Hard Strike

by Eric Thomson

  Decker shrugged dismissively.

  “I was lucky, he wasn’t.”

  “I’m sure Eva will want to hear the story.”

  They watched Talyn imitate the Marine, then Yorik led them into a carpeted corridor decorated with what Decker suspected were original artworks, and into the living room with its splendid views of the sun setting behind the Cabrera Mountains.

  “Eva,” Yorik said as a tall, slender woman in a designer dress turned away from the open French doors, “may I present Sherri Zadeck and Corbin Peel of the Democratic Stars Alliance?”

  Cortez came toward them accompanied by the click of heels on marble and offered her hand.

  “Welcome, Sherri, Corbin, I’m Eva. Since the Freedom Collective is at heart an egalitarian movement, we don’t stand on ceremony around here.”

  “May I offer the DSA’s and our personal condolences for your loss, Eva?” Talyn said as she released Cortez’s beautifully manicured hand. “A terrible tragedy. I hope the person or persons responsible will be caught and punished before political assassinations become all the rage.”

  “I doubt the Constabulary will find Gustav’s killer,” Yorik replied. “His killing was an incredibly professional hit, carried out by a high-priced asset who’s probably left Mission Colony by now.”

  “What makes you say that?” Decker asked in a neutral tone.

  “Perhaps we can save it for later, Piet.”

  Yorik bowed his head toward his employer.

  “Of course, Eva. Pardon me. Corbin is a fellow security specialist, and I was carried away. Can I offer everyone a drink? Sherri? What’s your poison?”

  “Gin and tonic, please.”

  Cortez smiled.

  “A woman after my own heart. The same, please, Piet. And use the Mistassini Diamond. I’m sure Sherri would appreciate a sip of Earth’s finest gin.”

  Talyn inclined her head.

  “Mistassini Diamond? I’m impressed.”

  “It costs a fortune compared to the locally distilled stuff, but the difference in taste makes the expense of shipping it halfway across the Commonwealth worthwhile.”

  “And you, Corbin?” Yorik asked.

  “My tastes aren’t quite as refined. Whatever ale you have is fine.”

  “That would be the Ventano Bitter. Coming right up.”

  Yorik went to a sideboard and busied himself.

  “I gather you never met Gustav?” Cortez asked Talyn.

  “Sadly, no.”

  “Would you like to see where he was killed, while there’s still daylight left?”

  Cortez didn’t wait for an answer. She turned away and made for the open French doors leading the stone patio. Talyn followed her out into a growing twilight underscored by hundreds of soft chirps.

  “It seems so peaceful,” she said.

  Cortez kept her eyes on the dark shadows at the far end of the glen where Yorik’s people found traces of the sniper’s hide.

  “It was our sanctuary from the stresses of bringing social justice to Mission Colony and inspiring our followers to keep up the fight against institutionalized plutocracy. We were hosting friends and supporters for lunch, people willing to help advance our dreams in any way they could, some of the most important people on the planet. Just as Gustav was about to propose a toast...” A strangled sob escaped her throat. “It was horrible.”

  “I can’t begin to imagine what you must be suffering.”

  Cortez spun toward Talyn, eyes blazing with unrestrained fury.

  “What I’m feeling is unrestrained hate, Sherri. Hate for the animals who murdered him, for their masters, and for anyone opposed to the Freedom Collective’s historic undertaking.”

  She took a deep calming breath when she noticed Yorik approaching with a cut crystal tumbler in each hand.

  “Mistassini Diamond and tonic.” He handed them out and said, “Enjoy,” before returning to the living room where Decker waited.

  Talyn raised her glass and said, “If you don’t object, I’d be honored to toast the memory of Gustav Kerlin and vow we will carry on his struggle until Mission is truly free?”

  “How kind of you.” A strained smile replaced Cortez’s earlier wide-eyed rage as she imitated her guest. “To Gustav — not the easiest of men, but those destined for glory never are.”

  They took an appreciative sip, and Talyn said, “The Mistassini never disappoints.” She waved her glass at the manor, now blazing with lights. “You’re fortunate to own such a marvelous estate.”

  “This isn’t ours. Friends of the Collective placed it at our disposal as part of their contribution to the cause. Gustav preferred to live modestly, like most of the Collective’s members.”

  “I’m sorry I never met Gustav. If you feel up to it, I’d love to know more about him.” A faint smile touched Talyn’s lips. “And about you.”

  — Seven —

  “Do you want this in a glass?” Yorik held up an amber bottle with a green label.

  “Since the boss isn’t looking, I’ll drink it the way nature intended.”

  “Is she a stickler for protocol?”

  “Nah. We kid around a lot. Yours?” Decker accepted the proffered bottle and uncapped it.

  “Depends on her mood.” Yorik raised his drink. “Skoal.”

  The Marine took a healthy sip.

  “Nice. What are you having?”

  “A whiff of the local whiskey. Eva calls it rotgut, but Gustav shared a daily dram with me.” He raised his glass again. “Absent friends.”

  “Absent friends.” Another sip. “And what is Eva’s mood right now?”

  “What do you think? She’s itching to kill someone.”

  “She and Gustav were a tight couple?”

  “Sure. As tight as it gets in their social circle.” Yorik studied Decker with hooded eyes. “Tell me, are you simply hired muscle or do you believe in the cause?”

  “Why?”

  “Humor me, Corbin.”

  “The only cause I ever believed in was the Corps. Everything else is a job. Sherri pays me well, she’s a good boss to work for, and there are side benefits to my employment.”

  “Are you willing to take a bullet for her?”

  A lazy grin split Zack’s face. “I’ll make sure that round never gets fired.”

  Yorik chuckled.

  “Okay. Understood. Why did you leave after doing twenty if the Corps was your cause?”

  “Probably the same reason you left the Army. I didn’t want to spend another ten moving from one boring duty station to another after my time in the Pathfinders was up. That and I found myself on the wrong side of an officer who made my life miserable.”

  “You were a noncom?”

  “Sergeant first class, combat engineers. What about you? True believer or politically agnostic security professional? I can’t see how a retired military police noncom would suddenly find meaning in radicalism.”

  “What makes you think I was a noncom?”

  Decker tapped the side of his nose with an extended index finger.

  “You and me, we’re cut from the same granite.”

  “Hah.” An amused smile relaxed Yorik’s square face. “The old sergeant’s network. Yeah. I was a staff sergeant back in the day, working patrol.”

  “You still didn’t answer my question.”

  “Security professional, which doesn’t prevent me from considering Gustav and Eva more than just employers.”

  “Understood.”

  “How are you with handheld weapons?”

  “Pretty good. I took the preparatory classes for the Master Gunner qualification before deciding life would be sweeter in the private sector.”

  “Railguns?”

  “Sure, though I’m no expert. The Corps uses them as sniper weapons, and I don’t have the patience or the steady hands for it.”

  Yorik drained his glass then nodded at a connecting door.

  “Follow me.”

  A familiar sight greeted Decker as h
e entered the cozy, mahogany paneled study, and it took every milligram of his training and experience to keep from showing even the slightest reaction. The bag he’d tucked under a bush one valley over sat on the small conference table like the embodiment of a murder accusation.

  “Do you know what this is, Corbin?”

  “No. A pack of some sort.”

  “This,” he opened the top flap, “belongs to whoever murdered Gustav.”

  Decker cocked an eyebrow.

  “Really? How can you tell?”

  “Simple.” Yorik reached in and pulled out the ghillie suit. “Top of the line chameleon wear. A civilian version of the standard Marine Corps issue.” He shook it out and held it up by the shoulders. “Size extra-large. It would fit you nicely.”

  “Or you.”

  Yorik conceded the point with a brief nod.

  “But that’s not everything.” He put the ghillie suit to one side and produced the railgun parts which he placed neatly in assembly order by the pack. “Falkenberg Armaments Longbow Mark Five, chambered for seven-millimeter ammunition, capable of propelling darts at Mach nine, complete with a high-end Hammer Optics scope, unpowered.”

  Decker let out a low whistle.

  “That’s a lot of money sitting right there. Are you telling me that’s what Gustav’s assassin used?”

  “We backtracked the shot and found a faint spoor left by the sniper. It led us where someone parked a ground car about three kilometers from here. My guess is he ditched this stuff in case he ran into a Constabulary checkpoint.” Yorik stepped back to give his guest a clear view.

  “Makes sense.” Decker walked over to the table, hands in his pockets and studied the disassembled weapon. “I guess we’re dealing with a top-shelf pro if he not only uses a gun worth a hundred thousand on the black market but doesn’t think twice about ditching it. He’s unlikely to be local talent.”

  “That’s what I think. Go ahead; feel free to touch the Longbow. Assemble it, if you know how.”

  “As much as I’d like to, I’ll take a pass. That’s evidence in a murder for hire.” Decker looked up at a watchful Yorik. “I assume you intend to hand this to the cops?”

  Yorik crossed his arms and leaned against the ormolu desk.

  “Should I?”

  A frown creased Decker’s forehead.

  “Isn’t it the law?”

  “You said it’s worth a hundred grand on the black market. That’s a lot of money.”

  The Marine shrugged.

  “Do whatever you see fit. It’s no skin off my nose. But kudos for finding the murder weapon. Too bad you couldn’t trace the sniper any further.”

  “Who says we can’t?”

  “A pro who casually abandons something like that railgun? He’s already on an outbound starship.”

  “I checked with friends at the spaceport, and only one ship lifted off since noon, bound for Cimmeria. Those friends sent me a video of the passengers boarding. There was no one big enough for the ghillie suit among them.”

  “Then your professional left this system as crew.”

  Yorik’s eyes narrowed just enough for Zack to notice.

  “I suppose it’s possible. But my gut tells me our man is still on Mission.”

  “More reason to give the evidence to the cops. Their criminalists might find something that could identify the assassin. I’m sure a man of Gustav’s stature had enough friends in gray to make analyzing the ghillie suit and gun a priority.”

  “If you say so.” Yorik pushed himself off the desk and joined Decker by the table. “Were DSA affiliates or members assassinated elsewhere in the sector?”

  “Not that we know of. This is likely a first.”

  “Because I’m wondering whether Eva shouldn’t just say thanks, but no thanks to your offer of a merger, in case she becomes the next target.”

  “Again, no skin off my nose. I just make sure Sherri’s happy and safe. She’s in charge of politics. But if Eva backs out, we’ll need you to return that kilo of MHX-19.”

  “It’s not quite a kilo anymore.”

  “Oh?”

  “Didn’t Alek tell you he took a few grams off the top to prove its power?”

  A gleam of skepticism briefly lit up Yorik’s eyes.

  Decker made a dismissive hand gesture. “He might have mentioned it to Sherri in passing.”

  “By the way, I tried calling Alek earlier this afternoon. He didn’t answer.”

  “Really? He seemed fine when we last spoke not long after your man Floros told him of Gustav’s untimely death.”

  “Spoke? Does that mean you didn’t see him?”

  “No. Our orders from home were to avoid personal contact. Alek sets the groundwork, and when the prospective affiliate is ready, Sherri takes over. That way if things don’t work out...” Decker let the rest of his sentence hang.

  “I see. He never mentioned anything about Sherri or you.”

  “Orders. The DSA likes to keep things compartmentalized. It’s good security. We might find the Freedom Collective incompatible with our organization, in which case, no harm, no foul and good luck to you.”

  “You’d have left us with a block of Mayhem?”

  Decker let a sly smile play on his lips. “No.”

  “And you’d recover it how?”

  “I wouldn’t. There’s a remote-controlled detonator at the heart of the package. We get it back, or it goes boom and clears out half a square kilometer.”

  An appreciatively look appeared on Yorik’s face, and he nodded.

  “Nasty. I scanned the block myself and saw nothing. Not even a shadow.”

  “Of course not. Your sensor has no idea what it’s looking at.” When he saw his ruse give birth to a spark of uncertainty in Yorik’s eyes, Decker’s smile turned into a knowing grin. “And now you’re wondering whether the Mayhem’s current hiding place isn’t too close for comfort. Somewhere on this property, perhaps? A word of advice. Don’t expose the detonator without the disarming code. It’s keyed to trigger a timer upon exposure to air or light, and then you’ll live the longest two minutes of your life. Or the shortest, depending on your beliefs.”

  “Why tell me this?”

  “So that if Sherri decides Eva’s not her sort of people, we can part ways without unpleasantness. As they say, the DSA giveth; the DSA taketh away; blessed be the DSA.”

  A snort of derision. “I thought they said that about the Void.”

  “Perhaps the good Sisters are praying for our success.”

  “I’d never figure them for being radicals.” The soft chime of a dinner gong echoed throughout the manor. “Time to rejoin our employers and enjoy a fine meal. It’s one of the perks of working for the Mission Colony Freedom Collective’s senior leadership.”

  “Very egalitarian, security chiefs and their principals breaking bread together,” Decker said with a hint of irony in his tone.

  “I don’t ask questions and hear no lies.” Yorik gestured toward the connecting door.

  “What about the evidence?”

  “One of my men will bag and tag it for the Constabulary. Maybe they’ll find a DNA trace and link it to a known operator. Someone with a criminal or military record.”

  — Eight —

  “I trust you enjoyed a good conversation between kindred spirits?” Cortez asked when Yorik and Decker entered the dining room.

  “I showed Corbin what my men found earlier. He agrees with my conclusions.”

  “Excellent. If we’re to become part of the DSA, it’s important we see things in the same light.” She gestured at the table. “Sherri, if you’ll sit to my left. Corbin can sit across from you while Piet takes the other end of the table. Piet, please be a dear and serve the wine. It’s a local vintage, but the better ones don’t weather interstellar travel from Earth or Dordogne well enough to be worth the expense.”

  For someone who lost her life partner less than twelve hours earlier, Eva Cortez sounded overly cheerful to Decker’s ears. Bu
t people react to tragedy in surprising ways. Yet the lively gleam in her eyes seemed more than a little fey.

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine, Eva.” Talyn’s voice seemed equally bright.

  Yorik approached the table with a long, dark bottle.

  “Would you like to taste it, Sherri?”

  “I suppose I’d better. Corbin wouldn’t know wine that’s gone bad from dirty socks.” She gave Decker a sardonic smile. “Right?”

  “If you say so, Sherri,” he muttered in a resigned tone. “See what I put up with, Piet?”

  “I heard that, Corbin,” she said in a singsong voice before sighing theatrically. “Good help is so hard to find, don’t you think, Eva.”

  “But hard help is good to find,” he replied with a smirk. “How much Mistassini Diamond was in those gins and tonic?”

  “Never you mind.”

  Yorik splashed a mouthful of wine into Talyn’s glass. She picked it up, studied its color, inhaled its aroma, and then took a small sip which she swirled around her tongue before swallowing.

  “Very nice indeed, Piet. Thank you.”

  He half-filled everyone’s glass before sitting at the foot of the table, opposite Eva, who raised hers and said, “To new alliances.”

  “Hear, hear,” Talyn replied, imitating her. They drank, and then she asked, “What did Gustav share about his discussions with Alek?”

  “Nothing.” Cortez glanced at Yorik. “Gustav preferred to keep thing closely held until he was ready. But Piet told me about the DSA’s gift.”

  “The Mayhem, yes. It is a blunt instrument, but then, sometimes forcing change requires bluntness when one faces entrenched interests.”

  “I warned Piet about the recall mechanism, should you not come to an agreement with Eva.”

  “Oh?” Cortez’s sculpted eyebrow twitched in question.

  “Apparently, there’s a remote-controlled detonator at the brick’s heart,” Yorik replied. “Undetectable and tamper-proof. It requires a code to disarm.”

  “Why would the DSA do that, Sherri?”

  “We’d rather keep such a precious and almost impossible to obtain substance for our affiliates. If you decline our invitation, then I would ask for the Mayhem’s return, no hard feelings.”