by Cary Caffrey
They rode the elevator up in silence. Twice the lift stopped to admit more passengers, but seeing the four fully armed girls, all of the guests politely declined, choosing to wait for the next available lift. When they reached the 85th floor, Miranda led them to her suite. Trudy and Leta carried the agent between them, their hands clamped to her arms serving as shackles.
Sigrid paused before the wooden double doors. Her hands rested on the pearl handles of her sidearms, her fingers caressing the curves of the hair triggers.
Suko waited. "What are you going to do?"
"Exactly what I came to do."
Leta retrieved the key from Miranda's pocket and waved it over the lock. The doors swung open, admitting them to the Regency's presidential suite. A wide living area greeted them. Panoramic windows gave way to an impressive view of the smog-enshrouded city of Portside below. Sigrid saw none of that. She only saw the man standing by the window. He had his back to her. He turned to face them now, drink in hand, standing casually, calm. He was in his late seventies, but he was still a strong man, powerful, a man used to control and getting his way. On Earth Sigrid had found him arrogant. She disliked him even more now.
"Ms. Novak. I'm glad to see you again. This is an unexpected pleasure."
Sigrid didn't hear a word. She hadn't come all this way to talk. She came to send a message to anyone who might harm them. Randal Gillings would be her messenger.
Her PCM marked the target squarely between his eyes. Sigrid raised the 18 mm recoilless.
Miranda struggled in Trudy's and Leta's grasps. Her eyes were wide with alarm—and a warning. "Ms. Novak. Wait! Sigrid, don't! There's a—"
Sigrid pulled the trigger.
The shock came in waves. Lightning sparked from the pistol in her hand. Tendrils of charged electricity coursed across her arm. Showers of sparks arced between her sleeve and torso. Her PCM worked frantically, throwing up barriers, shutting down vital systems to protect her from the pulse of 450 kV that coursed through her limbs, sizzling across her skin.
Sigrid screamed, struggling to free herself of the weapon that continued to burn in her hand. She threw it to the ground and grasped her hand in pain. Suko was at her side, holding her, but Sigrid waved her away. She was all right; at least, she would be, if only she could catch her breath.
Slowly, Randal Gillings put down his drink. He raised his hands, but not in surrender. One of his fingers pointed to a spot on the ceiling above him and the tiny apparatus embedded there.
"Electrical field generator," he explained. "A man in my position gets used to taking certain precautions. A shock like that might kill some people. But then, you are not like most people, are you, Ms. Novak?"
Sigrid rose to her feet, clutching her wounded hand to her chest. "I don't need a gun to kill you, Chairman."
"Of that, Ms. Novak, I have no doubt."
"Then for your sake, I hope you have a device that will stop me from walking across this room and wrapping my hands around your neck."
"No, I'm afraid I'm all out of tricks. But before you do, I was hoping we could talk." He gestured to the empty sofa and chairs. None of the girls moved. "It was not my wish to harm you."
"No," Sigrid said. "I think you've done enough damage already."
"Oh? And what exactly have I done?"
"That's a dangerous question, Chairman. I read the directive, back on Earth. I know what the Council intended for us. 'Deconstructed for the purposes of reverse-engineering.' Those were your words, Chairman."
"Were they now? I wasn't aware of that."
"Do you deny it?"
"I don't deny the actions of the Council, Ms. Novak. But I am not a dictator. Eleven other members sit on that board. They will do what they will. I can't stop them. Believe me, I have tried."
"But on Earth—"
"On Earth, I came to warn you, Ms. Novak. Do you not remember? I warned Lady Hitomi. I told her exactly what was happening, but she was too proud, too stubborn to listen. I warned her of the Council's intentions. I told her they would move against her, and they did. I even gave her a way out. I gave all of you a way out. I didn't have to do that. I did that at great personal risk to myself."
"Are we supposed to be grateful?" Suko asked. "Friends of ours are dead."
"Not by my hands, Ms. Tansho. The Council did that—against my recommendations. I am gravely sorry for your losses. The deaths of your friends are most regrettable—and could have easily been avoided. But that was the Council's decision. Not mine."
"But you approved it," Sigrid said. "I saw the files."
"A formality. Nothing more. What was done was done. There was nothing I could do to prevent it. Which is precisely why I came to you then. It's also why I am here now. The Council is a bureaucracy, Ms. Novak. Perhaps in time you will come to understand what that means. They serve only themselves now. And the Federation has become fractured because of it."
"You failed to mention rich," Sigrid said.
Gillings shrugged. "I was rich before, Ms. Novak. I am rich now. I won't make apologies for what I am. But it doesn't change the facts. The Federation needs an effective Council and the force to back it up. The threat of sanctions no longer carries the weight it once did—the corporatocracy will do as it wants, regardless of the consequences."
"But the Mercenary Guild—"
"The Guild is far too busy squabbling amongst themselves to be of any use. The Federation needs order, Ms Novak. Control. It can't survive without it. I'm afraid the old ways are done. It is time for a new order."
"A new order!" Sigrid laughed, the pain in her hand forgotten. "Now I see what this is about. Power—for you!"
"Without order the Federation will collapse. And when it does, war will follow. War that will claim billions of lives. I'm not the only one who knows this. Our shared enemy, the very man you're after, he knows this to be true, just as I do. This is the wedge he will use against us. I cannot allow him to succeed. Order must be maintained, Ms. Novak. And at all costs."
"And I suppose it is you who will restore this order?"
"Perhaps. With your help—yours, and those of your kind."
"My help! Are you mad?"
"Am I?" Randal Gillings shook his head. "I am not a young man, Ms. Novak. There are many other things I could be doing with my time—far safer things than dealing with the likes of this. But I have chosen to be here now. I do this because I know I must. The Council must be removed from power. The Future of the Federation depends on it."
"Leaving you in charge, of course."
Gillings shrugged. "I see few other potential candidates. But I am open to suggestions."
"I didn't come here to help the Council, and I have less intention of helping you."
Gillings chuckled. He looked at her injured hand, the smoldering sidearm on the ground. "No, I think it's perfectly clear you came here to kill me. You must do what you feel is right, of course."
Suko drew her katana from the saya as Sigrid started toward him. Randal Gillings took a half step backward.
"Before you kill me, allow me to ask one last question."
Sigrid waited.
"Did you never think to ask Lady Hitomi why she created you?"
"I know why my mistress created us, Chairman." Sigrid's fingers traced the handle of her bowie knife.
The Chairman ignored the threat. "I doubt that very much. There was a time when your mistress and I were on more amicable terms. Hitomi saw what I saw. The day Daedalus Corporation opened up the stars for us was a great day, but it was also our doomsday. The riches offered by new worlds were of too great a temptation to dismiss. She saw the Federation expanding—far too quickly for its own good. When one builds too quickly, too ambitiously, without proper tending to a sound foundation, walls tend to crumble. Hitomi saw that. I saw that. That is why she made you, Ms Novak."
"She raised us to be mercenaries," Sigrid said. "As was she. As was her father."
Gillings scoffed. "Hitomi was no mere mercenary, my dear. And you were never t
o be mercenaries either. I know Hitomi. She did not risk her entire fortune to raise soldiers. You were designed with a far greater purpose in mind. Hitomi saw the future, Ms. Novak. And it is you."
Sigrid had witnessed the Chairman's gift for rhetoric before. She'd seen him leave Lady Hitomi rattled, shaking with rage. Sigrid remembered, and she would not make the same mistake.
"I'm sorry, Chairman, but I don't believe you."
"That is because you are young. And, no, that is not an insult. I don't expect you to understand. But believe me when I say, killing me won't serve you. It won't get you what you want—not the men you're after. If you will not help me, Ms. Novak, then let me at least help you."
Miranda finally freed herself from Trudy's and Leta's grasps; she moved to Sigrid’s side.
"He's telling you the truth, Sigrid. You can help us. We can help you. I can take you to them. I know where they are. Sigrid…I know who he is."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
An Unlikely Alliance
"Enough!" Furious and fed up, Sigrid grabbed Miranda by the collar and lifted her clean off her feet. "Who is he? Tell me now, or I will kill you both."
Miranda's toes scrambled for purchase as her hands grasped at Sigrid's arms. But her thrashings ceased just as quickly. She fixed her eyes firmly on Sigrid.
"Put me down and I'll tell you."
Sigrid did so, none too gently. Taking a moment to straighten herself, Miranda moved to the waiting desk and activated the three-dimensional display embedded in its plastic surface.
"This is the man you want," Miranda said. "This is the man who's been hunting you. He's the one who tried to take you. He's responsible for Scorpii, Alcyone—everything. I would imagine he even had a hand in those…things you saw in the Trade District today."
Sigrid stared at the image hovering over the desk. She saw the face of a man. He was thin, pale skinned, with two very thin lips practically devoid of any color. She recognized him instantly. He was younger than he'd been, the skin not so wrinkled, the eyes not nearly so sunken or distant, but it was him.
"That's Bernat Wereme," Sigrid said. "That's the man I saw on Konoe Station."
"That man," Miranda said, "is Harry Jones."
Sigrid couldn't take her eyes from the image. There was no question. It was him—younger, to be sure, possibly by as much as thirty years—but it was him nonetheless.
"How old is that image? When was this taken?"
"This was taken five months ago on Earth, a security feed from the offices of the Council of Trade and Finance."
Five months? Her mouth fell open. Sigrid had to stop herself from gasping aloud. "That…but that's impossible! I only just saw him—weeks ago! He was an old man. Frail. I scanned him. I know!"
Sigrid heard the chuckling behind her. Randal Gillings seemed to find this of great amusement. Sigrid glared at him, and Gillings stopped his laughing immediately.
"Forgive me, dear," Gillings said. "And please don't worry yourself. It's not you I'm laughing at. It's him. My brother-in-law has made a career of fooling those around him."
Sigrid looked at him sharply. "Your brother-in-law?"
"Yes. It's not a thing I'm particularly proud of. You can blame my dear sister for that."
Sigrid turned back to the image displayed above the desktop. How was this even possible? Who was he? What was he? She could only imagine he must be a man of tremendous wealth and intelligence, a man of power and industry, one of the corporate elite. It only made sense. She searched, but she could find no record of the man in any of her databases.
"All this time," Miranda said, "we thought we were looking for a group of men. We kept finding references—they call themselves the Circle."
"The Circle?" Sigrid said. "You mean the terrorists—the ones from the news?"
"Yes. They see themselves as some sort of shadow council. But we were wrong. It was never them. It was never the Circle, Sigrid. It was him. It was always him. It was Harry Jones."
"Who—who is he?"
"He is a clerk," Gillings said. "My assistant."
"Assistant?" Sigrid shook her head. How a clerk could pose such a threat to the Federation was beyond her. "That's impossible. I saw the facilities on Scorpii. There were thousands of men there. Ships. Machines. It can't just be him."
"Yes, I'm afraid he's managed to involve the Independents in his scheme. They have no love for the Federation. It seems they've rallied to his cause most willingly."
Sigrid reached out and gave the three-dimensional face on display a turn, rotating the image. The meaning of what Miranda and the chairman were telling her hit home and hit hard. She'd had him. She'd had this man in her grasp.
And she'd let him go.
"I don't understand," Sigrid said. "How can a clerk manage all this? What can he possibly want?"
"I should think that's obvious, Ms. Novak," Gillings said. "He appears to want you!"
"He had me, Chairman. He had me on Konoe Station. He could have taken me then and there."
"Could he?" Miranda asked. "I doubt that. I saw you in action this afternoon. There were over two hundred soldiers on that plaza, with enough firepower to lay waste to half the city. Exactly how many of those men do you suppose walked away?"
Trudy held up a helpful hand. "Fourteen!" But no one was listening. "I, um…I counted."
"He wants you here," Gillings said. "And he's gone to a great deal of trouble to arrange it."
Sigrid shook her head. "But why—why here? Why Bellatrix?"
"He wants you on his home turf. He wants you where he's strongest."
"Strongest?" Sigrid stiffened. "Why, what do you know?"
Miranda drew her attention back to the monitor. "You've seen the kind of forces the Independents employ. They have ships and weapons to rival any mercenary clan in the Guild. Someone's been supplying them—we knew that. It was just a matter of discovering whom. An operation that size can't stay hidden for long. It took some time, but we traced them back here. To Bellatrix."
She leaned over the terminal. With a swipe of her hand, the stark image of Harry Jones was replaced by a top-down view of a factory complex. Sigrid looked close, scanning, analyzing. It was a large complex spanning well over twenty kilometers. She saw the familiar rectangular shapes of assembly plants, tenements, office structures, but Sigrid could detect nothing unusual. There were factories like this all over Bellatrix. Though the continuous stream of heavy traffic moving in and out through a series of security gates did catch her eye.
As did the timecode embedded in the images.
"This is a live feed," Sigrid said, realizing what it was she was seeing. "It's not a recording."
Miranda nodded, looking somewhat pleased with herself. "I have fourteen tracer satellites parked in orbit. Totally undetectable. I've been monitoring this place since we arrived."
Suko leaned over the table. "And what exactly is this place?"
"It's run by Lachlan Industrial—a fairly minor conglomerate. They've got holdings in Abuja and the British Republic. I believe Jones has been using this place to build his entire operation. It's here, Ms. Novak. It has to be. I'm sure of it."
Sigrid scanned the factory grounds. Vast stockpiles of titanium and aluminum were everywhere. Towering vats the size of skyscrapers rose in clusters, each filled with enough raw chemicals to produce endless supplies of composite materials. The sheer industrial capacity was daunting. Yet as vast and powerful as the enclave was, she found no evidence of weapons or machines of war. Only a handful of lightly armed security men patrolled the grounds. Even to Sigrid's trained eye she saw nothing untoward, nothing that might hint as to the factory's darker purpose and its connection to the Independents.
"What makes you think this is the place? Why Lachlan Industrial?"
"Because of this." Miranda cleared the image away to bring up a new screen. "Two weeks ago I intercepted a communiqué. It was a receipt of goods. Five stolen CTF naval transponders, stolen from the shipyards above Mars. Those transpon
ders were delivered here."
"Ship transponders?" Suko asked.
"CTF naval transponders," Miranda said. "There's only one reason anyone would go through the trouble to acquire those. With those transponders equipped, their ships will be able to slip through any system unnoticed."
"Could come in handy when attacking," Suko said.
"Or moving contraband," Leta said.
"I doubt they'd go through the trouble of acquiring naval transponders for smuggling," Miranda said. "They're planning something. I know it. Something big."
"But what?" Sigrid asked.
"That's something I aim to find out. For that, we're going to need to get inside."
"How?" Sigrid asked. "How do we get in?"
"I'd arranged for an inspection tour under my cover as Catherine Cartwright. She's a shareholder of Lachlan Industrial—a real one. I've used this cover before; she's always served me well. I was on my way there. Unfortunately my appointment was just around the time you decided to…well, announce yourself."
Sigrid ignored the jibe, sweeping her hand over the moving images, scrolling across the vast complex. If they were building weapons here, if they were up to something, Sigrid couldn't see it. But none of that mattered. He was here—Harry Jones was here.
"I want to see this factory, Ms. Kane."
Miranda smiled, pleased. "I was hoping you'd say that. Here, you'll want to have a look at this."
With a swipe of her hand, Miranda shifted the image, highlighting a new grid area on the map. Centered squarely in the middle stood an immense tower of more than a hundred stories. Ground-penetrating radar from the tracer satellites revealed a deep underground component to the tower as well.
Suko did not look nearly as impressed. She leaned over the table with a sour look on her face. "Way to go. You found a building."
"A really big building," Trudy added.
"This is Central Services," Miranda said. "The heart of the operation. If Jones is here, this is where we'll find him."
"And what if there's nothing there?" Suko asked.
"Then we keep looking," Miranda said.
"No," Sigrid said. "That's it. He's there."