by Piers Platt
“Fine. Where are you now?”
“We’re on Jokuan,” Atalia said. “If you recall, the evidence we recovered from the raid on Bellislas pointed to Paisen Oryx coming here, though we’re not sure what her intentions were.”
“Is she somehow connected to this ship, with the plans?” Jesk asked.
“We don’t think so, sir,” Beauceron said. “But we haven’t fully ruled out a connection.”
“That’s what we hope to do on Jokuan,” Atalia finished for him. “And if we’re able to locate her, I’ll request backup from the same team we used on Bellislas.”
“You’ll get it,” Jesk promised. “Any rogue Guild agents are a top priority right now, given what just happened on Scapa.”
“What happened on Scapa, sir?” Beauceron asked.
But someone off-screen distracted Jesk, and he ignored them, muting the line for a minute.
“Rath’s on Scapa, right?” Atalia asked.
“Yes,” Beauceron said. “He had been convicted, last I saw.” A worried frown creased his brow.
Jesk turned his attention back to them, and unmuted the line. “Beauceron, what’s the make and model of that ship? I want to put out an all-points on it, make sure we can capture it next time it comes into Federacy space.”
Beauceron flipped through his notes. “It’s a Hentosigan XO-series Infantry Landing Craft,” he read.
Jesk stopped typing and looked hard at Beauceron. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, sir,” Beauceron said, confused. “Why?”
“You’ve been in transit – you haven’t heard. That ship just busted Rath Kaldirim out of police custody on Scapa. Your friend’s on the loose again, Detective.”
Beauceron rubbed his hand across his mouth, thinking. “Where was the ship heading?”
“Well, they didn’t exactly file a flight plan. Paisen Oryx is our primary suspect, given her relationship with Kaldirim. And if that’s the ship that has the high energy prototype, then both of them are back at the top of our Most Wanted list.”
“Yes, sir,” Atalia agreed.
“I want you two to forget about the ship, for now – there’s a team from Scapa looking for it, and every sensor platform in Federacy space is on the lookout for it. If you have a lead on Oryx on Jokuan, you chase it down.”
6
Senator Foss swung his apartment door closed, bidding goodnight to the two Senate Guards stationed in the hallway outside. He untied his tie, hanging it over the back of a chair in his kitchen, and then strode into the living room.
“Call Thomis Rewynn,” he ordered.
The viewscreen on the mantel over his fireplace lit up, and several seconds later, the old Patriarch’s lined face appeared on the screen.
“Gaspar,” the priest said. “Did the Jokuans bite?”
“Of course they bit,” Foss replied. “They’d be foolish not to take such a gift.”
“Well, you can sleep well knowing you’ve scoured the Senate of one more corrupt practice,” Rewynn said, with satisfaction. “Your colleagues should have arrested those guildsmen the minute they offered up their services.”
“No matter. The Jokuans have already made their move,” Foss reported. “Tsokel just sent out a message to the Intelligence Committee warning us that he had lost contact with the team on Jokuan – their audio and video feeds went dead, and they’re not responding to communication requests.”
“That was quick,” Rewynn noted.
“They were being spied on,” Foss said. “I can imagine the Jokuans were eager to rid themselves of that nuisance.”
“Speaking of nuisances,” Rewynn said, sighing. “Have you seen the news from Scapa?”
“No …?” Foss sat down on the couch. “I’ve been in FTL transit back from my rendezvous with the Jokuans. Did they execute 621?”
“They did not,” Rewynn said.
“He got a life sentence?” Foss asked. “How did his lawyer pull that off?”
“No. Kaldirim escaped,” Rewynn explained. “Someone hijacked his prison van and then they blasted their way off of the planet. You can read the reports. He’s alive, Gaspar. And free.”
Foss slammed his hand on the coffee table’s glass surface. “Damn it! Are we at least looking for him?”
Rewynn spread his arms. “Where? The Church has a long reach, but we can’t hope to find one man out of a whole galaxy of people. The entire Federacy is looking for him, but they have no clue where he went.”
Foss swore again. “I am tired of watching him elude us,” the senator seethed.
“As am I,” Rewynn agreed. “But it’s a matter for the police now. We can only wait and see.”
“What if he decides to come after me?” Foss asked. “What if he’s discovered our role, and decides to go public with what he knows?”
Rewynn grimaced, shaking his head. “I hardly expect him to come out of hiding. Not now, when he’s just escaped. He’ll disappear, probably for good.”
“That’s hardly reassuring,” Foss said.
“What other option do we have?”
“None,” Foss admitted, calming somewhat. “You’re right.”
“Focus on your work,” Rewynn counseled the younger man. “You have momentum behind you, and another round of campaigns coming up. Prepare for them. Groom the candidates we’ll be putting forward. We have more seats to win.”
“Yes. And when the time is right,” Foss said, standing again, “we can contact our new friends on Jokuan to discuss their role in the next phase of our plan.”
7
In the background, Rath heard the constant dull hum of the old ship’s engines, propelling them through faster-than-light travel. Where are we going? And why does Ricken want my help? He rubbed his thumb against his chin, thinking, then looked up at Ricken again.
“I’m not interested in helping you start a war – or a rebellion, or whatever you want to call it,” Rath told Ricken and his lieutenants. “Not to be ungrateful, but … that’s your affair. I’d like to try to keep a low profile from now on, for obvious reasons, and I’ve done enough harm in my life. I have zero interest in adding to my list of crimes.”
“I understand,” Ricken reassured him. “If that’s the case, we’ll set you down in a safe location, and we’ll part ways.”
“You’ll just let me go, even though I know that you’re still alive?” Rath asked.
“Of course,” Ricken said, shrugging. “Rath, I mean you no harm, truly. I’m not the monster the history books have made me out to be. I saved your life, and I believe that makes me, in a way, responsible for it. So you can go, if you want, and you can even report us to the authorities. But I’m not sure anyone would believe you!” He smiled disarmingly.
“That’d be a hell of a way to thank the people who got you out of jail,” Lonergan grumbled.
“No, Lonergan – it’s all right,” Ricken said, raising a hand. “Mr. Kaldirim has to make his own decisions. And if he decides to help us, I want it to be of his own free will. We’ve never coerced or guilted anyone into joining our cause, and I don’t intend to start now.”
The room was silent for a moment.
“While you owe us nothing, Rath, will you at least listen to what we’re trying to do? I think you might be more sympathetic if you had a better understanding of what we’re trying to achieve,” Ricken said.
Rath glanced around the table. It’s not like I can leave the ship right now, anyway.
“Yeah, I’ll listen,” he said.
“Thank you,” Ricken said, smiling. “I think you’ll find that our aims are not too different from what you were trying to achieve when you fought to dismantle the Guild.”
“You want money?” Rath asked, frowning.
Ricken chuckled. “No. Money we have – that’s the benefit of letting your investments accrue interest for two hundred years. No, we want freedom, and equality for all citizens of the Federacy. We want an end to injustice.”
“But the Federacy already
provides that,” Rath said.
“Really?” Egline asked, snorting. She cocked an eyebrow at Rath. “Growing up, did you have access to the same opportunities that the people on the upper levels of Tarkis had?”
“Well, no,” Rath admitted.
“Exactly,” Ricken told him. “The laws of the Federacy state that all citizens should be treated equally, with equal opportunities. But in practice, their socioeconomic status at birth determines their fate. We saw it every day walking our beats, patrolling our neighborhoods when we were Interstellar Police officers. Crime exists today for two reasons: some people are mentally ill, and are compelled to commit crimes as a result. But most criminals are simply born into poverty, and turn to crime because it’s their only viable choice to survive. Just like you.”
“So start a charity,” Rath suggested. “How is a war going to fix things?”
“We tried a charity!” Ricken said, laughing. “I bet they don’t teach that in the history books, either. But we tried that first. It worked, on a small scale. In one neighborhood, for a handful of children – we volunteered our time, helped them with their schoolwork, spent time with them after class to ensure they stayed out of trouble. And it worked – they graduated. They stayed out of jail. But it wasn’t scalable. We were treating the symptom, not the cause.”
“Then what’s the cause?” Rath asked.
“Money,” Lonergan noted. “And the people who control it. The whole system is rigged, so that the rich stay rich, and the poor never have a shot.”
Ricken nodded sadly. “It’s true. The Senate is largely controlled by the wealthy donors that fund their campaigns. They give lip service to helping the common man, and when the situation gets dire enough, they will intervene on behalf of the poor. But that’s only to prevent another outright uprising. Their true allegiance lies with the people that control the money. And those people ensure that the Senate only passes laws that will not disrupt the system as it stands today. They’ve very carefully arranged it so that they will never lose the money and power they hold.”
“You’ve got money,” Rath observed. “Are you planning on running for Senate?”
Ricken shook his head. “No. We considered that, too. But one man in the Senate can hardly make a difference. We need wholesale change. We need all of them gone.”
“You’re going to kill all the senators?” Rath asked.
“It’s what many of them deserve,” Egline opined.
“… but it’s not what we’re going to do,” Ricken finished, firmly. “No bloodshed. We’re just going to compel them to step down. They’ll be free to go once they’ve renounced their offices. No trials, no public executions – I’m not even going to arrest them for corruption and treason, though again, many of them are guilty of those crimes, I suspect. I’m just going to make them leave the Senate, so that better leaders may take their place.”
“You,” Rath guessed. “You want to control the Federacy yourself.”
Ricken chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “No. I don’t.”
“You don’t?” Rath asked, surprised.
“Certainly not. No one person should have control of the Federacy. And I’ve spent enough time leading a revolution to know that I have no desire for that much responsibility.”
“Then who?” Rath asked.
“True representatives of the people. We’ll hold a new, galaxy-wide election. Old senators will be banned from running, and new candidates will not be allowed to spend any money on their campaign, or take any donations. That way, the winners will be determined by merit, and true popular opinion. And then we’ll reinstate the Senate with people who take their oaths seriously. People who have seen the inequalities in society firsthand, and want to do something about it. Doctors, teachers, factory workers, farmers.”
Rath sat back and crossed his arms. “You want to take over the Federacy … and then give it all away?”
“It’s not mine to take or to give,” Ricken said. “It’s an organization of the people, for the people. But today it serves only the rich. I’m merely trying to restore it to the people who need it the most.”
“Why do you think he still wears the Interstellar Police uniform?” Egline asked. “‘To Protect and Serve.’ We all swore that oath years ago. We’re just trying to carry out that duty.”
Rath looked around the table at the earnest, determined faces of each of Ricken’s lieutenants. He studied Ricken last, finding nothing but openness and honesty on the man’s face.
“It’s a noble goal,” Rath admitted. “But I don’t see how you’re going to pull it off. Especially not without any fighting.”
Ricken pursed his lips. “I can’t tell you how we’re going to do it, not yet. I think you know that you can trust us. And I believe I can trust you. Certainly if a man like Martin Beauceron trusts you, I think I can, too. But I’m not sure yet.”
“We can only share the details of our operational plan with you after you give us your word that you’ll help,” Lonergan told Rath.
“I can’t do that,” Rath said. “I can’t sign up without knowing what I’m getting into.”
“I swear to you, there will be no killing. My friends here have spent years designing a plan that ensures no one will be hurt,” Ricken promised him.
“But how do I know?” Rath asked.
“You don’t,” Ricken admitted. “But you’ll be right here by my side. And the minute you see me straying from that plan, I want you to arrest me, and put an end to the rebellion.”
“I’m here to keep you in check?” Rath asked, frowning.
“Partly,” Ricken said. “I don’t think we’ll need one, but having you be a sort of moral compass ensures that we stay committed to our ideals.”
“You want to use a serial killer as your moral compass,” Rath pointed out.
Ricken shot him a crooked half-smile. “I think it’s fitting – having an assassin-for-hire keeping an eye on a bunch of cops. But I also need you here for your leadership, Rath. I need a man of the people to stand beside me, and inspire the people.”
“The people hate me,” Rath said. “They were calling for my blood back on Scapa.”
“Where we’re going to start this revolution, I believe they’ll see you in a different light. I think they’ll see us in the same light, you and I – as misunderstood crusaders, trying to set things right.”
“And where are you going to start your revolution?” Rath asked.
Ricken smiled, but stayed silent.
Rath took a deep breath. “Look, you seem sincere. And I agree that the galaxy is not a fair place, at least for a lot of people. It sucks, and I wish it were different … but I don’t know that this is my fight. And the last time someone asked me to join a secret organization without knowing much about what I was getting into, that didn’t turn out so well.”
In the awkward silence that followed, Lonergan cleared his throat. “We don’t need him,” the old man pointed out, addressing Ricken. “He’s not essential to the plan.”
Ricken studied Rath, and then eyed his lieutenants. “I think he is essential. Friends, will you give us a minute?”
The Council of Six stood, and Ricken waited as they made their way out of the conference room in silence. The ship’s hatch closed behind them.
“I can see the guilt in your eyes, Rath.”
“Yeah?” Rath asked. “I see it in yours, too.”
Ricken nodded. “We’ve both caused a lot of harm. Do you still get nightmares?”
“Every night,” Rath said.
Ricken leaned forward. “This is your chance to make amends, Rath. To improve the lives of the billions of people just like you. People who never had a chance at a normal, happy life. People who risked their lives, who committed crimes, who died, just trying to make it out of a tough situation. People like your brother, Vonn.”
Rath looked up at Ricken, his eyes narrowing.
“A free and honest democracy, helping the people who can’t help themselves,�
� Ricken continued, meeting Rath’s gaze. “And it can be your legacy, Rath, as well as mine. What better way to honor Vonn’s sacrifice, and to atone for the murders you committed?”
“No bloodshed?” Rath asked.
“None. I’m just asking for your help in running an election.”
Rath sighed, rubbing at his palm with a thumb. “I don’t know. You’re asking me to risk capture again. And maybe start something that neither of us can control.”
“It’s a lot to ask,” Ricken agreed. “Do you know why I started the Third Colonial War?” He held up a hand, staving off Rath’s guess. “The real reason, the event that triggered it all?”
“No,” Rath said.
“I was in pursuit of a drunk driver – back in those days, people could override their air cars’ safety systems when they were intoxicated. We were chasing him, trying to disable his vehicle. He went to ground level in an effort to shake us, and crashed into a bus stand, killing a twelve-year-old girl. We arrested him, and submitted our evidence – video from the pursuit, his intoxication screening results, everything. I followed the case closely – I felt responsible for the crash, you see. And do you know what happened to him?”
“Nothing,” Rath guessed.
“Nothing at all,” Ricken confirmed. “He walked. We had everything except a confession, but he had money and connections: his family had made major contributions to several senators’ campaigns. The district attorney assigned a junior prosecutor, and pressured the prosecutor to throw the case on purpose. The defense got it dismissed for some bullshit procedural issue within a month.”
“What was her name?” Rath asked.
“Fastina. Her name was Fastina.” He smiled at Rath. “And that’s why I know I need you here.”
“Why?” Rath asked.
“The fact that you asked me her name,” Ricken stood up, circling the table toward Rath. “We have several days before we reach our next destination. Take some time, think about it.”
“I will,” Rath agreed. He stood up, feeling somewhat intimidated next to the other man.