Hard Strike

by Eric Thomson

  “The boss or Admiral Kruczek might disagree.”

  “Bugger ‘em. We’ll go rogue and ask for forgiveness afterward. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “If the response you’re contemplating is what I think, you might not find forgiveness so easily.”

  Decker took another mouthful of whiskey and tucked the bottle away.

  “We’ll discuss it again when the time comes, darling. For now, shower and sleep.”

  “What?” She smirked at him. “No lewd invitations?”

  “I gave you the chance earlier. Now the only arms I want are those of Morpheus.” He grabbed his bag and stood. “Downward, ho.”

  **

  The next morning, during ablutions in the shared barracks-style washroom, Decker and Talyn attracted curious looks from Constabulary members with whom they’d shared the bank of sarcophagus-like sleeping pods.

  But none seemed brave enough to question the big, taciturn man with the aura of suppressed violence or his cold, almost predatory companion. Similar puzzlement followed them as they entered the officer’s mess for breakfast in Morrow and Galdi’s company.

  “Nice place.” Decker’s eyes studied the large, formal, wood-paneled common room. “It looks like the Constabulary still has a lot of Armed Services DNA in its makeup. I could almost believe myself in the Fleet HQ mess back on Caledonia.”

  “Some days I despair at the thought we have a few too many military chromosomes left for comfort. We’ll sit over there,” Morrow said, pointing at a separate table in the corner as they made their way to the buffet. “It’s the most private, and since no one wants to be seen in public near Firing Squad officers in any case, we should be able to speak freely.”

  Once they were seated, Talyn asked, “Why do you say the Constabulary is still overly militarized? Your police regiments and battalions are often the only full-time defense force many outlying colonies can call on for protection.”

  “I don’t mean that,” Morrow replied around a bite of scrambled eggs. “It’s the mindset. We’re police, not soldiers. The chain of command is a necessary thing, but cops can’t treat it with the same reverence as you military folks.”

  Talyn jerked a thumb at Decker.

  “Not everyone in a Fleet uniform reveres higher ranks.”

  “So I understand. But investigating constables gone wrong, no matter the rank, has taught me a lot of the strays would have stayed between the lines if they were more willing to question their seniors and if necessary, act to constrain them.” Morrow picked up her coffee mug and raised it as if in salute. “Don’t mind me. I always thought the Constabulary needs to work harder on developing a separate culture from the Armed Services, but I’m shouting into a hurricane for all the good it does. And I’ve yet to finish my first coffee of the day, so...”

  “She is usually a tad fierce this early,” Galdi said. “A good thing when arresting a bent assistant commissioner, less so when breaking bread with friends and colleagues.”

  Morrow made a face at her inspector, but Decker understood the back and forth was more of a ritual than anything serious, a long-standing debate among colleagues close enough to allow themselves brutal honesty.

  “Changing the subject deliberately, before I heap more opprobrium on the Constabulary because of acute caffeine deprivation, did you find anything useful in the data after Arno and I clocked off last night?”

  “Nothing that’ll lead us to the culprits, or even their identity. But the survey results from the site confirm Zack’s conclusion Silfax was destroyed by a severely restricted explosive that should never have ended up in civilian hands, let alone those of violent radicals.”

  “What’s next?”

  Talyn shrugged before popping a ripe berry in her mouth.

  “Hope your Gendarmerie contact will give us everything they know about Alasdair Malter today, and without asking too many questions,” she said after swallowing. “In the meantime, we’ll continue to analyze every single bit of intelligence the Cimmerians develop hoping to find an angle they missed.”

  “Such as Magda Annear,” Decker said after finishing a healthy slice of smoked ham. “Call it a wild notion, but her traveling incognito on a tramp freighter when she’s the daughter and partner of such illustrious, wealthy citizens as Senator Annear, and Pavel Yagudin seems wonky. I don’t believe in coincidences, not when our favorite fake social justice organization could be involved. Maybe we should pay Louis Sorne a visit and see if that spawn of Baphomet financed mass murder. Five gets you ten he’s still running things from inside his country club jail.”

  Morrow inclined her head in agreement.

  “More than likely. I saw his true face when he ordered me killed. Sorne is pure evil, capable of anything. Human lives are worthless to him, something he learned by cooperating with the Shrehari occupiers during his youth. And Antoine Hakkam, better known as Fast Tony in law enforcement circles, is his master’s dog in everything.”

  “Well,” Decker drawled before taking a sip of coffee, “if the motherless bastard had a hand in the Silfax atrocity, I don’t doubt he’ll learn a painfully terminal lesson in how worthless his own life is.”

  “Pardon?”

  Morrow speared the Marine with a suspicious stare.

  “Never mind, Caelin. I also need a good dose of caffeine before the ugly barbarian in me gets a jolt of civilization.”

  “May I remind both of you that there are laws, even for dealing with terrorists, radicals, and the Louis Sornes of this galaxy?”

  Decker’s face lit up with a wicked grin.

  “Sure. I’m a great believer in justice. Natural justice that is.”

  “I don’t think—” Morrow’s communicator buzzed. She retrieved it from her tunic pocket and glanced at the screen. “Eat up. The Cimmerian prime minister’s office just received a message claiming responsibility for Silfax.”

  “Not even twenty-four hours?” Decker shoved a last bit of egg into his mouth and swallowed. “I would have bet on another half day to let the Cimmerian government stew a little longer. Our doers must either be overly eager or on a tight timetable.” He drained his coffee and stood. “Let’s get to it, people.”

  — Twenty-Eight —

  A woman of imposing stature, as tall as Decker but not quite as wide or muscular, greeted them on the tenth floor.

  “All hell has broken loose, Chief,” she said without preamble in a surprisingly deep voice.

  “No doubt. Commander Talyn, Major Decker, this is Master Sergeant Destine Bonta, one of my most senior investigators. She’s part of our ad hoc liaison team.”

  Bonta stuck out her hand.

  “Glad to make your acquaintance, Commander. The chief and Inspector Galdi didn’t tell us much after solving the mysterious case of the warrior’s knife.”

  “Is that what you’re calling it?”

  “We give every one of our cases a fancy name. They’re easier to remember that way.”

  The Constabulary noncom released Talyn and turned to Zack. He immediately realized Bonta was one of the few women he’d ever met who could stare him in the eye without tilting her head back. And stare she did.

  “Major.”

  “Sergeant.”

  Her grip was hard, testing and Decker wondered what the others saw. They were a study in contrast, she bronze-skinned and dark-haired, he pale and blond, yet both forces of nature in their own right. The Marine briefly wondered how her powerful presence would come across in a more intimate setting. She must have seen something of that thought reflected in his eyes because a cold smile tugged at her lips.

  “Charmed, I’m sure,” Bonta said, giving him one last punishing squeeze before she let go. “Chief, Colonel Joubert wants to speak with you and the SOCOM officers as soon as possible.”

  “I thought that would be the case. My office, everyone.”

  While they found additional chairs in the detectives’ bullpen across the hall, Morrow opened a link with Gendarmerie HQ across town. Jo
ubert wasn’t long in accepting her call.

  “Good morning, Chief Superintendent.”

  “Good morning, Colonel. As you can see, the rest of my team and our two SOCOM liaison officers are with me.”

  “Hello. Well, someone finally claimed responsibility for the Silfax Mining Complex and, as expected, it was the DSA. Prime Minister Calvo received a message thirty minutes ago. It informed him Silfax was a warning shot and that if the illegitimate plutocratic regime oppressing the Cimmerian people doesn’t open negotiations on a fundamental reform of every governmental institution, a second economically important target would suffer the same fate. They copied the newscasts, but we asked them in advance to hold anything they receive until we clear it for publication. So far they’re complying, but the embargo won’t last. And before you ask, we weren’t able to trace the message’s origins. It bounced around the satellite constellation over four dozen times as far as we can tell.”

  Decker shook his head.

  “Illegitimate plutocratic regime? They sound remarkably like the bunch we went after on Mission Colony. Are all of those idiots using the pre-diaspora handbook for radical retards? The only plutocrats I see around here are probably financing the DSA.”

  Talyn gave her partner a quelling glance, but Joubert nodded in agreement.

  “I agree, Major. It sounds terribly overwrought and centuries out of date, but here we are. When you mention plutocrats financing the DSA, what do you mean?”

  “I’d put the Deep Space Foundation and its board of directors, whether they’re in a country club prison or living it large on their estates, at the head of your list. But they won’t be involved in the nuts and bolts of this terror campaign, nor will any financial contribution to the DSA’s coffers be traced back to them. Did the DSA list the reforms it wants?”

  “No. For now, they expect a public acknowledgment by the prime minister that the Cimmerian government requires a complete overhaul. The details come when Calvo agrees to negotiate.”

  “Of course, reform isn’t actually the desired end state because anyone but the most blinkered ideologue knows no sane politician will bow to terrorist pressure,” Talyn said. “Besides, groups like the DSA don’t possess enough intellect to assume control over the governance of a star system, though they probably think themselves smarter than most, and their financial backers know it. In my estimation, the goal is to paralyze and then destabilize the legitimate power structure so that a savior can step in. It’s the only thing that makes sense when the opening gambit is mass murder, with more of the same threatened. Radicals don’t care about the oppressed, real, or imagined, nor do their puppet masters.”

  “It’s what many of us here believe as well, Commander. By the way, did you gain any new insights from the data we transmitted yesterday?”

  Talyn shook her head.

  “Sorry, no. Major Decker and I intend to sift through it again this morning.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to put it off for a few hours. Director General Dubnikov would like to meet you within the hour and hear about the explosive used at Silfax in person. We can do it via remote conference if you like. I know the Constabulary has the necessary holoprojection facilities.”

  The Marine and his partner exchanged a quick glance before the latter said, “We’ll be more than happy to come over, Colonel. If Chief Superintendent Morrow can help us with transportation, we could be there shortly.”

  “I can,” Morrow said. “And if you don’t mind, Colonel, I’d like to go with them.”

  “Certainly. Say in half an hour? I’ll meet you at the main HQ’s front entrance.”

  “Until then.”

  Joubert’s face dissolved, and the display returned to its standby image — a bucolic mountain scene from a world dozens of light years distant.

  “I’m surprised you insisted on going to them even though he offered an alternative, Hera,” Morrow said.

  “A bit of goodwill goes a long way. We might have to ask Joubert for the information about Malter if your acquaintance doesn’t come through, and Joubert is bound to ask questions I’d rather not answer right away. Besides, we won’t entice the DSA or its backers into paying us any attention by keeping a low profile. ”

  The Constabulary officer snapped her fingers and pointed at the Marine.

  “That’s right. The bait and smite tactic Zack mentioned yesterday. Suddenly, I’m not sure I want to come with you.”

  “Don’t worry. They won’t be on us that fast.”

  “I certainly hope so. Sergeant, could you please call for a vehicle from the motor pool?”

  “Immediately, sir. I’ll even drive.”

  **

  “Lovely.” Decker slipped into the front passenger seat of a black, unmarked but visibly armored ground car while Morrow and Talyn settled in behind Bonta and the Marine. “Does it include automatic cannon behind the headlights and missile launchers in the back?”

  “Nothing quite so dramatic, Major, though it’ll withstand anything up to twenty millimeters for a short period, long enough to get away.”

  The car silently sped off through the heart of Howard’s Landing where civilians, many of them government workers, made their way to work on a bright, sunny morning, still unaware of the ultimatum thrown in Prime Minister Calvo’s face.

  “Nice star system you have there. Shame if anything happened to it,” Decker muttered to himself.

  “Pardon.” Bonta turned to glance at him.

  “Just reflecting that there’s little to no difference between organized crime and radical politics.”

  A soft chuckle burbled up the sergeant’s throat.

  “I never thought of it that way, but you’re right. Maybe we need to expand the reach of the Criminal Organizations Act.”

  “It’s a nice thought.”

  The car turned inland shortly after leaving the downtown core and passed through a commercial district replete with storefronts and warehouses before leaving the broad avenue in favor of a narrower tree-lined side road marked by a sign advertising the Cimmerian Gendarmerie Headquarters. After confirming identities and destination, armed sentries waved them into a hastily erected steel plate chicane cutting through the wire-topped wall that surrounded the entire complex.

  “This is new,” Bonta remarked as the car wound its way through the security perimeter. “The chicane and the armed guards, I mean.”

  “Prudent, though,” Decker replied. “So long as they deploy something to keep the bad guys from coming in vertically.” He pointed upward.

  “I’m sure they do.”

  In contrast to its stately, decades-old Constabulary counterpart, the Gendarmerie HQ complex appeared so modern and sleek it might have been built last week. Three stories high, with a fluid step design wrapped around an inlaid stone parade square, it blended harmoniously with its parklike surroundings. Flags on tall poles by the main entrance provided a splash of color to liven up the walls’ soothing ocher tones.

  As they left the car, Colonel Joubert appeared through open doors leading to a glassed-in lobby. He raised his hand in greeting.

  “Welcome. You can send your vehicle to park itself in the visitors’ section.”

  “A pleasure to finally meet in person,” Morrow replied, “though I wish it could be under better circumstances.”

  “Indeed. The director general is waiting in the main conference room with the rest of my team and most of the Gendarmerie’s divisional commanders. We have until nine-thirty. He’s expected in the prime minister’s office at ten to meet with the cabinet crisis committee.”

  The high-ceilinged lobby matched the external architecture: pleasing curves and soothing colors, with none of the military or historically significant decorations favored by the Constabulary.

  Joubert led them down a wide corridor pierced by regularly spaced doors whose sole identification were number plates centered on the panel until they turned a corner and heard the soft murmur of a dozen separate conversations emanating
from an open doorway. Those conversations died off almost instantly when they entered on the Gendarmerie colonel’s heels.

  Joubert led them to a raised platform dominated by a wall-sized display at one end of the room. More than forty pairs of eyes followed their progress with intense curiosity. Once there, he turned toward a thin, gray-haired man with ascetic features and the four stars of a general sitting in splendid isolation at the head of the long, oval table.

  “Sir, may I present the federal incident team assigned to help our investigation into the Silfax Mining Complex terrorist attack. Chief Superintendent Morrow and Master Sergeant Bonta of the Commonwealth Constabulary as well as Commander Hera Talyn and Major Zack Decker of the Armed Services Special Operations Command. Major Decker is the officer who identified the explosive compound used at Silfax. As requested, he will take us through his analysis of the attack based on the satellite imagery and answer any questions.”

  “Welcome.” General Dubnikov’s voice was deep and resonant. “Colonel Joubert told me the presence of two Fleet anti-terrorist experts on Cimmeria at this juncture is coincidental, but I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Please go ahead, Major.”

  While the others took chairs to either side of him, Decker asked, “Could you display the satellite video of Silfax starting one minute before the detonation? Keep it paused there until I say so, please.”

  Joubert made a gesture at an unseen subordinate. The wall-sized screen came to life with the now familiar aerial view frozen moments before over three thousand Cimmerians died instantly, their bodies vaporized by the force of the explosion.

  “I will assume almost no one present knew about MHX-19, or Mayhem as its inventor nicknamed it before I briefed Colonel Joubert yesterday.” When he saw Dubnikov and most of the other officers nod, Decker said, “In that case, I’ll start by explaining what it is before demonstrating why I’m convinced someone used it yesterday morning.”