiletto from a forearm sheath similar to the one Decker wore. She stepped closer to Mannsbach and, reaching over his head, gently ran its tip across his lips, careful to avoid breaking the skin.
“Hello, Alek,” she said in a throaty voice at odds with her matronly disguise.
“Who are you?” He asked uncertainly.
“She who holds your life in her hands. Tell me, are you conditioned against interrogation?”
With the stiletto once more beyond his field of vision, Mannsbach turned his head from side to side, searching for her. “What do you mean?”
“My question is simple, Alek. Are you conditioned? It’s important you answer truthfully because your life is at stake.”
Mannsbach seemed to hesitate for a second, before saying, “Yes, I am.”
“Really?” Talyn ran the stiletto’s tip up his cheek until it hung a few millimeters over his right eye. “You’re not a good liar, Alek. In fact, pretty much everything about you is sub-par for a man playing footsie with volatile maniacs like the late Gustav Kerlin.”
She walked into his field of vision and stared him in the face. “One last time. Are you conditioned against interrogation? Because if you are, I’ll use more extreme means to get answers.”
She ran the stiletto’s tip along the inside of his right thigh, across his genitals and along the left leg.
“The average human male can generally survive non-surgical castration and even the amputation of his penis. Of course, the pain is excruciating and the psychological effects devastating. But even partial castration, by making a small incision and reaching in helps loosen tongues imprisoned by conditioning.”
Fear lit up his eyes.
“Okay, okay, you crazy bitch. I’m not conditioned. What sort of psychopath are you?”
Talyn’s soulless smile turned her wizened face into a demon’s mask.
“The sort who always gets what she wants.”
She removed the antidote and pressed a fresh dermal patch on Mannsbach’s carotid.
“You’re about to feel giddy. Silly, even. Don’t fight it. Go with the flow. Answering my questions will bring you pleasure.”
Talyn ran her fingers gently along his jawline and leaned over until her lips almost met his. He tried to turn his face away in disgust, but she grabbed his chin and forced him to stare into her eyes.
“You and I will have so much fun, Alek.”
Talyn stepped away and studied his face for signs the drug was taking hold. After only ninety seconds, she glanced up at Decker, still standing quietly beyond Mannsbach’s life of sight, and nodded.
“What’s your name?” She asked in a gentle, friendly tone.
His jaw muscles worked again as if fighting back an unstoppable urge to speak.
“Alasdair Malter.” He spat out the name.
“Which star system do you call home?”
“Cimmeria.” A goofy smile suddenly lit his face. “Not bad, right? Alek Mannsbach — Alasdair Malter. Can’t accidentally mess up when initialing something.”
“Nicely done, Alasdair.”
“Thank you,” he replied in a bright voice.
“What does the tattoo on your left breast represent?”
A sly expression lit up his eyes. “Now that would be telling.”
“You’d make me ever so happy if you explained its meaning.”
“That is a stylized spiral galaxy surrounded by stars, but tell no one.”
“Does it symbolize something important? An event in your life, perhaps?”
Malter giggled.
“It represents an alliance of star systems. Can’t you tell?”
“I’m not as smart as you are, Alasdair, so please humor me. Is this alliance of stars an organization or an idea?”
“Oh, it stopped being just an idea months ago. You’ll find out soon enough. We’re growing.” He chortled with pleasure.
“I’d rather find out now. Tell me about this organization. Does it have a name?”
His eyes narrowed while his lips pursed as if he was about to reveal the secret of eternal life.
“It’s called the Democratic Stars Alliance.”
She glanced up at Decker who shook his head.
“What is its goal?”
“To rid Commonwealth worlds of their plutocratic rulers and bring humanity together as one big family, without the regressive sovereign star systems nonsense.”
“Sounds like a noble endeavor. Who were you meeting here on behalf of the Democratic Stars Alliance?”
“Gustav Kerlin, the leader of the Freedom Collective.”
“Why were you sent to meet with Gustav Kerlin?”
“The Democratic Stars Alliance wants his organization to join it.”
Talyn saw Decker gaze out the window from the corner of her eyes but kept watching Malter. When he turned back, she glanced up and saw his fingers dance in the sign language taught to Naval Intelligence field operatives.
Police outside. Looking for source of encrypted transmission? Your communicator’s disabled? Mine is.
She nodded once.
“Why does the Democratic Stars Alliance wish to absorb Kerlin’s Freedom Collective?”
“So that our movement establishes a strong presence on Mission Colony.”
“And once it’s done so, what happens?”
“We take control. Just as we will elsewhere in the sector.” Malter giggled again. “And beyond.”
“Did you meet only with Kerlin or were there others?”