Rath's Redemption (The Janus Group Book 6)

by Piers Platt

  “Citizens of the Federacy,” he began. “I stand here today, at the foot of the Senate building, reluctantly accepting the torch that has been passed to me by the great senators who were killed in Ricken’s vicious terror attack. It has fallen to me to take up the mantle of their responsibilities, and I do so with a heavy heart, knowing that I cannot hope to live up to their legacy. We will rebuild this great Federacy, we will elect new senators to take their place, but we can never fully replace the great men we lost here.”

  “… the great men and women,” a reporter in the front row muttered, frowning. Foss ignored her.

  “But we will try,” Foss continued. “New leaders must step up to fill the void, to join me here in Anchorpoint and help govern this great alliance of planets, and protect it against our numerous enemies. So today I am announcing a special round of elections, to be held six months from today. The future of our Federacy starts now. Our enemies are numerous, and they may use these elections to try to wrest control of the Federacy from its people. We must not allow that to happen. I have asked a neutral third party to help monitor and facilitate those elections – the NeoPuritan Church, of which I am a member.”

  Two reporters raised their hands, and Foss suppressed a frown. Didn’t Shofel tell them I wouldn’t be fielding any questions?

  “The Church already has a presence on many of the worlds in the Federacy, and it will use its unbiased position to ensure that our enemies hold no sway over the people during this process, and do not interfere with citizens’ rights to democratically elect the leaders of their choosing. Now,” he said raising a hand, “these elections will not be easy. They will take a lot of work. But I am confident that they will be a success. Why, you ask?” He tapped a finger on the podium. “Because I have seen the way our citizens react to adversity. Here on Anchorpoint, and even more recently, on Tarkis.”

  At the back of the crowd, Foss saw a black sports car pull up to the police barricade that fenced off the Senate building. A young woman stepped out of the car, and hurried over to talk to the Senate Guard in charge of Foss’ protective detail. She pulled out her holophone, and showed it to the man. Foss ignored them and turned back to his script, gripping the sides of the wooden podium and mustering as much gravitas as he could.

  “I’ve seen the people’s courage and resiliency on Tarkis, which was the site of a cowardly attack by Jokuan forces. A Federacy planet, invaded by an army that sought to occupy it and subjugate its people. The pundits claimed that we were caught flat-footed, that the Jokuans had seized control of not only Tarkis, but the entire Federacy. Well, my friends, that was exactly what I wanted them to believe. While they grew complacent, I put a daring plan into action. The plan was full of risk, but I judged the risks to be worth taking in order to protect the good people of Tarkis, and the Federacy. And it worked. The Jokuan fleet has withdrawn from Tarkis, battered and bloodied. Tarkis is free once more. I’d like to take a moment to recognize the brave men that defended her, and in some cases, gave their lives to do so. A contingent of Interstellar Police on Tarkis led by Colonel Emeka and Detective Martin Beauceron, hero of the Guild investigation—”

  “Senator Foss!”

  The young woman from the sports car had pushed her way through the crowd, and was climbing the steps now.

  “I’ll thank you to let me finish my speech, young lady,” he reprimanded her. “It’s rude to interrupt …” Foss caught sight of District Attorney Hawken then, who was following the young woman. The attorney was still wearing his day-glow orange prison clothes. Foss frowned. “That man is an escaped prisoner,” he said, pointing. The cameras, which had been focused on him, dutifully swiveled to catch the approaching woman and Hawken. “Officers, seize him,” Foss said, turning to the Senate Guards on either side of the podium. Both appeared to be listening to a radio broadcast over their ear-pieces – they shot Foss cold looks, and ignored his order completely.

  “Senator, you’re under arrest,” the young woman said, joining him at the podium. She wore an IP badge around her neck, and Foss saw her draw a pair of handcuffs from a pouch on her belt.

  Foss forced himself to laugh. “Under arrest for what?” he asked her.

  “Conspiracy to commit murder,” the woman replied. “You hired Rath Kaldirim to murder Arthin Delacourt III, the father of your main opponent, in order to ensure your victory in Scapa’s last general election.”

  Foss blanched. “That’s absurd,” he blustered.

  “Debits from NeoPuritan Church bank accounts match the exact amounts paid to Mr. Kaldirim to facilitate his attack on the Suspensys facility,” she said.

  “I believe you’re mistaken,” Foss said, smiling at the cameras, “this Kaldirim man was recently convicted of murder. He’s clearly trying to shift the blame for his crime.”

  “His claims are supported by records kept by the Janus Group,” District Attorney Hawken added, joining them at the top of the steps. “Their accounting software corroborates Mr. Kaldirim’s memory of the event, and matches the withdrawals made from the Church’s accounts.”

  “You, sir, are an escaped prisoner, and a traitor to the Federacy,” Foss shot back. “And even if what you are saying was true, that would have nothing to do with me,” the senator explained. “That would only prove that the NeoPuritan Church hired this man. I don’t control what the Church does with its money.”

  “True,” Hawken agreed. “Patriarch Thomis Rewynn does.”

  “So arrest him,” Foss suggested.

  “Way ahead of you,” Hawken replied.

  * * *

  At the church’s altar, Rewynn raised his hands to the sky and drew a deep breath. His amplified voice echoed across the packed congregation. “Let us now drink of his lifewater, that we may believe again in the power of his teachings, and in the power of ourselves. Simi brought us lifewater!”

  The members of the church, standing, responded automatically: “Through it we are cleansed, and transformed into a better version of ourselves. We live to serve his values, and the Church.”

  A commotion at the back of the great stone temple caught his eye. Rewynn saw a group of uniformed men and women push through the doors. Interstellar Police, he realized. In my own church.

  “How dare you?” Rewynn thundered. “This is a religious sanctuary!”

  An acolyte tried to bar the lead officer’s progress, but he quickly found himself prostrated on the ground, being handcuffed.

  “Mr. Thomis Rewynn!” A senior officer called, striding up the church’s main aisle. “You’re under arrest.”

  “For what?” Rewynn asked, archly.

  “Conspiracy to commit murder,” the policeman replied.

  “Nonsense,” Rewynn told him, eyeing the side door that led off the back of the altar.

  “I’m not finished,” the police officer continued. “You’re also being charged with fraud, money laundering, and,” he pointed ominously at the marble trough, where the lifewater lay awaiting the congregation, “distribution of a controlled substance.”

  Rewynn opened his mouth to speak, then turned and ran, heading for the side exit. When he yanked the door open, he found two police officers waiting for him on the other side.

  * * *

  “Whatever you’re claiming the Church has done, I’m sure the evidence will show I had no knowledge of it,” Foss told Hawken.

  “You had full knowledge of it,” Hawken replied. “And I have witnesses that will testify to that effect. They’ll also be testifying that you ordered hits on Rath Kaldirim and myself, in an effort to cover up your crimes. And for good measure, they’ll be telling the court that you knew all about the NeoPuritan Church’s practice of mixing prescription-strength chemicals into the so-called ‘lifewater’ as an effort to secretly drug church members.”

  A sheen of sweat appeared on Foss’ brow. He wiped at it with one shaking hand. “This is preposterous. These claims are completely unfounded.”

  “We’ll see in court,” Hawken said evenly.


  “We will not,” Foss replied, regaining some of his confidence. “You are the one who will soon be on trial, not me. I have a Federacy to lead. I don’t have time to deal with some fabricated conspiracy charges.”

  “How about actual murder charges, then?” Hawken asked. “The murder of Officers Romlin and Shae.”

  “Who?” Foss asked, licking his lips. “I’ve never heard of them.”

  “It doesn’t surprise me that you don’t know their names,” Dasi told Foss, “even though they were on your personal detail for months.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Foss said.

  The Senate Guard to Foss’ left spoke up then, his face clouded with anger. “They’re talking about your Senate Guards, sir. Romlin and Shae. They accompanied you to Jokuan. They swore an oath to protect you, with their own lives, if necessary. And you shot them.”

  Dasi stepped forward, and whispered in Foss’ ear. “We have the video, direct from the Arclight team who saw you do it. They send their regards.”

  Foss’ mouth dropped open. “No ….” But his voice was weak, pleading, and the cameras caught the shock and fear on his face. Dasi saw Foss’ expression shift from fear to desperation, and then rage. The senator’s eyes caught sight of Hawken.

  “You son of a bitch …!” the older man lunged forward suddenly, hands reaching for the district attorney’s throat.

  Dasi stepped in swiftly, catching Foss by one arm and tripping him with a well-placed foot. She held onto his arm as he toppled forward and hit the ground, and as Foss grunted in pain, Dasi yanked his other arm behind his back and cuffed him in one smooth motion.

  “Are you all done?” she asked the senator, kneeling on his back.

  Foss whimpered, nodding.

  “Yeah, you are,” Dasi decided.

  “We’ll take it from here, Officer,” the Senate Guard told Dasi. She stood up, and the two officers hauled Foss to his feet.

  The senator looked up and saw the television cameras focused on him, and the reporters watching him in stunned silence. His jaw worked silently for a moment, and then he broke into tears, sobbing uncontrollably. The Senate Guards pushed him roughly down the steps and through the crowd, then guided him into a waiting police cruiser. The police car pulled away a moment later, and then the crowd of reporters turned to face the podium again, and a dozen hands shot into the air.

  “Officer!”

  “Mr. Hawken!”

  Dasi grinned at Hawken, and gestured to the podium. He took a breath, adjusted his orange jumpsuit carefully with a wry smile, and stepped forward.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  “District Attorney, can you give us any more details about Senator Foss’ arrest?”

  “Not at this time,” Hawken said, shaking his head. “The investigation is ongoing. My office will make an official statement later today with additional details.”

  Another reporter raised her hand. “Sir, the rumor was that you were running the government in the immediate aftermath of the attack on the Senate …?”

  “Yes, I was,” Hawken replied. “Until Senator Foss had me arrested.”

  “On what grounds?” she asked.

  Hawken shrugged. “Uh, jealousy? At the time he claimed it was treason, but no one ever formally charged me.”

  “What evidence did Senator Foss have against you?” another reported asked.

  “You’ll have to ask him,” Hawken said. “I never saw any of it. If some evidence is produced, I’ll be happy to discuss it, and defend myself at that time.”

  “Who runs the Federacy now? Are you going to take over again?”

  “If the emergency council asks me to return, I will,” Hawken said. “Though I’m not sure I would look forward to it. We’ve had a major breakthrough in our case against the NeoPuritan Church thanks to Officer Apter here,” he smiled at Dasi, “and I’d sorely like to begin prosecuting the Church leaders.”

  “What’s next for the Federacy?”

  “Next? I think Ricken was right, actually,” Hawken said. “We need new elections. Fair ones, without lobbyists or outside interests dumping cash into them. We need humble, responsible individuals to come here and represent their planets, and start rebuilding.”

  “Will you run?” a man near the back asked.

  “For Senate?” Hawken smiled. “Wait and see.”

  39

  General Childers held onto the roof of the police cruiser and leaned out the vehicle’s open door, craning his neck to inspect the city. The air car banked into a turn, giving him a better view. On the streets of Tarkis below, he could see the burned-out frames of cars parked in front of ransacked stores, the shattered glass of their windows strewn across the sidewalks, amidst various discarded goods.

  “This is where the looting was the worst, sir,” the police officer sitting across from him said, speaking into his boom mic.

  Childers nodded, touching his own headset. “Shopping district, Major?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” the major responded. “The Jokuans didn’t have many air vehicles in their inventory, so they mostly stayed at ground level. The upper levels were largely spared.”

  “That’s somewhat ironic, given the upper levels are the wealthier ones,” Childers said.

  “True,” the younger officer replied. “Makes it all the more tragic what happened to the folks here, sir.” He checked his datascroll, where a map of the city showed their current location. “We’re going to head to the industrial sector next.”

  Childers spotted a police cruiser parked at street level. A patrolman was taping off an area around a burned shop. “You have patrols out taking reports from each crime scene?” Childers asked.

  “We’re trying, sir,” the officer said. “There’s just a hell of a lot of crime scenes to cover. I heard an estimate on the news that put the damage over two billion.” They gained altitude, clearing a taller building. “I don’t know where they got that figure, sir, but I’d believe it,” the officer said.

  “Money is replaceable, Major,” Childers said. “Tarkis paid the real cost in blood.”

  “Yes, sir,” the major agreed. He cleared his throat. “Colonel Emeka’s funeral is set for tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be there,” Childers said.

  The major shook his head in chagrin. “The colonel and I were in the same district for a few years. Good man. He’ll be missed.”

  “They’ll all be missed,” Childers observed. “How are the settlements coming along?”

  “For the Jokuan refugees?” the major asked. “Good, sir. Once the Black Talon Fleet dropped them off, it took us a little bit of time to sort them all out. The ones who were really badly off are being treated up in orbit: you probably saw the hospital ships on your flight in. We’ve got temporary housing set up for the rest of them, spread around the city. Got a lot of volunteers stepping up to help out, thankfully.”

  “You better show me around a few of the settlements tomorrow, if we have time,” Childers noted.

  “Sir?” the pilot broke in, interrupting. “Headquarters is asking for you. They have a Detective il-Singh on the line?”

  “Patch it through,” Childers said. He waited a moment, then heard his headphones click to indicate a new connection. “Detective, are you there?”

  “I’m here, sir,” Atalia replied. “Sir, I have General Yo-Tsai in my custody. I’d like to turn him over to the local team for processing.”

  “Where are you, Detective?” Childers asked.

  “I just landed at Gates-Pahr Spaceport, sir.”

  “We’ll be there in five,” Childers promised.

  * * *

  Atalia stood next to General Yo-Tsai, holding his cuffed hands behind his back. Behind her, the Black Talon Fleet pilot was conducting a post-flight inspection on his spacecraft, while ground crew from Tarkis attached a refueling hose. She felt Yo-Tsai move his arms – he tugged at the back of his uniform pants, pulling them up higher.

  “My pants are falli
ng down again,” he grumbled.

  “How many times do you want to have this same argument?” she asked him, annoyed.

  “You could give me my belt back,” he said.

  “No belts, no shoelaces,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “I’m not going to be the asshole that let General Yo-Tsai hang himself before he goes to trial.”

  She spied the police cruiser on approach, weaving through the other spaceport air traffic, and watched as it hovered in for a landing.

  “Next time how about you buy the right size pants?” Atalia suggested. “Though I’m pretty sure you’ll be getting free pants for the rest of your life. Orange ones.”

  General Childers and another officer hopped down out of the cruiser, and jogged over to Atalia.

  “Sorry to make you come out here, sir,” Atalia said, by way of greeting. “But I figured I shouldn’t just walk him into the nearest precinct. All it would take is a couple citizens spotting who I’m transporting, and suddenly we’re dealing with a lynch mob.”

  “It was the right call,” Childers agreed. “The major here will take him in for processing, and keep things quiet.” He faced Yo-Tsai. “Welcome back to Tarkis, General,” Childers told him. “I hope this time you’ll stay awhile.”

  The Jokuan scowled, but said nothing.

  The major reached over and shook Atalia’s free hand. “Tarkis is indebted to you, Detective,” he said. “Thank you.”