by Eric Thomson
An image of widespread ruin filled the largest of the screens. It appeared as if someone or something vaporized an entire mountainside, leaving nothing but a blackened crater.
Vegetation surrounding the epicenter smoldered, sending black, greasy tendrils heavenward. Here and there, along the edge, Decker could barely make out the angular shapes of what had once been human constructs, now shredded by whatever struck them.
A news presenter wearing the quasi-androgynous face of a sim materialized to one side.
“These are the remains of the Silfax Mining Complex at the heart of the Uttara Kuru Mountains, five hundred kilometers south of Archeron. It was, until today, one of the largest of its kind in the entire Rim Sector. The Cimmerian government confirms that around oh-nine-thirty local time this morning, a massive explosion destroyed the extensive installations, including the mine itself, the refinery, the administrative precinct, and the company town. An anonymous source within the Cimmerian Civil Protection Agency said although rescue efforts are ongoing, it is unlikely anyone on the surface survived.
Under a best-case scenario, the two hundred and fifty miners underground at the time of the explosion might be the only ones left alive. It means over three thousand people — off-duty miners, refinery and support workers, and their families, including almost five hundred children — were killed. Authorities are declining to speculate whether the explosion was accidental or the result of sabotage.”
“Accidental, my ass,” Decker muttered with barely restrained fury. “I’ll bet this is the DSA’s handiwork, using a few dozen kilos of MHX. We got here too damn late. The massacre of innocents has started, and that means I’m hoisting the black flag.”
Talyn, her ears attuned to Decker’s moods, put a calming hand on his shoulder.
“Agreed. But don’t go berserker on me. We still need to question anyone we capture alive. Mission Colony and Cimmeria aren’t the only Rim Sector star systems targeted by the DSA.”
Decker’s exhalation fell just short of a sigh.
“Don’t worry. Ask first, shoot afterward. I know the drill. But we can’t keep our current operational profile. Not anymore. This is bigger than two undercover Special Operations Division agents, now that someone’s committed mass murder.”
“You’re sure there’s no possibility of it being an accident? A reactor failing catastrophically for example?” The Marine gave her an irritated glare, so she raised her hands in surrender. “Fair enough. Explosives are your area of expertise.”
“If they have a visual of the moment it happened, I’ll know for sure.”
“The only way to access anything substantive about the incident is through official channels, Zack. They’ll lock this one tight if they even so much as suspect an act of terrorism, including visual records other than the image over there.”
She jerked a thumb at the news display.
“Going through official channels means someone will ask us questions we don’t want to answer, such as how we obtained information about subversive activity on Cimmeria and why said subversives seem to have a large quantity of the most restricted non-nuclear explosive known.”
A sly look slowly spread across his square face.
“Apropos of nothing whatsoever, since we’re already here, I wouldn’t mind meeting this friend of yours in the Professional Compliance Bureau and letting her know about Assistant Commissioner Bujold’s unhappy friendships. What was her name again?” He raised his eyes to the ceiling and tapped his chin with an extended index finger. “Caelin something or other? I hear she’s a real handful.”
Talyn jabbed her elbow into his ribs.
“Morrow, you big lummox. Not a bad idea. Hopefully, she’s at home and not terminating a high-ranking Constabulary officer’s career in another part of the sector. I’ll call once we’re in Howard’s Landing. And on that note...”
She gestured at the corridor leading toward the shuttle hangar.
“At least we know why there’s an enhanced police presence,” Decker said, falling into step beside his partner. “The Gendarmerie or our cousins in gray must have heard chatter on darknet radical sites while we were in transit from Mission. But with no clue as to the what, where and when.”
“Or the how. That was one hell of a blast, Zack.”
“Yep. I can only think of a few things able to cause so much devastation, and since they’re not warning folks of radioactive fallout danger, that eliminates most.”
His jaw muscles worked as he chewed on his anger.
“I want to find the evil fucks who weaponized Cimmeria’s radical idiots and wipe them from the face of the galaxy. Radicals? Hell, they’re nothing more than the saddest of life’s losers, perpetual teenagers prone to blaming their failures on anyone but themselves, something that makes them embrace puerile garbage like the collectivism of the Mission Colony Freedom Cretins. We’ve not seen that brand of stupidity in a long time, though it was pretty popular in pre-diaspora days. And it turned into a disastrous mess every single time. The idiots could never figure out why, yet the mental retardation appears to be alive and well centuries later.”
Talyn gave him a quelling glare. “I hope you got the need to lecture me on human failings out of your system, Zack. We have to think about adjusting our plans.”
They turned a corner and entered the shuttle terminal just in time to see Maggie, her bodyguard and the rest of the entourage climbing aboard a small, sleek orbital craft. It was unmarked save for a registration number, but its lines exuded the aura of wealth only people with names like Annear, Hakkam, or Yagudin could boast.
“So much for riding to Howard’s Landing with the ladies,” Decker remarked in a philosophical tone. “That little beauty could be headed anywhere. Too bad, but we have other things to keep us busy anyway.”
“Like the rather intense frown coming our way from that Gendarmerie sergeant by the ticketing counter?”
Decker’s eyes shifted to one side, and he grunted.
“Those are I got you, you sonofabitch eyes if I’ve ever seen any. Do you think Kreipe or the local Howlers hung a rap on us with the plod?”
“Why not? It ensures we don’t vanish into the countryside and escape punishment. The Cimmerian Gendarmerie are cleaner than most, but as my old friend Caelin will tell you, every police force has a percentage of bent cops.”
“What’s the plan?”
“Play along. If things go sideways, I’ll call Chief Superintendent Morrow.”
“Prepare that comlink address. The sergeant and his wingman are moving in to cut us off from a seat on the next shuttle.”
— Twenty-One —
Decker turned a lazy smile on the distinctly unfriendly Gendarmerie noncom.
“Anything we can help you with, Sergeant?”
“Identification, please.”
The gendarme pulled a small tablet from his equipment harness. The operatives retrieved and held out their ID wafers. He waved his reader over them and then studied its screen.
“Ned Sarkin and Lena Taryen.” The man looked up.
“Yes.”
“Please come with us to the Gendarmerie station.”
“Why?” Talyn asked in a not particularly pleasant tone.
“We received a complaint. I presume you’re armed.”
“Of course. We’re bonded private security consultants, as our IDs indicate.”
Talyn carefully opened her jacket to show the blaster tucked under her left armpit. The Marine imitated her moments later.
“Please surrender your weapons.”
“Are we under arrest, Sergeant?”
“Not yet.”
“Then you have no legal cause to disarm us. My partner and I will give the Gendarmerie our full cooperation as per the professional obligations imposed by our bonds. May I inquire about the nature of this complaint?”
Caught off-guard by Talyn’s reasonable tone, the sergeant studied her with eyes oozing suspicion.
“I am not privy to the par
ticulars. They will be relayed to you at the station. My instructions were merely to detain Ned Sarkin and Lena Taryen.”
“Then please lead us to whoever in your Gendarmerie detachment has the relevant information.”
“There’s still the matter of your weapons.”
“We will surrender them if and when we’re arrested, per applicable federal and star system laws. Now please take us to your station so we may clear this matter up and be on our way. Or call your supervisor.” Talyn’s tone remained as reasonable as before, but no one would miss the steel behind it.
After a pregnant pause, the sergeant conceded defeat with a brief, angry glare, then gestured toward the corridor leading away from the shuttle terminal.
“Follow me.”
The noncom led them through a warren of passageways until they reached an airtight door marked Cimmerian Gendarmerie — Valerys Detachment. Once inside, he directed them to an interview room as bare and utilitarian as the rest of the station’s service decks.
“Please wait here.”
The sergeant and his colleague vanished.
Knowing they were under observation, Talyn and Decker took the two chairs on one side of the metal table and composed themselves. If the gendarmes were hoping for unguarded words between partners, they would be sorely disappointed.
Ten minutes passed before the door opened again, this time to admit a stone-faced Gendarmerie officer with a lieutenant’s stripes on her collar. Middle-aged, careworn, with short dark hair and emotionless blue eyes, she reminded Talyn of Major Jon Pullar, who commanded the Aquilonia Station Gendarmerie Detachment while she was detained there on suspicion of murder.
“Ned Sarkin and Lena Taryen, I’m Angelique DuToit. Thank you for coming without causing a fuss. I understand you declined to surrender your weapons.”
“We did,” Decker replied. “Tell me, Lieutenant, how many fall for your gendarmes’ spiel and hand over their guns even though they don’t have to?”
The ghost of a smile flitted across DuToit’s thin lips.
“Only those whose grasp of the law is deficient, and that rules out pretty much anyone in your line of business, Ser Sarkin.”
“Now what’s this about a complaint?” Talyn asked.
DuToit took a seat across from them and placed her clasped hands on the tabletop.
“Captain Hanno Kreipe of the freighter Thebes, aboard which you traveled here, lodged an assault complaint against you. He alleges you attacked him and two of his crewmembers without provocation. Would you care to comment?”
The agents exchanged knowing glances. So this was how Kreipe hoped to deflect the Howlers’ displeasure.
“And what evidence does he offer for this outlandish claim?” Talyn asked.
“So you deny the accusation?”
“Categorically. People in our line of business would quickly forfeit their bond and lose their livelihoods by carrying out unprovoked acts of violence on bystanders.” Decker repressed a secret smile at Talyn’s choice of words. She was telling nothing less than the truth, and convincingly enough for any invisible observer trained to detect falsehood even in subjects such as her. “Perhaps it might be useful if you could share the details of Captain Kreipe’s allegations, Lieutenant.”
Talyn’s voice seemed almost hypnotically smooth and Decker wondered whether DuToit would recognize the inflection for what it was — that of a master interrogator, skilled at manipulating others into revealing more than they wanted.
“Captain Kreipe and two of his crew members accuse you of causing a disturbance aboard Thebes and when confronted, pulling your weapons on them.”
“Does Captain Kreipe offer evidence beyond an accusation?”
Decker could have sworn a pained look crossed DuToit’s eyes.
“He and his crew gave us statements.”
“So no evidence.” Talyn nodded as if the gendarme’s response was what she expected. “Which is why we were invited to attend your station instead of being arrested on the spot. But I’m not surprised. We saw signs during our trip that Kreipe is either in league with the Confederacy of the Howling Stars or indebted to them. And since my partner and I are on the Howlers’ least favored persons list, perhaps this is an attempt to take us out of the game so he can ingratiate himself with the mob or pay off a marker. If so, it’s rather ham-fisted.”
Surprise lit up DuToit’s face. It was quickly followed by indecision. After a moment of silence, she said, “A not unreasonable deduction, Sera Taryen. Our Constabulary colleagues have long suspected Kreipe of playing footsie with the Howlers, which is why we made this a friendly interview.”
“You wanted to see what sort of person our friend Hanno might be trying to screw.”
“Just so. But I’m a good judge of people, and Kreipe always comes across as a slippery bugger. Yes, I’ve met the man before today. Then, there’s the fact our intelligence on him, and his ship confirms my gut instinct. You, on the other hand, make me think of folks able to seize something like Thebes with little difficulties, which makes Kreipe’s accusation suspect.”
She paused again and studied both agents.
“I can well believe you and he clashed about something or other. Apparently, he’s possessed of a quick temper and poor judgment. But since Kreipe produced no bodies or physically injured parties, it would indicate you exercised restraint, no?”
“If you didn’t think he had a case to present, why ask us in for a talk, Lieutenant?”
A humorless smile appeared.
“As I said, in part to satisfy my curiosity and find out why a sketchy spacer might want to press dubious charges against his own passengers, but also to pull you two out of circulation until Thebes leaves Valerys. If Kreipe and his crew have a beef with you, especially something that might involve the Howlers, it’s best you lie low until they’re gone. If you haven’t noticed yet, things are unsettled today, and we’d like to keep a lid on any potential trouble.”
Talyn inclined her head by way of acknowledgment.
“We caught a newscast on the way to the shuttle terminal. What happens now?”
“Now? I’ll ask you to stay here until Thebes cuts loose from the docking ring. After that, you’re free to resume your voyage.”
“Any Howler activity on Valerys?”
“Some, but since we stepped up patrols, they’ve been noticeably law-abiding.”
“So the enhanced police presence started before this morning’s terrorist attack on the Silfax Mining Complex.”
Instead of replying, DuToit climbed to her feet.
“Have a safe trip. Someone will escort you back to the shuttle terminal at the right time, which shouldn’t be long. Thebes never tarries at Valerys. Our docking fees don’t suit Captain Kreipe’s limited budget.”
“Comes from playing the ponies without knowing how to calculate the odds.”
“What makes you say that, Ser Sarkin?”
The Marine tapped the side of his nose with an extended finger.
“Hanno reeks of unpaid gambling debts. That’s why he figured taking us on to please his creditors was a winning strategy. Don’t be surprised if Thebes shows up under a different master next time around. Mobbed up body art aficionados don’t take failure kindly.”
“Indeed.” She turned on her heels and left them to wait patiently, though they knew the invisible listeners remained at their posts.
A taciturn Gendarmerie corporal appeared thirty minutes later and wordlessly motioned them to follow him. An hour after that, they were ensconced in the cheap seats at the back of the regular shuttle linking Valerys Station with the Cimmerian capital, Howard’s Landing.
As the craft nosed its way through the open space doors, Decker leaned over to whisper in his partner’s ear.
“Why do I get the feeling DuToit arranged for a few plainclothes gendarmes to wait for us planetside, in case we’re more than unjustly maligned private security consultants who ran afoul of the biggest crime syndicate in the Rim?”
“Although they’re not calling it terrorism just yet. What’s the plan?”
“Same as before. Visit what used to be government house when Cimmeria was a self-governing colony and see if Chief Superintendent Morrow still thinks of me as a friend. That ought to convince the Gendarmerie their efforts shouldn’t be wasted on the likes of us. They face bigger problems.”
— Twenty-Two —
“So far, I see nothing that looks like a plainclothes cop,” Decker murmured as he and Talyn crossed the Howard’s Landing spaceport terminal, just two more travelers in the crowd. “But they’re putting on a real show with the uniformed variety. Perhaps DuToit didn’t alert her colleagues, or she did, and they figured we weren’t worth it.”
The police presence was even more pervasive than on Valerys Station, and more heavily armed. Gendarmes, in pairs, patrolled the arrivals halls, suspicious eyes spearing each new face with a searching stare. It seemed as if they expected the culprits for the Silfax Mining Complex destruction to be among the passengers arriving on the suborbital shuttle from Archeron, Cimmeria’s second largest city, which sat on the southern shore of the Borrachas Sea.
“Sounds reasonable. On the other hand, we know the average Cimmerian gendarme isn’t stupid.” Talyn surreptitiously pulled a handheld sensor from her tunic pocket and aimed it at the Marine without breaking stride. “Sneaky buggers. I don’t know how, but they tagged you with a tracker, Big Boy.”
Decker thought back at their interaction with the Valerys Gendarmerie detachment from first to last and grunted.
“That corporal who guided us back to the shuttle terminal gave me a little tap on the shoulder as we left the station when you were walking in front of us.”
“Yep. That’s where it is.”
“Should we remove it?”
“No. Let’s allow the trackers to spot us visit their federal cousins before they lose our trace. Otherwise, who knows what the Gendarmerie will believe and how much effort they might divert from hunting terrorists. Strangers who shake surveillance with ease during tense times quickly become persons of interest. There’s no point in adding needlessly to the policing burden right now since we’re not here to mess with the star system government.”