by Eric Thomson
“For once.” Decker gave her a complicit wink. “But it’s kind of you to contemplate the broader situation, darling. I’m sure the gendarmes would appreciate your benevolence if they only knew about it.”
“And ruin my reputation for ruthlessness? Perish the thought.”
“Speaking of which, check out the two sleek-looking characters loitering by the main exit. One of them looked away real fast the moment I caught his eye.”
“Maybe he thinks you’re hot but is shy.”
Decker grunted. “Not my type.”
“That didn’t stop you before when it comes to Howlers. I seem to recall a certain Ros Skillen...”
“Strictly business. Besides, I’m not quite as open-minded as you are, my dear.”
“Don’t I know it?” She studied the two young men out of the corner of her eyes as they neared the automatic doors. Well-coiffed with slicked-back hair, they wore designer suits and high-end shoes. Both studiously avoided staring at the operatives, a rookie mistake for watchers. “Hangers-on or probationary Howlers. They don’t look like full-fledged members. Or they’re not related and what happened was a false flag operation.”
“Could be the Confederacy recruits a better class of goons on Cimmeria. They’re carrying, that’s for sure. Those fancy duds weren’t cut to hide a shoulder holster.”
“A lot of people on Cimmeria carry.”
Decker and Talyn passed the men without paying them a shred of attention and stepped out into the warm midday air. Sunlight caressed Decker’s face for the first time since leaving Mission Colony, and he let loose a contented sigh.
“Nice.” He glanced around and found a public transit stop immediately to their right. “We ride in style?”
“Might as well. It’ll give us the chance to study your admirer and his friend, should they be inclined to tail us.”
“Want me to simper at him?”
“Knock yourself out, but I think it’ll backfire. Your version of simpering would send a Shrehari Marine into convulsions.”
“You wound me deeply.”
A silent, automatic bus in light blue and white municipal transit colors pulled up after dropping travelers by the departures hall. Its doors opened with a sigh, revealing a clean, spare interior of molded plastic seats and bright yellow handholds. Movement behind them reflected in the vehicle’s polarized windows caught his attention.
“No need to test your scurrilous assertion. Our little buddies are joining us.”
They climbed aboard and sat in the first available row. The two men jumped in moments before the doors closed. Neither appeared to care the slightest bit about Decker and Talyn, but both agents sensed their interest as if the men were hunting dogs on a fresh spoor.
“Probies.” Decker muttered. “Figures. Can’t tail a blind man without getting made.”
“To be fair, we enjoy an advantage over most people.”
“Sure, but as I always say, if you’re playing fair, you’re not playing to win, sweetheart. Not in our line of business.”
“Granted.”
The bus took them along a broad, tree-lined avenue connecting the inland spaceport with Howard’s Landing proper, which was strung along the shores of a broad fjord surrounded by snow-capped mountains. The fjord’s mouth, facing due south, gave onto the subtropical Borrachas Sea separating Cimmeria’s largest continent, Hyperborea, from its second largest, Kusan, which straddled the planet’s equator. Soon after coming over a rise, they saw the city itself, spilling down a shallow slope until it petered out by the sparkling dark waters of the deep inlet.
From this distance, it was impossible to tell Howard’s Landing had been almost entirely razed by the Shrehari during the final days of the war. Seventy years of peace and reconstruction had erased most of the scars. Where a rough and tumble colonial settlement once stood when the Empire’s troops landed, a bustling city had taken its rightful place among humanity’s brightest.
Yet Decker couldn’t stop himself from superimposing the image of the devastated Silfax Mining Complex onto Cimmeria’s vibrant capital and felt his stomach sink.
“I doubt they’re Howlers,” Talyn murmured, tearing him away from visions of Armageddon. “Wrong vibe. Too clean cut.”
The Marine nodded once, acknowledging her statement. She was rarely off the mark where it concerned people. Unable to feel empathy or any connection with humanity at large, Talyn had studied others for decades so she could detect and identify social cues. It allowed her to function more or less normally and not betray her true nature, a useful skill for an intelligence agent.
“If not our lupine friends, then who?”
“No idea. They may not be particularly skilled at running a tail, but they’re no amateurs either. My guess is standard-issue security consultants, but working for the wealthy set.”
Decker let out a soft grunt.
“Hence the fancy suits. Friends of Gudrun Mariano, perhaps? Making sure we don’t track Mysterious Maggie with the potentially serious family connections?”
“As good a theory as any.”
“Meaning we keep our distance and not worry if they notice us entering Constabulary HQ, never to re-emerge.”
“Give yourself a pat on the back for being smart instead of a smartass, though I’m not sure yet about making a switch. It depends on how thrilled the gray-legs are to see us.”
The Marine made a face.
“If that’s the criteria, we’re screwed. No one is thrilled to see us.”
Talyn didn’t reply, and they contented themselves with watching the scenery unfold until the bus reached the outskirts of Howard’s Landing where one and two-story buildings sprouted from the greenery like exotic mushrooms. These soon gave way to taller structures, though none boasting over ten floors, Old Government House, now home to the Constabulary’s Rim Sector HQ, among them.
When they finally caught sight of the sweeping central plaza on the fjord’s shores, at the far end of the avenue, Talyn climbed to her feet and touched a yellow panel above Decker’s head. The bus glided to a gentle halt, and both agents jumped off, leaving the two young men to glare at them with annoyance as the doors closed again before they could react.
“Better luck next time, boys,” Decker said, watching the bus resume its route while Talyn took her bearings.
After a moment’s reflection, she nodded toward a side street.
“We’ll take the long way around just in case our friends decide to backtrack.”
“Why the sudden shake?” He followed Talyn into the shadows of a low-rise office building whose subdued signage advertised legal and notary services.
“Amateurs annoy me.”
Her tone told Decker instinct nudged his partner into changing course. Asking for clarification was futile because she wouldn’t be capable of articulating the reason. Surviving three decades as a field agent in a hostile galaxy had taught her to follow intuition without hesitating.
The moment they turned a corner to take the avenue paralleling that connecting downtown Howard’s Landing with its spaceport, Talyn spotted a department store one block away and indicated it with her chin.
“We find changing rooms and turn back into our real selves. I’ve just decided we’re entering the Rim Sector Constabulary HQ as Major Decker and Commander Talyn. Ned Sarkin and Lena Taryen have attracted more than enough unwanted attention in the last day, meaning their usefulness is over for the moment.”
“Plus it’ll see us past the guards and into your friend’s office that much faster, since time is of the essence if the Silfax attack was merely a warm-up designed to soften the Cimmerian government’s resolve.”
A subdued atmosphere hung over the store. Few of the humans present paid attention to the two operatives and then only with sideways glances. Employees murmured among themselves, eyes glued to newscasts while a handful of customers shopped in a desultory fashion. Everyone seemed to focus on the worst single day’s loss of life in this star system since the war.
No one appeared to notice that the man and women who exited the change rooms a few minutes later didn’t resemble the pair who entered save for generalities — height, build, and hair color. Even their clothes no longer appeared quite the same.
The Constabulary HQ building, a solemn affair clad in gray stone quarried close to the current spaceport during Cimmeria’s post-war reconstruction, sat like a brooding pile within sight of the fjord’s dark waters. Once home to the colonial governor and administrative staff, it was vacated when Cimmeria achieved independence as a sovereign entity within the Commonwealth.
The first Cimmerian government, eager to break from the past, moved into a newly built precinct surrounding what was now the city’s central plaza, a broad, grassy space dominated by the statue of R.E. Howard, who founded the colony more than a century earlier.
As they neared the capital’s administrative heart, from where bureaucrats and politicians governed Cimmeria and its star system, the Gendarmerie patrols they’d seen so far gave way to squads of Cimmerian National Guard soldiers in full fighting order.
“For folks who won’t officially call Silfax a terrorist incident, they sure are setting the conditions to declare martial law,” Decker commented, his eyes giving the troops a critical once-over. “Those guardsmen are carrying live ammo. Either the law enforcement agencies know a lot more than they’re letting on or the government is panicking.”
“Bet on the former, Zack. They experienced trouble last year with those revolutionary cretins who blew themselves up before they did any damage. That was enough incentive for the prime minister to beef up the Gendarmerie’s security intelligence division.”
Decker grimaced.
“Which means the government figures Silfax might be an opening move with more to come unless they shut it down. If I can see a video of the moment it happened and confirm the detonation’s origin, I might give them added cause to worry.”
“The MHX-19?”
“Yeah, and for that, we’ll need official sanction. Time to check if Chief Superintendent Morrow still loves you, honey.”
“Try to remember you’re a Marine Corps officer when you meet her and keep those flirtatious tendencies under control.”
“Aye, aye, Commander, sir.”
— Twenty-Three —
Decker and Talyn entered a spacious lobby designed to awe the hoi polloi. However, these days, it boasted nothing more than a few chairs, half a dozen displays with police artifacts, several images and paintings on beige walls, and a reception desk barring the way. A large representation of the Constabulary’s crest, scales of justice balanced on the shaft of an arrow, surrounded by a laurel wreath was embedded in the white marble floor.
The sim behind the desk — an androgynous hologram showing no identifiable ethnic characteristics — rose to its photonic feet and smiled.
“Welcome to the Commonwealth Constabulary’s Rim Sector Headquarters. My name is Hector. How may I be of service?”
“I am Commander Hera Talyn, Commonwealth Navy, and this is Major Zachary Decker, Commonwealth Marine Corps. We’re Armed Services HQ liaison officers here to see Chief Superintendent Caelin Morrow.”
“Could I see your identification please, Commander, Major?” The sim asked in an ingratiating tone.
They produced their official ID wafers.
“Thank you. I contacted the Sector’s Professional Compliance Bureau detachment. Someone will come down to meet you. Please take a seat.”
While Talyn composed herself to wait in one of the deceptively comfortable chairs, Decker wandered around the lobby and inspected what was in effect a mini-museum devoted to the Constabulary’s history in the Rim Sector. An amateur historian himself, the Marine never missed the opportunity to increase his general fund of knowledge, no matter how esoteric or obscure a fact might be.
He was examining a set of early twenty-sixth-century submission manacles when the inner doors opened soundlessly. A rotund man with a grandfatherly face and a dark, luxuriant beard marked by a white streak over the chin ambled into the lobby at a sedate pace. His lips pulled up in a genuine smile when he caught sight of Talyn.
“My dear Commander. I thought Hector was malfunctioning when he sent word you were asking to see the chief. How are you?”
Talyn climbed to her feet and grasped his hand.
“Keeping well. And you, Inspector?”
“Tolerable, which is about the best one can say in my line of work.”
“This is my partner, Major Zack Decker. Zack, meet Inspector Arno Galdi. He was Caelin’s wingman during the Aquilonia business.”
The Marine shook hands with Galdi only to discover he wasn’t nearly as soft as he seemed.
“Inspector.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Major. The chief and I always had a sneaking suspicion Montague Hobart was actually her partner, but you can’t possibly be him, even with the best disguise.”
Decker released Galdi’s grip. “No, indeed not. The man you knew as Montague Hobart was a colleague of ours, a lieutenant commander working for the same organization as we are.”
“Was?”
“He died in the line of duty earlier this year.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. The chief will be as well.”
“He was a fine officer and a good man. One of the best.”
“An epitaph I would be proud to earn.” Galdi waved at the doors behind Hector. “Shall we head to the tenth-floor dungeon, where honest constables fear to tread, let alone those of the dishonest variety? I’m afraid the chief is sitting in on a meeting of the sector division heads. It’s all hands on deck right now as you can imagine.” He ushered them into the corridor and indicated a bank of lifts. “Might I surmise your presence here is connected to the attack on the Silfax Complex?”
“It is, though we didn’t expect a disaster of that magnitude to greet us upon arrival.”
“And since you’re acquainted with the chief, you thought it best to get in touch rather than stay incognito.” Galdi gave Talyn a knowing look. “What do you intelligence folks call it? I believe the ancient term is coming in from the cold, yes?”
They stepped into a lift cab whose doors closed with a sigh.
“Something like that. You’ll need to ask Major Decker. Unfortunately for the rest of us, historical trivia is his specialty.”
Galdi turned an impish look on the Marine and said, “Really? In that case, you and I need to compare notes. I also drive my commanding officer around the bend with this sort of thing.”
Talyn, recognizing she’d enabled kindred spirits to acknowledge each other, at least in her partner’s quasi-obsession with history, let out a soft groan. The cab came to a smooth stop and disgorged them on a landing with two doors. One led to the building’s mechanical room, the other had a sign announcing the home of the Professional Compliance Bureau — Rim Sector Detachment.
“All hope abandon ye who enter here,” Decker intoned as Galdi led them through the second door.
The inspector nodded.
“An amusingly apt quote, Major. I confess to finding Dante Alighieri most interesting.
“Through me you pass into the city of woe:
Through me you pass into eternal pain:
Through me among the people lost for aye.
Justice the founder of my fabric moved:
To rear me was the task of power divine,
Supremest wisdom, and primeval love.
Before me things create were none, save things
Eternal, and eternal I endure.
All hope abandon ye who enter here.”
“Nicely done,” Decker said with a broad grin. “We definitely must compare notes.”
“The Almighty help me.” Talyn gave her partner a playful backhander on the arm. “Don’t enjoy yourself too much, buddy. We’re still on the job.”
“Can I offer you coffee?” Galdi asked. “I’m afraid the sticky buns are gone by now.”
“I’m always up for a cup
,” Decker replied. “And if you can point me at a food dispenser, I’ll gladly take whatever it offers.”
“Good. It was either set you up in an interview suite to wait for the chief or use the break room until she comes up from the deputy chief commissioner’s emergency conference. At least the latter offers a few amenities, but sadly no dispenser. However, DCC Maras isn’t one to stretch things out so the chief won’t be long.”
“The chief,” a woman’s rich alto said behind them, “is back. And what’s this? A Navy officer with dubious duties and a man who I suppose is her enigmatic partner, one I’ve heard of many times but never met?”
They turned, and Decker caught sight of a washed-out, middle-aged blond with shoulder length hair and an angular face dominated by penetrating, intelligent blue eyes. Like Inspector Galdi, she wore a civilian business suit rather than the Constabulary’s gray uniform, and the Marine was struck by how much she resembled his partner, save for the hair and eye color.
“Should I be worried to see you show up on my turf unannounced?” Chief Superintendent Caelin Morrow held out her hand to Talyn while a smile more welcoming than cold tugged at her thin-lipped mouth. “How are you, Hera? I caught wind of the Scandia business a few months ago. Well done.”
The Constabulary officer turned toward Zack. “And you must be the infamous Major Decker.”
They shook, and the Marine replied, with a grin, “I don’t know about the infamous part, sir, but that’s my name and rank. If you want my serial number, you’ll have to interrogate me, but I know ways of making sure it’s fun.”
Morrow snorted. “You come across pretty much as I thought, based on Hera’s description — questionable humor included. And we can dispense with formalities, Zack. Call me Caelin.”