by Dan Schiro
“Merv,” Orion said with a note of surprise. “What are you doing up and about? I thought you’d have a couple of days of consulin treatments ahead of you.”
“Checked myself out,” he said with a wince as he hobbled into the lobby. “I apologize for the unexpected intrusion, but…”
“Not at all.” Orion lent the Kingmaker his arm and helped him toward a comfortably padded armchair. “What… what can I do for you?”
Mervyn dropped his great bulk into the chair with a groan. “Your job’s not over, Mr. Grimslade. You’re going to help me break Zovaco Ralli out of prison.”
Chapter 26
“You want me to break Zo out of prison,” Orion repeated slowly, sitting down on the half-couch across from Mervyn.
Mervyn nodded. “A gravity prison.”
“A gravity prison?!”
“Wormrock Penitentiary, to be exact.” Despite his recent injuries, Mervyn seemed clear, focused and calm, not at all like a man intending to commit a serious crime. “It’s a black site for the most dangerous, deranged criminals in the galaxy.”
Mervyn retrieved his mirror-plated datacube from his pocket and tossed it in the air. With a wink of blue light, the cube opened and projected a holographic sphere between them. The super-massive planet was labeled “Bavara-5,” and the barren orb wore more furrows than the surface of a brain. A small, shattered moon loomed over the planet like a whirlpool of dirty shards, and only a single point blinked red near the equator. Bully tipped his head and looked curiously at the hologram, then lost interest and lumbered over to the lobby’s bubbling limestone waterfall to lap noisily from the pool.
Orion stared at Mervyn, his mouth agape. “Okay, so…” He shook his head. “Is it too early for a drink?”
“I could be persuaded.” Mervyn raised a bushy gray eyebrow. “If you have any of that Rumble Horse left.”
Orion made haste to his office and returned with two brimming drams of caramel-brown liquor. Handing one to Mervyn, he returned to his seat. “Okay, Merv, so we both know that Zo’s no Dawnstar zealot. We both know that there are other… forces at play.”
Mervyn raised his glass to Orion with an appreciative smile. “Let’s call it the shadowy conspiracy of an ancient assassins guild, shall we?” He drank deep.
“Right, perfect.” Orion swigged his own durok breakfast-whiskey. “But what do we do? If we manage to break him out, I mean? Scream ‘conspiracy!’ from the mountaintop?”
“Of course not,” Mervyn scoffed. “That earns us a one-way ticket to the land of padded rooms and a lifetime prescription for anti-psychotics.”
“Exactly.” An unbidden thought of his mother sent a shiver up Orion’s spine. “So, what then? If we can break him out — if — how can you prove his innocence so he’ll be eligible for the election?”
“I’m already working on it.” Mervyn’s thick lips bent with a slight smile and he drank his whiskey down to the middle. “My tech expert is already dissecting the terrorist recording and tracking the face-caster signature, so soon I’ll be able to prove that it’s a fake. My bug on Curkas Dur Trag Curkar’s shadow account shows a deposit of 20 million credits, and the timing of that little windfall can be leaked to the datasphere to imply his involvement in the set-up. I’m also working with a Member of Parliament who knows Zovaco’s being framed, but they will only step forward when everything else is in motion. Powerful people will lose everything if we succeed.”
“Wow, Merv,” Orion said with a whiskey-warmed chuckle. “I gotta say, you operate on a whole different level.”
Mervyn laughed, then winced and put a hand to his side. “Why do you think they call me the Kingmaker, son?”
“I thought that was an absurd nickname?” Orion took another slug of his drink. “Don’t suppose there’s any way you could connect all that evidence to the Guild? Maybe wrap them up in the take-down?”
Mervyn shook his head. “The closest we would get is a few shell corporations of which ‘they’ would simply wash their hands.”
“Of course.” Orion propped his sharp chin on his fist. “So… if you have all of this evidence… why not just put it out there? Surely you’ve got enough to get him released.”
“No, no, no.” Mervyn swatted the idea out of the air with a wave of his wide hand. “Whoever’s behind this seems content to let Zovaco eke out an existence in that hardened cesspool of a prison, but if he’s going to be legally released…” Mervyn shook his head, seemingly anguished by the thought. “Let’s just say that a most unfortunate accident would befall our friend before he made it through the prison gates.” Again he shook his head. “This is the only way. If we get him out and get him somewhere safe before the election, we can expose the corruption and force the Union to declare Zovaco’s innocence. Then the polls will swing, and Zovaco Ralli will steamroll his way to a spot in Parliament.” His face hardened into a determined scowl as he finished the last of his early morning drink.
Orion chewed on it for a moment, but he couldn’t think clearly about Mervyn’s plan. He was still preoccupied by his suspicion that Zovaco had the same training he did. “Merv, just how well do you know Zovaco Ralli?”
Mervyn shook his head, his thick brow knit. “What do you mean, Mr. Grimslade? You discovered that Dawnstar was just a pawn used to strike at Zovaco. You, best of all, know he’s no sleeper agent.”
“No, no, of course.” Orion sighed. “Let me ask this way — have you ever seen Zo in a fight? Ever see him do anything violent?”
Mervyn laughed loudly, wincing again. “No, of course not. I’ve never met a man more committed to diplomacy and peace in my life. What are you getting at, you coy human?”
Orion shook his head. “Nothing.” He didn’t have any evidence that anyone could recognize or understand, not unless they had the same Guild training. “Forget I said anything.”
Mervyn stamped his cane on the marble floor. “So, what say you, Mr. Grimslade? Are you in? Will you finish the job you were hired to do, and protect Zovaco Ralli’s life?”
Orion finished his drink. “Of course I’m in.” It wasn’t about money or the future of his business. It wasn’t about getting out of his family’s shadow, or even anything as grand as taking down the Shaman’s Guild of the Blood Nebula’s First Church of Eternity’s Kiss. He had to know the truth about Zovaco Ralli. “I should make some calls.”
Orion pulled out his datacube and opened a holographic interface. First he called his partners, and unsurprisingly, he couldn’t reach either of them. Next, he begged Koreen to come in on her day off, tossing out reckless promises of quarterly bonuses and extra vacation time. He managed to contact Costigan before the Briarhearts left the Maker Rings, and all Orion’s old friend needed to hear was that they still had a chance at their cut of a seven million UC bonus on Election Day.
Orion’s steely secretary arrived first, chastised Orion and Mervyn for their well-liquored breath so early in the morning and ordered a proper breakfast from her datacube. Costigan and the remaining Briarhearts — Reddpenning, Seals, Adler and big Zagzebski — showed up just moments before the food. Soon Orion and Mervyn were detailing the scope of the mission while they shared lizard-egg omelets from the Palladium Eatery. After, Costigan and Reddpenning sat with Orion and Mervyn to begin the tedious process of planning the prison break. Koreen logged onto the datasphere to secure an unregistered spacecraft, and Zagzebski, Seals and Adler rented an airvan to fly off and retrieve Aurelia and Kangor.
The day dragged on without any sign of Orion’s AlphaOmega partners, and Koreen ordered up tygerant filet sandwiches for lunch. As they continued to hash out the details of the plan, Orion had to admit that they needed another skillset to fill out their crew. They needed a pilot, and they needed one who was leagues better than him. He stepped into his office to make a private call, but he decided instead to send just a simple message — Meet me at my office? — and pinged
his location. He knew he couldn’t convince her, couldn’t explain what they were planning and what they had to do, through a holographic interface. She needed to hear everything Mervyn had to say, and he couldn’t say much over a channel that the Union could intercept.
An hour later, Katherine Vanlith slipped in through the office suite’s doors. Bully greeted her first, gently head-butting his old search-and-rescue partner and slobbering on the sleeve of her black leather jacket. Orion came to the door and smiled, shooing his huge hound out of the way with a slap on the dog’s flank.
“You came,” Orion said.
“Not much to do at the moment.” Vanlith pulled off her thin black sunglasses and pierced him with her icy eyes. “I’ve been released on my own recognizance until my inquiry hearing a month from now. Banned from all interstellar travel, of course.”
Orion nodded, a twinkle in his eye as he beheld her. Though he knew every curve of her skin, Orion had never seen her in civilian clothes. She wore cherry-red pants and a tight black t-shirt, high black boots polished to a shine and a black leather jacket made for riding a skysled. Old-Earth dog tags dangled on her chest, and Orion wondered if they might have been family heirlooms. “You look great, fantastic.”
“Thank you, I…” Vanlith trailed off as she peeked over Orion’s shoulder into the lobby. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the room — Reddpenning manipulating a holographic model of the prison, Mervyn scrolling through holos of classified prisoner transport schedules, Costigan and Koreen filling a virtual shopping cart with supplies — and she quickly turned her chilly stare on Orion. “What’s going on here?”
Before Orion could answer, Mervyn noticed her and hobbled over. “Ah, Commander Vanlith.”
Vanlith’s gaze fell to the floor. “Actually, it’s just ‘Ms.’ now, Mr. Claddaghsplough.”
“We shall see about that, Ms. Vanlith.” Mervyn glanced at Orion. “Perhaps we should talk in your office?”
Orion agreed, and the three of them got comfortable in the chairs around Orion’s glass desk. Mervyn laid out all of his evidence, all of his reasons, and told Vanlith what he wanted to do. “If everything goes as planned and Zovaco makes it to Parliament, re-instating your commission should be a wave of the hand,” he concluded.
“The point is,” Orion said, leaning forward on his desk, “we need a good pilot to drive the getaway car. We’ll be pulling a hard escape vector, avoiding anti-aircraft fire, and we might have some very angry people in pursuit.” Orion smirked at her, trying to tease out one of her rare smiles. “No big deal for the lady who landed the Star Sentry with nothing more than directional thrusters, right?”
“Quite the sales pitch.” Vanlith rose and walked to the windows. She looked down on the glittering Hub, and Orion could almost hear the decision-making pistons of command firing in her brain. “I’m in,” she said after a few breaths.
Mervyn tamped his cane on the floor. “Excellent, Ms. Vanlith.”
“Really?” Orion had been prepared to argue her into it. “You’re in?”
Vanlith pivoted back to him. “The Union’s going to burn my career to the ground for losing the Star Sentry. A PR execution.” She sighed bitterly. “I won’t be able to captain the manure haul from Torgorous to Prehilden when they’re through with me.” She grimaced. “But… if we blow up this house of cards and put Zo in Parliament… well, that would change everything.”
Mervyn smiled, wrinkling the corners of his dark eyes. “Ms. Vanlith, I can see it was no mistake that you were the first of your race to command a Union starship.”
A sharp rap sounded at Orion’s door, and Aurelia and Kangor breezed in without waiting for a response. The exiled Lady of the Jade Way wore a dreamy-eyed look and smelled of liquor, sex and smoky drugs. The big vycart’s skin and fur had gone bark-brown and leaf-green, and his muzzle carried a faint red stain from his hunt.
“What did we miss?” Aurelia asked as she straightened the silvery silks that wrapped her green flesh.
Orion shrugged. “We’re breaking Zovaco out of a gravity prison.”
“Are we now?” Aurelia said with a tilt of her head.
“Excellent,” Kangor growled.
“It… will be dangerous, you understand,” Mervyn muttered. “If this doesn’t work, the consequences for all of us could be… quite severe.”
Aurelia laughed. “Well, the Green have Exiled me, and if the Union does the same, there’s always the Independent Kingdoms or the Robot Republic. Good luck finding a decent party there, but why not? Count me in.”
“There must be justice,” Kangor said. “If not within the petty realm of law, then beyond it.”
Mervyn and Vanlith gaped at the two of them, but Orion just laughed. Somehow, he knew that Aurelia and Kangor wouldn’t need any convincing to break a few dozen laws.
Chapter 27
The hijacking went smoothly in Orion’s opinion, though he didn’t have much to compare it to. The logic bomb that Reddpenning had cooked up disabled the transport shuttle’s security system so that boarding was a breeze. The somatic gas that Adler had sourced from her contacts on the datasphere’s fringe market incapacitated the guards and prisoners in seconds. The ample brawn of Costigan, Seals and Reddpenning even made short work of removing the limp bodies, and Orion felt a little bit guilty that he had barely flexed a muscle during the whole escapade.
Now the original shuttle crew and their prisoners slept safely in suspended animation aboard Mervyn’s space yacht. In the pilot’s place, Katherine Vanlith sat at the controls of the boxy brown shuttle dressed in a Wormrock Penitentiary uniform. Costigan and his remaining Briarhearts — big Zagzebski, Seals, Adler and Reddpenning — wore brown uniforms as well, disguised as new guards posted to desolate Bavara-5. Orion, Kangor and Aurelia wore large handcuffs, magnetic boots and pain-inducing collars in the secure cargo hold of the shuttle, ready to play their part as prisoners. Mervyn had called in many favors and shoveled out even more bribes to amend all the appropriate schedules and records, but the guards and prisoners on the transport shuttle would be exactly what the penitentiary was expecting. Their cover didn’t even have to hold for long, Orion thought as he tried to relax his muscles in the bio-calibrated shackles. It just had to get them in the door.
“Five minutes until we exit the ether,” said Vanlith’s stern voice over the intercom. “No turning back once we’re in the Bavara System. Are we good to go?”
“We’re ready,” Orion said, feeling the pinch of his pain-inducing collar, an automatic response to his raised voice. “Stay on target.”
“Copy that,” said Vanlith as the intercom clicked off.
Orion looked around the dingy, stained hold at Aurelia and Kangor, at Costigan and his Briarhearts. “Okay everyone, we just need to play it cool. Guards and prisoners both, we’ll all be new at Wormrock Pen, so they’ll understand if we don’t know what we’re doing at first. Just remember your backstory and get through the processing.”
“We’ve been rehearsing this for a damn week, OG,” said Seals.
Adler chuckled grimly and ran a hand over her shaved head. “Yeah, getting a bit confused as to which me is really me.”
“That’s the idea, Addy,” Reddpenning said, a flinty look in her eyes.
“I actually worked as a prison guard for almost a year,” Zagzebski added with a shrug of his huge shoulders. “No one asks too many questions of the fresh fish. They wanna see if you’ll stick first. The trick is, you’ll see, just—”
“Hey, the man’s trying to have a word here,” Costigan snapped at his crew, his new cybernetic eye glowing orange. “Shut up!”
Orion couldn’t help but grin. “Well, you guys are loose enough.” He glanced at Kangor and Aurelia, seated on either side of him against the back wall of the hold. “How about you two? Ready to do this?”
Kangor nodded. “I am sure I’ve survived worse pits.”
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“They’ll never see me coming,” Aurelia said, smiling at Orion. She looked as relaxed as if she sat in his office. “The biggest challenge will be holding my temper until I get your signal.”
“I’ll try to be quick about it.” Orion felt the thrum of their ship exiting the ether route and returning to material space. “Here we go.”
Although Orion had no viewscreen to watch, their approach to the fifth planet of the Bavara System seemed to go as planned. Orion heard a faint back and forth in the partitioned cockpit as Vanlith confidently read their authorization codes to ground control. Then the boxy prison shuttle cut a wide path around the rocky whirlpool of the shattered moon and thrummed with vibrations as it entered the furrowed planetoid’s thin, cold atmosphere. When they landed and debarked through a wide door in the side of the shuttle, Orion suddenly felt like stones had been tied to his limbs and chained across his chest. Even for someone at the peak of human fitness, the planet’s intense gravity would present a problem.
They shuffled to the bottom of the ramp and found themselves in the sprawling courtyard of a slate-gray, pentagonal building. The landing pad was the only way in or out of the prison, since the exterior walls were coated with a layer of seamless carbon-compress that could take a hit from a small atomic. The five points of the looming gray walls supported impressive gun towers with twin-barreled pulse cannons, all but ensuring that any escape attempt would be snuffed out before it reached orbit. Nanofiber walls divided the sprawling yard, cordoning off the secure landing pad and creating five wedge-shaped recreation spaces where prisoners milled around sluggishly. Orion staggered forward slowly, his head pounding from the amplified gravity as he tried to get his bearings. The air on Bavara-5 surged into his lungs dusty and cold, and the sky looked like dirty snow this far from the system’s aging dwarf star.