Rath's Reckoning (The Janus Group #3)

by Piers Platt

  “Structural issues,” he called out, running for the elevators. “Heading for the command center to download security footage and logs. Pilot, I need you standing by.”

  “Yeah, I’m coming. You don’t have long. One of the pylons looks like it just released a big cloud of steam from below the water level.”

  In the elevator, 700 punched the button for the command center level. He could feel the facility continuing to tilt. Then his hemobots sent him an urgent warning.

  “I’m getting elevated radiation levels,” he announced, hitting the button for the landing platform. “Facility’s unsafe, no time to download command center files. I’ll send a drone if it stays afloat long enough.”

  The doors slid open, and 700 saw just how far the deck had tilted compared to the horizon. The ship was hovering as close to the super-structure as the pilot could get; 700 dashed across and grabbed the ladder.

  “Take us out,” he ordered.

  Back inside the ship, he used his Forge to build a micro-drone, and then tossed it out the ship’s hatch, sending it back toward the heavily listing platform. Then he closed his Forge and slipped the straps back on.

  “We’re over the compound now,” the pilot told him over the radio. “No signs of life.”

  700 leaned out the open hatch, peering down at the island and the cement structure below. “Radiation levels?” he asked.

  “Normal,” the pilot reported.

  “Set down on the shuttle landing pad.”

  700 spent ten minutes searching the compound, then jogged back to the ship.

  “Take me back up to altitude.”

  They flew up over the jungle, following the curve of the mountains. When they crested the top, the lagoon on the far side appeared below them, stretching out to either side.

  “There they are,” the pilot said. He pointed the ship toward the beach, and the mass of people huddled near the tree line, making a single pass over them before landing close to the water’s edge. 700 hopped off into the soft, red sand. Two men hurried toward him. From the briefing Headquarters had sent him, he recognized them as the security team commander and the facility supervisor.

  “I’m uplinked to Headquarters,” he told them, as they drew up. “They’re asking for a full report.”

  The men shared a look, and then the captain spoke. “We were attacked. Two men and a woman, on board a small freighter or exploration vessel, as best I could tell. They neutralized the orbital drones, then hit us with kinetic darts – that’s when we lost comms with Headquarters. The ship strafed us a few times – it was a distraction, mainly. The woman infiltrated us by blasting her way into one of the pylons underwater. She overheated the reactor, and then they threatened to leave us on the platform when it melted it down. We had no choice but to comply.”

  “What did they want?”

  The administrator cleared his throat. “Information about the Group. The location of Headquarters, mainly. They asked about payroll and finances, too.”

  “And what did you tell them?”

  The administrator held up his hands. “Nothing. I don’t know any of that information, you can check with Headquarters.”

  “They interviewed about a dozen staffers,” the captain continued. “Same questions for all of them. Then they shuttled us in groups over here. They left maybe ninety minutes ago. Not long.”

  “Any clue as to where they were headed?”

  “No,” the captain shook his head. “But there’s something else. They took someone with them when they left: a girl. Not someone from the Group.”

  “A nurse?” 700 asked.

  “No. A senator’s aide. Dasi Apter.”

  “What the hell is a senator’s aide doing here?”

  “Good question. You’ll have to ask Headquarters.”

  The three men heard a high-pitched whine, and looked up to see a large, military-style transport descending from the clouds.

  * * *

  “That’s the response team arriving,” the tech noted, watching 700’s visual feed on the conference room viewscreen.

  Supervisor Altaras looked across the table at Feykin. “Who the fuck is Dasi Apter, and what was she doing on Fusoria?”

  The Chief of Operations held up a hand. “I’ll update you on that offline.”

  “If we don’t have all of the information we need, this Crisis Team can only be so effective,” Altaras warned him.

  “For now, all you need to know is she’s a former employee of Senator Lizelle. Who, we recently learned, is one of the three senators that provides oversight to Group operations.”

  “I thought the oversight committee was anonymous?” another supervisor asked.

  “They were. Two of them still are,” Feykin said. “Getting back to the mission. 339 and 621: what’s their next move?”

  “What might they have learned about the Group on Fusoria?” the supervisor asked.

  “Little to nothing new,” Altaras commented. “The staff there is pretty isolated, and everything’s restricted to Selection and Training processes. They don’t know anything about real world operations.”

  “But they have Dasi now,” Feykin pointed out.

  “Well, what does she know?” Altaras shot back.

  “We have to assume, since she’s now linked up with 339 and 621, that they collectively know about Senator Lizelle and his role in the Group.”

  The Crisis Team considered that in silence. Altaras spoke first.

  “Our working hypothesis is that they’re aiming to locate Headquarters, and then use that information as leverage to obtain their money. If that’s the case, I think their next logical move will be to contact Lizelle. Which means they’re headed for Anchorpoint, in all likelihood.”

  Feykin checked his computer. “Actually, Senator Lizelle was on Fusoria several days ago.” He held up a hand, silencing the inevitable questions from the team. “He was visiting this Dasi woman. He had permission to do so, and that’s all I know. But we also know that after he left Fusoria, he took his personal ship to Emerist.” He looked up. “Not Anchorpoint.”

  “Can we get someone to confirm that’s where he is now?” Altaras asked. “And how long he’ll be there?”

  “On it,” the tech affirmed.

  Altaras cocked an eyebrow. “We can assemble a team ….”

  “Yes,” Feykin agreed. “Do we have assets there? Or nearby?”

  Altaras consulted his datascroll. “No. Emerist is pretty isolated. It’s a few days’ journey, but our assets on Fusoria are actually the closest. 700 and the response team.”

  “339 and 621 will need to refuel,” the other supervisor pointed out. “It was a long haul from Aleppo to Fusoria. I don’t think that scout ship has the range for another multi-day trip.”

  “How much fuel does the response team on Fusoria have?” Feykin asked.

  The tech ran a search query in his computer. “Not enough. We can confirm, but I don’t think they can make it without stopping, too.”

  “What about the ship 700 came in on?” the supervisor asked.

  “… same,” the tech noted, shaking his head.

  “What if we transfer fuel from 700’s ship to the response team’s ship?” Altaras suggested. “I mean, we need to confirm with the pilots exactly how much they’re carrying … but combined, it might be enough. They could do the transfer in an hour or two, at most.”

  “… and then fly the response team direct to Emerist,” Feykin agreed, smiling. “Open a line to 700.”

  * * *

  “Secure connection established,” the robotic voice announced.

  Director Nkosi took a seat at her desk. “Senators, thank you for joining on short notice.”

  “I had to turn down a TV appearance, Director – this better be important.”

  “I apologize, Senator, but I think you’ll agree the situation warrants it.”

  “And what situation is that?”

  “The Group’s Selection and Training facility has been compromis
ed and attacked. We are developing contingency plans to re-establish those operations elsewhere, but it will take us some time to have things up and running. The damage to our financials will not be permanent, but … there will be some after-effects, while our resource pipeline recovers.”

  “Who attacked you?”

  “Our response team just arrived on scene. Interviews with survivors indicate the attack was carried out by two males and a female. Their objective was to discover the location of Group Headquarters.”

  “And did they?”

  “No. The manner of the attack and their objective strongly suggest that the attackers are our two rogue contractors, aided by a former Interstellar Police detective.”

  “IP is involved? Jesus Christ.”

  “No, Senator – they are not. I can assure you, if IP ever learned the location of our facilities, I would be the first to know. The detective is not operating in any official capacity. He was recently forced to retire; I’m led to believe it was due to poor job performance. We’re still trying to uncover how he became involved with the rogue contractors, however, or why.”

  “How did they find the planet?” one of the senators asked.

  “Our Crisis Team is working on that. But our best way to determine that will be to capture the rogue contractors, which we now have an excellent opportunity to do.”

  “You mentioned survivors,” one of the senators noted. Unlike the other two, his voice was not electronically disguised – she recognized it as Senator Lizelle’s. “Do we have a list of those who were killed in the attack?”

  “The attack was quite bloody,” she lied, “and we’re still getting accountability for all of the injured and dead. I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Senator, but I’m afraid your associate was one of those murdered by the attackers.”

  The line was silent for a time. When Lizelle spoke, his voice was flat and emotionless. “How did it happen?”

  “According to eyewitnesses, after the initial assault, the attackers landed and began interrogating survivors. It seems your associate volunteered to assist them, in return for safe passage off the planet. She talked to the attackers for some time, and then they shot her. They departed the planet immediately afterwards. Again, my condolences, Senator.”

  “It was a mistake to bring her there, Charl,” one of the other senators noted. “The entire Group is at risk now, as are we.”

  Lizelle said nothing.

  Nkosi broke the silence. “I think we must assume the rogue contractors are now headed for Senator Lizelle, to continue their search for information. For your safety, sir, I must insist you notify your security detail.”

  After a few seconds, one of the other senators spoke. “Charl?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry. Of course,” he said. “We’ll need to take precautions.”

  “Senator, I’ll send you what information we have on the attackers, so your detail can prepare appropriately. Can I also suggest that you augment your normal security team with Group assets?” Nkosi asked.

  “No,” Lizelle told her. “My men will be sufficient.”

  “Very well,” Nkosi agreed, smiling to herself. “But please warn them not to underestimate the threat.”

  One of the other senators spoke. “Did that girl know of our identities?”

  “No,” Lizelle said. “I told you already, she did not. She only knew I was involved.”

  “Still,” the other senator noted, “this is rapidly getting out of hand. Rogue contractors, an IP detective … an attack on Group assets. Put an end to this farce, Director. Now.”

  “We have plans in place to do just that, Senators. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m expecting another report from the response team. I will update you as we learn more.”

  13

  Dasi slipped out of her bunk, wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, and padded silently across the dark cabin. She opened the door to the hall, glancing back over her shoulder briefly, then walked across to the lounge. Rath looked up from the table, where he was studying the 3D model of Lizelle’s airship.

  “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

  “No. Well, I couldn’t get back to sleep.” Her cheeks colored in embarrassment.

  “Ah,” he said. “Sorry if I woke you.”

  “It’s fine,” she said. She took a seat across from him at the table. “Do you always get nightmares?”

  “Every night,” he said. “I’ve had to learn to get by on very little sleep.”

  She pulled the blanket tighter around her. “I had nightmares for a while, too, after Khyron died. They’ve been less often of late. But living with the guilt is still … hard.” She shrugged. “It sucks.”

  “Mm,” Rath agreed. He rotated the model, and zoomed in on the senator’s mansion. “Sometimes I think I deserve to live a guilt-ridden, sleepless life. And probably a short one at that.”

  “Have you tried talking to someone about … what’s bothering you?” she asked. “I felt a bit better after talking to Martin.”

  “What, like a therapist?” Rath laughed. “No. The Group would have killed me for talking to anyone about what I did.”

  “But you’re out of the Group. So you can find a therapist now,” she suggested.

  “Well, first I need to ensure the Group is no longer hunting me down, and then Martin needs me on the witness stand, and then – perhaps – I’ll go see the psychiatrist, in whatever jail they throw me in.”

  “Oh,” Dasi said. “All right.”

  “It’s a good suggestion,” Rath backpedaled, “I didn’t mean to shoot it down. It’s just … pretty far down the priority list right now.” He decided to change the subject. “What’s next for you, after all this?”

  Dasi put her arms on the table, and rested her chin on her hands. “I have no idea. This is all so … god, I don’t even know how to describe it. I was on a good career track, saving for a nice apartment, we were planning a big trip next year. Now …,” she trailed off. “I don’t even know. What do you think I should do?”

  Rath snorted. “I’m the last person you should be getting career advice from.”

  “Until you asked, I hadn’t even thought about it. Are they going to arrest me, too?”

  “I don’t think so,” Rath said. “I mean, talk to Martin, he’s the expert. But you haven’t committed any crimes, right? Aside from helping us, I guess. But you can just tell them we kidnapped you.”

  “Well, assuming they don’t arrest me, I don’t think I want to go back into politics,” she mused. “Not after what I’ve learned.”

  “Why did you choose politics in the first place?”

  “I thought it was the best opportunity to make a difference to people that needed help. To be a voice for people that couldn’t stand up for themselves. And we did make a difference, we really changed some peoples’ lives for the better.”

  “Well, that’s what you need to find, then,” Rath said.

  “What?”

  “Something where you can help people. If it’s not politics, then maybe something on a smaller scale.”

  She smiled. “I thought you said you were a lousy guidance counselor.”

  The door to the lounge slid open, and Captain Mikolos appeared. “Twenty minute warning,” he said. “Shall I wake up the others?”

  “No,” Rath told him. “I’ll get them, thanks.”

  Just one other ship was docked at the refueling station, but Paisen was taking no chances. Before they went forward to the cockpit, she insisted that Rath and Beauceron arm themselves in case of a boarding party. Mikolos brought them into their slip without incident, however, and a drone attached the refueling hose minutes later.

  Mikolos checked the ship’s computer. “We’ll be topped off in under an hour,” he told them.

  The radio crackled to life. “Payment accepted for fuel. You need any other supplies, Hurasu?”

  Mikolos looked to Paisen. She shook her head silently.

  “No, thank you,” Mikolos radioed back. “Jus
t a brief stop for gas this time.”

  “You got it.” The radio clicked off.

  “You’ll stay up here and watch the long-range sensors, in case anyone else enters the system while we’re here?” Paisen asked Mikolos.

  “Of course,” he agreed.

  “Okay. Let me know the minute you see anything.”

  In the lounge, Paisen set her Forge on the table, and placed Rath’s next to it.

  “Twenty-eight percent reserves,” she said, pointing to her Forge. “And Rath, you’re at nine percent.”

  “Getting real low,” Rath noted. “Think the refueling station has refills?”

  “No,” Paisen said. “I checked their inventory, they don’t even stock them – too expensive, and too niche.”

  “Well, we still have weapons and ammo from the Fusoria raid, so we should be set on hardware,” Rath said.

  “Yes,” Paisen rubbed her chin. “I’m wondering if we want to use our remaining reserves to make the prototype.”

  “The what?” Beauceron asked.

  “The prototype I took from Rogan Dan, back on New Liberia.”

  “I thought that was a high energy research project,” Beauceron said.

  “It is.” Paisen wiped the 3D model of the senator’s mansion away, and plugged a data drive into the hologram projector on the table. An engineering schematic appeared, rotating slowly. “The research was on a high energy weapon prototype.”

  Dasi cocked her head to one side. “It looks like an old-fashioned sewing machine.”

  “It’s big,” Paisen corrected her. “About the size of this table.”

  Beauceron frowned. “What does it do?”

  “According to the research paper I took off of their archives, it’s an energy teleportation device. It transports energy between the base unit, here, and an object of your choosing.” She picked up a datascroll on the table. “This datascroll, say. I would put the object in the unit, here,” she held the datascroll in the hologram, “and then I could take it wherever I chose to, up to several miles away. When I’m ready, I send the base unit a signal, and it sends energy into the object, from a distance.”

  “Like a laser?” Rath asked.