by Eric Thomson
“Depends on who you’re talking to. Caelin and her folks might think you strange, but I agree. Playing the legitimate, law-abiding SOCOM officer felt uncomfortably constraining.”
“We’re hunters, my dear. Barely tamed wolves, not sheepdogs. We can play nice with the latter, but our instincts demand we rip the Fleet’s enemies apart on our terms.”
Talyn’s gentle laugh echoed between them.
“My, but you’ve changed. Weren’t you once proud to be the sole sheepdog among Naval Intelligence’s wolves?”
“When the opposition uses your only child as a hostage to advance their filthy schemes, it awakens atavistic instincts that demand the ruthless application of violence, not the niceties of attorneys, juries, and judges.”
“I’m not sure whether I should be pleased or dismayed. Your role was always to be my anchor, the one to keep me from slipping into the dark corners of my mind after losing my last few shreds of humanity. What will become of me — of us — if you get lost in your own dark corners?”
“It won’t happen. There’s still a line I can’t cross.”
She glanced up at her partner’s face and understood it was better if she didn’t ask about that line.
“Breakfast?”
A hungry grin replaced Decker’s solemn expression. He patted his stomach.
“You bet.”
“And we need to find a public access terminal so I can check the dead drop.”
— Thirty-Three —
“Whatever drug these DSA fools are taking, I want a hit,” Decker said, reading over Talyn’s shoulder.
They were in a privacy booth at the back of a public communications node close to the harbormaster’s imposing waterfront command center.
“Demanding Prime Minister Calvo and his government resign after asking the governor general to dissolve parliament and appoint a council of national salvation? There’s a word for that.”
“Chutzpah. But it’s devilishly brilliant. Think about it. Once this ultimatum becomes public, and it will thanks to yesterday morning’s warning, his time as prime minister is over no matter what. Either he refuses and bears responsibility for the next mass murder, which means he’ll be forced out anyway, or he accepts and consigns Cimmerian democracy to the wastebasket. They’re giving him until tomorrow noon.”
“Twenty-eight hours from now. I’m not sure it’s long enough to find the head of the DSA snake and cut it off.” Decker let out a heartfelt curse under his breath. “This operation is turning into another fucking stampede.”
“As Napoleon Bonaparte said, ask me for anything but time.”
“Sorry. Can’t help you. It’ll take whatever time is necessary to be greeted with open arms as fellow Democratic Stars Alliance travelers on the road to a victorious revolution across the Rim Sector.”
“Today, Cimmeria, tomorrow the galaxy. And then the whole damned universe.” Talyn raised a clenched fist. “Caelin also found the Silfax Mining Complex’s ultimate owner. Bronwen Annear, chief executive officer of Sorbonne Holdings Limited, sister to Nerys Annear, Cimmeria’s senior Commonwealth senator and aunt to Magda Annear, who we saved from probably fake Howlers.”
“This operation is racking up more Annears than can be explained by mere coincidence.”
“Perhaps.” She logged out of the dead drop and erased every track leading to it. “Take us to our revolutionary comrades at Kusan Exports, Pathfinder.”
“It won’t be hard. The address is a few kilometers south of downtown.” Back on the harbor front promenade, he looked around to orient himself and check for suspicious behavior. “I think—”
A brilliant flash on the seaward horizon killed whatever Decker was about to say. The throaty rumble of an explosion followed seconds later.
“Mayhem?” Talyn asked.
He nodded.
“The DSA reminding Calvo they’re not playing tiddlywinks. I wonder whose ship that was and whether it carried any crew or passengers.”
A lugubrious howl erupted from the harbormaster’s building, smothering any attempt to speak. Almost simultaneously a swarm of drones covered in flashing red strobes shot up from the roof and headed out over the water.
The siren died away shortly after they left for the port for Archeron’s central square to find a bus going in the right direction.
Half an hour later, they found themselves in front of an unremarkable three-story stone building that could easily pass for a wealthy individual’s townhouse rather than corporate offices. A discrete sign by the opaque glass door said ‘Kusan Export Corporation.’
When they climbed the short flight of steps leading up from the sidewalk, a holographic head materialized before them.
“Welcome. How may I help you?”
“My name is Eva Cortez, and this is Piet Yorik. We’re visiting from Mission Colony and are here to speak with Alek Mannsbach’s superior about Alek’s trip to our home planet,” Talyn replied.
“Do you know who this Ser Mannsbach’s superior is, Sera Cortez?” The androgynous voice asked with perfect politeness.
“If I did, I would have asked for him or her by name, wouldn’t I. The matter is urgent and concerns the Mission Colony Freedom Collective.”
“May I scan your identification?”
“Certainly.” Decker and Talyn held up the purloined ID wafers, suitably tweaked to match their biometric data.
“Thank you.”
The door swung inward, revealing a small lobby furnished with half a dozen office chairs, two side tables, and a small refreshment machine. Another opaque glass door with a smaller corporate sign led into the bowels of the building.
“Please enter and make yourselves comfortable while I inquire.”
The fake Cortez and Yorik took chairs facing each other and waited in silence, knowing they were under intense scrutiny. Gustav Kerlin’s partner appearing on Cimmeria a little more than a week after his violent death and two days after the DSA began its deadly campaign to force out the government would be as unexpected as it was suspicious.
Finally, the inner door slid aside and an unprepossessing, middle-aged man in a neat business suit entered the lobby. His receding hairline, thin lips and sunken cheeks gave the impression of a career bureaucrat who spent too much time at work.
“Good day. I’m Hadar Wilborg, Kusan Export Corporation’s head of marketing. Alek Mannsbach works for me.” Wilborg didn’t offer his hand although he studied Talyn with inquisitive, deep-set eyes. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Ser Wilborg, but Alek Mannsbach died a week and a half ago on Mission, within hours of my husband Gustav’s untimely demise.”
“Oh, dear.” Wilborg nodded at the inner door. “Please accept my deepest sympathies, Sera Cortez. Why don’t we discuss this in my office?”
The decor was middle-grade corporate, the artwork no more than mass-produced reproductions and the furniture functional. Not ostentatious, but comfortable, befitting one of Louis Sorne’s many companies. Wilborg’s office sat in the southwest corner of the former mansion’s second floor. By Decker’s estimation, it was the most desirable one, an indication he was more than just Kusan Exports’ head of marketing.
Wilborg gestured at a pair of chairs in front of his desk, a modern wood and steel construct exuding all the charm of a starship orbital dry-dock. “Please tell me everything. Alek was a valued colleague and a good friend.”
“As you know, Alek and my husband were negotiating a merger between our respective organizations.”
“More of a business arrangement under our leadership, but please continue.”
“Ten days ago, a sniper assassinated Gustav at our country house, during a party thrown in honor of our friends and supporters.”
Wilborg nodded.
“News of his death reached us through the subspace network, but with no details about the cause.”
Talyn gestured toward Decker.
“Piet Yorik’s men found the weapon in
nearby woods a few hours later. Tell him.
“A Falkenberg Longbow seven-millimeter railgun with unpowered Hammer Optics sights,” he said. “Expensive, incredibly accurate, a professional assassin’s tool of choice. I also found a chameleon ghillie suit, another high-end piece of equipment. There’s no doubt it was a targeted killing. The murderer escaped even though the 24th Constabulary Regiment cordoned off the area with commendable speed.”
“How utterly horrible. And Alek?”
“Considering the importance Gustav placed on the negotiations with Alek, I sent my men to his apartment the same day. They found him lifeless in bed, unclothed, no marks on the skin, no visible wounds, but what he wore the previous day was missing, and the apartment showed signs of a professional sanitizing job. I think they poisoned him via a dermal patch, but we’ll never be able to prove it.”
“What happened to his body, Ser Yorik?”
“We disposed of it before the cops found out. Since no one on Mission other than our organization knew of Alek, the authorities won’t miss him.”
Wilborg considered Decker for a few seconds.
“Sad, but it’s probably best under the circumstances. Alek had no family other than us here at Kusan Exports.” He turned his attention back on Talyn. “Since you’re aware of the negotiations, can I assume you also know about the monetary grant and our gift to your Collective?”
“I know everything, Ser Wilborg. Upon my husband’s death, I became the leader of the Mission Colony Freedom Collective. The grant is safe, but unfortunately, someone tracked down your gift in the vault beneath my family’s beach house and destroyed both. A rather large inlet on the southern coast of the Benden peninsula now sits where the property once stood. Piet and I were in Ventano, dealing with certain matters vital to my taking the reins from Gustav. At the time of our leaving Mission, preliminary conclusions by the authorities appeared to favor an undetected meteorite strike.”
“Why come to Cimmeria and Kusan Exports?”
“I was forced to leave Mission Colony, so my corpse didn’t end up rotting beside Gustav’s. Someone doesn’t want to see the Freedom Collective join forces with you and they’ll kill to prevent it. This wasn’t just your normal politically motivated violence. God knows every star system experiences its fair share these days. I don’t know who hired a professional assassin to murder my husband, but they scare me. Why am I in your office? Simple. To warn you about Alek’s suspicious death and continue the discussions he and Gustav started. Perhaps by aligning our business interests with yours, I’ll have a better chance of surviving long enough to achieve the Collective’s goals.”
“And you don’t know who committed these terrible crimes? Could it be personal rather than political?”
“No. Gustav had few enemies and none with the motivation or the money to hire a top-tier offworld assassin. Since Alek died on the same day under suspicious circumstances, I’m sure both were killed because of the proposed rapprochement between our organizations.”
Wilborg, fingers tapping a soft tattoo on the desktop, seemed to ponder her words.
“I’m not sure it’s in our best interests to pursue the proposed arrangement, Sera Cortez.”
Talyn sat up, an air of incomprehension tightening her features.
“What do you mean? We’re the only organization on Mission Colony capable of achieving our common aims.”
“With Gustav Kerlin gone, I doubt the Freedom Collective will keep its nerve. I think it might be best if we forget about establishing ourselves on Mission for now.”
“You forget I took over to continue our work, Ser Wilborg. Gustav and I did everything together.”
“No doubt, but fortunately for you, I’m not in charge. While you were waiting in the lobby, I spoke with our chief executive who wishes to see you in person. However, I shall take certain understandable precautions beforehand.”
The door behind Decker and Talyn opened framing the young woman they’d dubbed Undergrad at the Howard’s Landing spaceport the previous day. She held a scattergun in her hands, its menacing barrel pointed at them. When they glanced back at Wilborg, he’d moved to one side, leaving her with a clear field of fire.
“Our scanners in the lobby detected your weapons and communicators. Please remove them from their hiding places with exquisite slowness and place them on the desk.”
Decker gave him a disgusted look.
“Is this how you treat offworld allies? Forget about these people, Eva. We can seize Mission Colony without their help. It’ll just take a little longer.”
Talyn laid a restraining hand on his arm.
“Relax, Piet. Ser Wilborg is simply taking the same precautions you would if offworlders you never met before showed up unannounced at one of our homes.”
Another woman entered the office and took their travel bags, careful to avoid blocking Wilborg and Undergrad. They heard her rummage through them.
“Only a change of clothes and toiletries, sir,” she said after a minute. “Scans show nothing else.”
“Look for hidden or shielded compartments.”
“You won’t find anything.” Decker scowled at him. “Because there’s nothing to find.”
“Perhaps. Now please place your weapons and communicators on the desk. Otherwise, we can’t take you to our chief executive.”
Decker and Talyn exchanged glances, and the former nodded once before holding his jacket open to show the Shrehari blaster under his left arm. He withdrew it with two fingers, then pulled up his sleeve and carefully unstrapped the sheath on his forearm before producing his communicator. Talyn followed suit.
“That’s everything we’re carrying,” she said.
“Impressive nonetheless. Where did you get the hand artillery?”
“It’s a bonehead gun,” Decker replied. “And the dagger is from my time in the Fleet. I won both off a Pathfinder in a poker game years ago.”
“Army or Marines?”
“Military police.”
“Interesting civilian career choice.”
“You meet every sort in the private security business. I’m good at my job; otherwise, Eva wouldn’t keep me around.”
“Didn’t do much for Gustav, though.”
“A professional-grade sniper with a long-range railgun is almost impossible to stop.”
“I suppose.” A faint smirk crossed Wilborg’s face. “Convenient for Sera Cortez from what I understand about the late Ser Kerlin.”
Talyn smiled.
“Let’s just say he had his faults and leave it at that. The Collective will thrive under my leadership.”
“We’ll hold on to your weapons and communicators for now, if you don’t mind. Only people who are fully vetted can bear arms in the chief executive’s presence.”
“I do mind,” Decker growled.
“Piet. Stand down. We’ll do as Ser Wilborg wishes. Remember why we came to Cimmeria.”
“Yes, Eva.”
Wilborg glanced from one to the other, then nodded at the woman with the scattergun.
“Lead us to the car, Collette. We’re taking a ride into the countryside. Allyson, bring our guests’ possessions, please.” He gestured toward the door. “If you’ll follow Collette.”
— Thirty-Four —
A lift swept them to an underground garage where a large, beetle-shaped ground car waited. Collette invited Decker and Talyn to take the front-facing seats, then settled across from them alongside Wilborg, scattergun loosely held in her lap. Allyson, carrying their weapons and bags, took the driver’s seat. When she switched on the power plant, all doors closed and the windows turned an opaque black.
“We keep the chief executive’s current location strictly confidential,” Wilborg said by way of explanation when he saw their reaction. “What visitors don’t know, they can’t inadvertently disclose to hostile parties.”
“That makes eminent sense,” Talyn replied.
The car silently sprang into motion and climbed a steep ramp befo
re reaching ground level and the exit leading to a back street. Unable to see, Decker could only estimate the distance based on perceived speed and elapsed time. The number of turns in either direction decreased after less than ten minutes, indicating they were beyond Archeron’s city limits.
Just under thirty minutes later, he felt the car slow, turn right, and stay at that speed for a bit longer before coming to a halt. The windows lost their opacity, and the rear doors opened, allowing the fresh aroma of native Cimmeria plant life to tickle Decker and Talyn’s nostrils. It confirmed the Marine’s guess they had driven well out into the countryside.
Wilborg climbed to his feet.
“Welcome to the lodge. Colette will guide you to the guesthouse and your rooms. Our chief executive is extremely busy this morning. I’ll let her know we arrived and see when she’s free to receive you.”
“And our stuff?” Decker asked as he followed the man out.
“We’ll hang on to your weapons and communicators, but Allyson will return your bags in due course.”
“After subjecting them to an in-depth scan, no doubt.” He looked around and whistled softly. “You call this place a lodge? It looks more like a small castle, or a gussied up bunker complex.”
They were parked on a polished stone plaza bordered by three granite-clad buildings with steep copper roofs. The main house, three stories tall, boasted a set of metal-studded wooden doors aged to look as if someone plundered them from an old Earth fortress.
Windows, flanked by what Decker suspected were fully functional armored shutters painted a dark green, pierced the facade at regular intervals. The two lesser buildings flanking the main house, each only two stories high, seemed equally hardened against a peasant uprising or perhaps a party of drunken Shrehari Marines from the imperial occupation force, although the latter were long gone.
Decker exchanged a glance with Talyn.
“Who owns this pile?”
“You’ll find out in due course.” Wilborg pointed at one of the smaller structures where a door stood open. “The guest house is over there. Your rooms offer every conceivable amenity though I’m afraid we must confine you to your suite for now. Please make sure our guests are comfortable, Collette. I must report to our leader.”