by Piers Platt
With a grunt, Beauceron shifted Rozhkov’s body, laying him down and preparing to do chest compressions. Rath put a hand on Beauceron’s arm, gently stopping him.
“Martin, with my auditory implants, I can hear your heartbeat from here. But I can’t hear his. We’re too late.”
“No, we’re not! If we rush him to a hospital ….” Beauceron protested.
“The penal colony only has a basic infirmary,” Rath pointed out. “The nearest surgical hospital is hours away.”
Beauceron sobbed, clenching his fists in frustration.
“Martin,” Rath said, gently. “I’m sorry.”
Beauceron turned away, and then stood and walked down off the porch, out into the grasses. Rath decided to leave him to his grief. He took Rozhkov’s pistol and checked the chamber, tucking the weapon into his waistband. Then he saw Rozhkov’s badge, hanging from his belt. He tugged it free.
Paisen appeared in the kitchen and saw Rath, then Rozhkov’s inert form.
“Didn’t make it?” she asked.
“No,” Rath said.
“We need to clear out of here in case that collection team decides to come back,” Paisen told him.
“Are we under surveillance?” Rath asked, standing.
“Not that I can tell, but I didn’t spend long looking. And these guards probably have a reporting timetable – they might have already missed a scheduled report to Headquarters.”
Rath nodded. “Martin,” he called. “We need to go.”
Beauceron turned, and they could see the tears still wet on his cheeks as he walked back to the house. At the porch, Rath handed him Rozhkov’s badge.
“Thank you,” Beauceron said. He touched the badge’s metal shield, tracing the chiseled lines of the Interstellar Police insignia.
Paisen cleared her throat. “This is where we part ways,” she told Beauceron.
“What?” Rath asked.
“No offense, Detective,” Paisen continued, flashing Rath a look of warning, “but I just don’t trust IP, retired or otherwise. Either you’re a straight-up guy, in which case you’ll want to arrest us, or you’re dirty, in which case you’ll want to turn us in to the Group for the bounty. I appreciate your help, but—”
“No,” Beauceron interrupted. He pointed at Rozhkov. “That man was like a father to me. And I promised him I would bring the Janus Group down. You owe your lives to him.”
“I don’t owe anyone anything,” Paisen told him.
“But our aims are the same,” Rath told her. “Find the Group, take it down.”
“I’m going with you,” Beauceron stated.
“Paisen,” Rath said. “The Group is going to be after him, too, when they figure out what happened here.”
She shrugged. “Not my problem.”
“He can help,” Rath pleaded.
“We don’t need his help.”
“He almost caught me – twice – when I was still running missions.”
Paisen snorted. “Somehow I don’t think that’s saying much.”
Rath crossed his arms. “Well, I don’t go if he doesn’t go.”
Beauceron looked at Rath, then Paisen. “Why are you trying to find the Janus Group?” he asked her.
“I want my money,” she answered.
“And if you can find the Group, and steal it back – what then?”
“Then I disappear.”
“What good is that money if you have to live your life on the run?”
“I’m already living on the run. Money would make things a whole lot easier. And a lot better than a life spent in jail,” she added.
“You won’t go to jail,” Rath broke in. “Martin, if I turn myself in, that will be enough, right? You don’t need two witnesses.”
“You’re going to turn yourself in?” Paisen asked.
“That was our deal,” Rath said. “Martin helps me find you, I help him gather evidence and testify against the Group.”
Paisen shook her head. “Unbelievable. And you trust Rath to do it?” she asked Beauceron.
He shrugged. “I did. Until he knocked me out and then broke you out of prison.”
“That makes two of us that are sore about that.” She frowned at Beauceron, and then sighed. “This team can’t get any more dysfunctional, I suppose. So fuck it. Let’s go.”
2
Dasi felt the restraints around her wrists release without warning. When nothing else happened for several seconds, she reached up and removed the helmet that had effectively blinded and deafened her during the shuttle’s landing. She found herself seated at the shuttle’s hatch, facing outwards – the sudden daylight forced her to close her eyes. She shivered in the chill wind. When she could see, she walked down out of the ship, alighting on a patch of gravel. Ahead of her, a gap in the high cement walls led to a passageway and more of the strange, illuminated arrows she had seen on the transport ship. She followed the arrows.
They took her to another landing pad, where an automated air car stood idling, the passenger door open. Dasi glanced around, but seeing no one else, she climbed into the car, and shut the door behind her. The car lifted off immediately, and as it rose into the sky, she saw she had landed on a densely-wooded, mountainous island in the midst of a dark, grey sea. The car took her out over the water; on the horizon, she spotted some kind of structure riding the choppy waves – not a ship, but a type of deep sea platform.
The air car landed on the upper deck of the platform, and Dasi saw a woman emerge from a hatch in the platform’s super-structure, and hurry over to the car. Dasi opened the door and climbed out. The woman shut the car’s door for her, and waited as the car took off again, the engines roaring and sending a wash of hot air over the two women. When it was gone, she surveyed Dasi.
“Well,” she sighed, “you must be Dasi.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m Bekka. You better follow me.” She walked back toward the hatch.
Dasi followed. “What is this place? Where am I?”
“You don’t know?” Bekka asked, looking over her shoulder. “Jesus, I don’t know who thought it would be a good idea to send you here. I’m sorry, this is all just … highly unusual. So I’m not quite sure what to do with you.”
Inside the hatch, Dasi saw an armed security guard waiting for them next to a bank of elevators. The elevator opened as they approached, and all three boarded; Bekka pressed a button. Then she suddenly reached out and held the doors open, peering back out at the platform. “Where are your personal effects?”
“My what?”
“Your luggage – clothes and things. Did you leave them on the shuttle, or the air car?”
“No, I didn’t bring any, they – they didn’t let me pack first.”
“Of course they didn’t.”
“I’m sorry ….” Dasi bit her lip. Don’t cry. It’s just for a short time, like Charl said.
But if Bekka noticed her distress, she ignored it, and the guard stayed silent as well. Instead, the woman took her to a supply room, where Dasi was given several sets of medical scrubs and a few towels. Next they went to a room marked CANTEEN, where Bekka filled a plastic bag with toiletries and handed it to her. Finally, she led Dasi down a set of stairs and along a narrow corridor, before opening a door to a small bedroom suite.
“This is you,” Bekka told her. “Communal bathrooms are at the end of the hall. I’ll let you get unpacked, or … settled, at least. I need to take care of some things, but I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
“Okay,” Dasi said.
Bekka eyed the guard. “Watch over her?”
“Sure,” he agreed.
Bekka left. Dasi stood in the door to her room, clothes and linens in her arms. She stepped in and set them down on a narrow bed. In addition to a chest of drawers and clothes closet, the room had a small desk, an easy chair, and a viewscreen mounted on the wall, but no windows. Dasi realized the door was still open, the guard watching her from the hall.
“Can I close this?�
�� she asked, feeling awkward.
“Go ahead,” he shrugged.
She shut the door and took a long, ragged breath. Then she put her scrubs away in the chest of drawers. Finally, she turned on the viewscreen. She spent some time searching for internet access, but all she could find was a large entertainment library – no search or browser functionality.
They probably disabled it … they don’t want me to know where I am, or what this place is. Whoever ‘they’ are.
She had nearly finished a drama show when Bekka returned. The administrator knocked briefly, then opened the door – Dasi saw the guard still standing outside in the hall, but Bekka dismissed him. The woman sat down in Dasi’s desk chair; Dasi sat on her bed.
“Well,” Bekka said. “We’d better start with some house rules.”
“Okay,” Dasi agreed.
Bekka handed her a keycard – it had her name and photo on it, and a clip to attach to her clothes. “Wear this at all times. You’ll find that certain areas are off-limits to you – if you swipe the card at a locked door and the door doesn’t open, that’s somewhere you shouldn’t be.”
“Okay.”
“There are a lot of places here that you shouldn’t be,” Bekka emphasized, looking Dasi in the eye. “So rule number one is: don’t go poking around. You won’t have a guard babysitting you at all times, but we can and will do that, if needed.”
“I understand.”
“Good. Basically, your card lets you access the living quarters on this level, the cafeteria, which is two floors down, and the recreation area, which is up above decks, outside near where you landed. There are sports courts and a workout area, that kind of thing. But that brings me to rule number two.” Bekka shifted in her seat. “You do not talk to anyone on board this facility other than me.”
“Okay,” Dasi said.
“You’re going to see some doctors and nurses, guards, and other administrative personnel like me. But you don’t interact with anyone else. Understand?”
“Yes,” Dasi said.
“They’ve all been given similar instructions to avoid you, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“What if I have a question or a problem?”
“You can find me at any time,” Bekka assured her. “I’ve enabled internal chat on your viewscreen, you just need to tell it to ping me. But let me be a little blunt here: if it’s questions like ‘what time is dinner?’ that’s fine. But most other questions I’m not allowed to answer.”
“Okay,” Dasi said.
“Now, we’ve had something of a staff meeting to figure out what to do with you, and the long and short of it is, we don’t know. So as usual, they’re leaving it to me to decide. I’m trying to figure out a job we can give you, because otherwise you’re liable to go a bit stir crazy. What are your skills?”
“My skills?” Dasi asked. “My degree is in public relations – that’s what I did before … all this.”
Bekka stared at her.
“… but this doesn’t look like the kind of place that seeks publicity,” Dasi finished lamely.
“No,” Bekka agreed. “I imagine you have solid managerial skills, but I don’t need anyone else in Operations, and that’s all sensitive anyway. Do you have any medical training?”
Dasi frowned. “No. I mean, I took CPR years ago, but … no.”
“Ever worked on hardware? Electronics repair?”
“No.”
Bekka sighed.
“I can cook …?” Dasi suggested.
“Food processing is all automated here,” Bekka said.
“Oh.” Dasi pushed her hair back over her ear. “Can you tell me where ‘here’ is?”
Bekka frowned. “No. That’s one of those questions I’m not allowed to answer.” She stood up. “I’d better think some more about what job to give you. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
* * *
“Chief of Operations to see you, ma’am.”
Director Nkosi checked her calendar, noting that this was an unscheduled appointment. She tapped the screen of her datascroll, notifying her assistant to admit Feykin into her office.
“Yes?” she asked, when he had closed the door.
“Ma’am,” he said. “I’m sorry to bother you. I received a strange notification from the human resources lead at the training facility.”
“Indeed?” She cocked an eyebrow at him. “And why am I being involved in personnel affairs on Fusoria?”
“Apparently an unscheduled visitor arrived earlier today.”
“Unscheduled? A candidate?”
“No, ma’am.” Feykin cleared his throat. “Her name is Dasi Apter.”
“That name rings a bell. Anchorpoint, the mess with Senator Lizelle?”
“Yes, that’s her. After he informed us of the situation, it seems Senator Lizelle predicted our response, and picked her up while 700 was busy with her boyfriend. The senator then used his Group access codes to request a transport, and sent her directly to Fusoria with orders to hold her there. That’s why we were unable to find her afterwards – she was en route to Fusoria while we were searching.”
Nkosi leaned back in her chair, hands steepled under her chin. Feykin stayed silent.
“What do we know about Ms. Apter?” she asked.
“She was on Senator Lizelle’s staff, as a PR specialist. Her boyfriend wrote the program that exposed Senator Lizelle’s involvement with the Group.”
“But she doesn’t know the identity of the other two senators?”
“Not according to the testimony 700 obtained from her boyfriend. None of them did, and according to the lawyer, Lizelle took possession of the data files directly from the lawyer.”
“To protect his fellow senators.”
Feykin nodded. “Their anonymity – and their ability to expose our operations – ensure their safety.”
Nkosi’s mouth twisted into a half-smile. “Perhaps not for long. Now that Senator Lizelle has been forced to identify himself, we have a unique opportunity. Thank you, Feykin.” She spent several seconds sending a brief message from her computer. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to make a call.”
“Of course. But … the senator’s aide? Fusoria is requesting disposition instructions.”
“Mm. She’s a liability. But if Lizelle is that desperate to keep her alive, I wonder if his personal feelings are clouding his objectivity. She could be a useful bargaining chip, should we need it. Have them keep her safe, for now.”
“Ma’am.” Feykin let himself out.
Nkosi drummed her fingers on her desk, lost in thought, until the secure call notification appeared on her computer. As always, the senators’ voices were garbled electronically to hide their identity.
“What’s the emergency, Director?”
“… and why is the third member of our committee not on the line?” the second senator added.
“She knows who he is,” the first senator broke in. “There’s no use protecting his identity any longer.”
“Senators,” Nkosi announced. “I’m faced with delivering some awkward news which is best discussed without Senator Lizelle on the line. You’re both aware of the incident that occurred as a result of the artificial intelligence research project that Senator Lizelle decided to sponsor.”
“We are.”
“And we agreed, when we discussed it, that the appropriate response was to remove all risks from that situation,” Nkosi continued. “Both the programmer and the lawyer are no longer threats to this organization – or yourselves. However, the programmer’s girlfriend eluded capture. I discovered today that she was aided in her escape by Senator Lizelle, who decided to send her to our training facility.”
“Well, the girl was on his staff – he knew her well, I’m sure,” one of the senators replied. “He notified you that that was his preference?”
“He did not,” Nkosi told them. “I had assumed that he discussed the matter with you two.”
“Well, he didn’t. Not with me at least.”
“Nor I.”
“I might have agreed to it,” the first continued, “though it seems an unusual and unnecessary risk.”
“It troubles me that he would take such unprecedented action without consulting either of you, or, indeed, informing me,” Nkosi observed. She let the senators consider her comment in silence for a time.
“It is troubling. Are you asking us for permission to kill the girl, now that you have her?” the second senator finally asked.
“If you see fit,” Nkosi told them.
“No,” the second senator said. “We make decisions as a group. Or at least, we should be doing that, damn it. There are three of us for a reason. We’ll discuss this with Charl at our next opportunity. Until then, the girl lives.”
“As you wish,” Nkosi agreed. The line clicked off, and she smiled to herself.
3
“Not the spaceport?” Beauceron asked, tapping on the air car’s navigation screen.
“No. Head for Rogan Dan,” Paisen told him.
“What’s Rogan Dan?” Rath asked.
“A settlement outside of Monrovia Central,” Paisen answered. “Hand me your Forge.”
Rath passed the backpack to the front seat, where Paisen opened the device and waited as the nanobots sprung to life, a grenade slowly emerging in the tray.
“Wait a minute,” Beauceron said, glancing over. “What’s that for?”
“Disabling security cameras,” Paisen answered tersely. “Rath, why are your supply levels so low on this thing?”
“I had to build a lot of stuff for my final mission, then a lot of EMP grenades to escape the Group. I didn’t get a chance to top it off before my escape.”
She shook her head. “Sloppy.”
Rath shot her a sour look. “Okay, mom.”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Sorry,” he said, quickly.
“Why do we need to disable security cameras?” Beauceron asked.
“You don’t. You just need to sit in the parking lot.”
“Not without telling me what you’re going to do,” Beauceron protested. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t particularly want to help an assassin without knowing exactly what she’s doing.”