They had stopped walking, so Nyondo took the opportunity to lean back against a bulkhead in order to rest. “Give him a break, David. He has the weight of the universe on his shoulders right now.”
“Two universes,” said Aoki.
Swoboda nodded. “You’re right, of course. Well, I’ll let you both get some rest. Lieutenant, would you show Captain Nyondo to her cabin? I will escort Commander Mullenhoff to her quarters.”
As Swoboda and Mullenhoff chit-chatted their way around the corner, Aoki extended a hand inviting Nyondo to follow her. “This way, ma’am.”
“Denlora, change of plan,” said Nyondo, reaching out to take hold of the lieutenant’s arm. “How about walking me to sickbay?”
17: Gerrha’s Best
Prosperity City
Pontus
Sanchez still had her appetite. Carr wished he could say the same.
“ArcoSoleri is definitely the nicest of the three arcologies,” she said lifting a final bite of steak to her mouth, “but for my money, the best restaurants are here in Chen.”
Dinner at Torrezo’s Grill on the eighty-ninth level of ArcoChen capped off a day of mixed results for the Sarissan operatives. His wife was encouraged, but as for Carr, he just wanted it all to end so they could go home.
There was still no sign of Yunru Lin. After her climb through the window of the safe house, Beckman and his people managed to follow her for about ten blocks before losing her. Lin had also discovered and ditched the tracker Sanchez slipped inside the collar of her shirt, so that trail was cold for now. If they ever encountered Yunru Lin again, it would likely be in a time and place of her choosing.
Better prospects had been discovered in the hunt for Admiral Bettencourt. Fighting their way through a maze of Pontian bureaucracy, they had managed to narrow down local deliveries of the drug Walzirin to sixteen recipients around Prosperity City. Over the last few days, Carr and Sanchez—with help from two of Beckman’s more capable people—had eliminated thirteen persons of interest from their list. Three more to go. With luck, Bettencourt would be located by the end of the day tomorrow. Even that possibility didn’t boost Carr’s appetite.
“You going to eat your potato?”
He pushed his plate in Sanchez’s direction. “Enjoy.”
“You used to love going out to eat when we were on missions in the old days,” she said transferring the potato onto her own plate.
“In the old days, we knew what we were doing,” he groused, draining his water glass and signaling to their server.
“Old Oakfield on the rocks please. Make it a double.”
“You’re feeling sorry for yourself,” said Sanchez between bites. “It’s not becoming.”
“Correction,” said Carr pointing an index finger into the air. “Us—I’m feeling sorry for us, not just myself. We’ve been here for weeks. In the old days, this would have been wrapped up by now.”
“I think you have a selective memory about those days,” she said taking a sip of wine. “Remember that mission to Threnn? The one that took five months?”
Not helping. I love you dearly, but sometimes a man just wants to brood.
“At least on Threnn we had help,” continued Sanchez. “You were right about Beckman. He has been basically worthless.”
“Well, at least we still have our Marines,” Carr mumbled as something caught his eye, something in the direction of the restaurant foyer. “And let’s hope they are paying attention. We have incoming.”
A short, wide man in a crumpled suit approached their table. If Carr didn’t know better, he might have guessed it was Beckman’s brother, but their thickheaded colleague’s file indicated no siblings.
“Ms. Sanchez, Mr. Carr,” greeted the man. “Sorry for intruding on your dinner, but I couldn’t locate you anywhere over at ArcoSoleri.”
Sanchez washed down the final bite of potato with the last of the wine. “And you are?”
“Inspector Callen, Prosperity City Police Bureau. You were asked to remain in ArcoSoleri for the remainder of your stay. Do you mind explaining to me how you come to be here in ArcoChen?”
“Funny thing about that,” Sanchez started to say before simply giving up on any defense. Truth was, staying in Soleri wasn’t helping them locate the Massang’s human collaborators, so they decided to ignore the order.
“What is the problem, Inspector?” asked Carr. “You didn’t track us down to check on our house arrest. What can we do for you?” The Inspector looked like Carr felt, as if he very much wanted to be somewhere else right now.
“I need both of you to come with me. Chief Inspector Abbasi has some more questions about the business with the androids.”
“But we’ve already spoken to her about that,” Sanchez assured him. “There’s nothing more to tell.”
“Ma’am, I just do what I’m told. Let’s make this easy for everyone,” the Inspector said while gesturing toward the foyer and two uniformed officers standing at the ready.
“By all means,” said Carr. “Easy for everyone—my mantra in life.” The server had just arrived with his whiskey. Carr stood and grabbed the drink out of the man’s hand. Throwing it back in a pair of large gulps, Carr smiled at his wife. “Shall we, my sweet?”
She returned a quick nod of understanding. “Of course, my love. Do lead on, Inspector.”
* * * *
They had been escorted to one of ArcoChen’s sub-levels and placed inside a landcar that looked nothing like a police vehicle. As the car moved through the city streets, Callen sat opposite them in the reverse back seat, the two grim-looking uniformed officers flanking him.
“Inspector Callen, are you sure this is the way to police headquarters?” asked Carr.
“Relax,” the man answered tersely.
“Just wondering. I’m also curious about how you managed to find us at Torrezo’s Grill. I mean, if we weren’t in our suite at the hotel, it seems odd that Torrezo’s would be the first place in the entire city—”
“Enough!” snapped Callen.
“I still say we are lost,” Carr persisted. “I haven’t been in town that long, but even I—”
“Be quiet, will ya?”
“The Inspector is losing his patience… dearest,” said Sanchez smirking.
Carr chuckled. “That’s because he knows.”
“You mean he knows that we know?”
“I mean that he knows that we know that—”
“Would you two just shut up?” Callen was begging more than bullying at this point. “OK, OK! My guys and I aren’t cops—at this point we all get that!”
Carr smiled and shook his head. “I don’t know about here on Pontus, but back on Sarissa it’s a felony offense to impersonate a police official.”
“Someone wants to see you two and we were sent to bring you around. I figured this would be the easiest way.”
Callen’s friends looked almost embarrassed as he continued. “The doors are locked so don’t even try to make a break for it. All of your questions will be answered when we get there. For the love of the Many Gods, please just sit back and relax for a few more minutes. And do it, you know—quietly!”
Callen’s plea was almost endearing, until he produced a pistol in his right hand and pointed it at them.
“Please?”
Carr raised an eyebrow and reached over to take his wife’s hand into his own. They remained silent for the remainder of the trip, which only lasted five more minutes. Leaving the car, they found themselves inside some sort of cavernous building. It looked to Carr like an old warehouse. There was enough clutter around to make it hard to determine if the facility was still in sporadic use or had been recently abandoned.
The two Sarissans were directed by Callen into the open area of what looked like a huge receiving room. They stood in the brightest lit part of an open space. Other people began to appear around the periphery of the area. Carr could make out eleven faces, none of which he ever remembered seeing before.
Out of the shadows came a figure in a hoverchair being pushed by a woman who was familiar. Even before they had cleared the darkness, Carr recognized the form—it was Yunru Lin.
The person in the chair was an older man. Carr could tell that at one time he had been a man of vigor, but age and illness had left him the wizened character he and Sanchez saw before them.
“After all of these years, it is a pleasure to finally meet you,” the man said in a raspy voice. “I have followed your careers with great interest. My name is Lucas Bettencourt, formerly of Gerrhan Intelligence.”
Bettencourt extended his hand and Carr started to take a few steps over to shake it. A murmur of uneasiness rippled through the group and he was sure he heard the click of at least one gun safety being disengaged.
“Everyone stand easy,” Lin ordered the others.
Carr shook Bettencourt’s hand and introduced himself, as did Sanchez after him.
“In my former life, I used to be Director Tolbert’s opposite number in Gerrha, you know,” said Bettencourt, referencing their former boss. “Of course, that was a different time. This treason thing Jason got himself mixed up in… silly business. Incredibly bad judgement on his part.”
“You seem to be well informed, sir,” remarked Carr. “The incident involving Director Tolbert isn’t widely known outside of the highest levels of the Sarissan government.”
“Well, that’s our game, isn’t it, Major Carr? Information—it’s our lifeblood, yours and mine. Who does what to who, the hows and whys… Who lives and—who dies.”
A chill crawled up Carr’s spine as Bettencourt seemed to sit up straighter in his chair. In an instant, his voice sounded stronger and he didn’t look nearly as withered as he had just seconds ago.
Bettencourt motioned at the others with his right hand. “This group you see around you. We are the last of our kind. Patriots, proud sons and daughters of Gerrha, people willing to risk everything to save their homeland.”
“From my wife and I?” asked Carr.
“From thieves, Major!” rebuked Bettencourt. “Sarissan brigands, creeping in from the blackness of space, strangling our commerce and thus starving our children, until surrender was the only option.”
Bettencourt held Carr’s eyes for a long moment, and then gave out a raspy chuckle. It turned into a gruff belly laugh, prompting Yunru Lin to lean over and place her hand on his shoulder in concern. He composed himself, patting her hand to calm her.
“That’s what we used to tell ourselves when we first came to Pontus. Blistering notions of indignation and rage to keep the fire burning in our bellies.” Bettencourt smiled at some of those surrounding him. Many smiled back and some had teary eyes. Looking around the warehouse at his comrades, his gaze was that of a father’s soft eyes upon his children. This was hardly the ruthless spymaster for which Carr had searched.
“When we arrived here, it was a temporary base from which to free our homeworld. The Second Commonwealth was to be born right here, from the very spot on which you stand.”
Bettencourt paused, as if he were recalling a bittersweet dream.
“What happened, sir?” prompted Sanchez ever so gently.
“Ah,” he said with patriarchal eyes turning her way. “Time, Commander Sanchez. Time—the great ravager. It devoured our hate, consumed our passion. Young Garcia there married a local Pontian girl and started a family. To help with our finances, Schmidt over here created an IT business. She is quite handy in that area and is now more entrepreneur than revolutionary. Time and truth: the great destroyers of dreams.”
Yunru Lin spoke up from behind the old man. “We turned our attention to helping other Gerrhan refugees, helping them to get a new start here on Pontus.”
Carr’s eyes narrowed. “Then why fall in with the likes of Beetle Dash?”
The question touched a nerve in Lin. “Beetle was scum, but he has his uses. A revolution needs funding and criminals are good at getting money. Even after our movement changed direction, we still needed money.”
“Don’t judge Lin too harshly, Major Carr,” said Bettencourt. “What she did, she did for all of those here and many, many more Gerrhan brothers and sisters who have settled on Pontus.” He reached up and patted her hand once again. “Yunru Lin represents Gerrha’s best. The man you have been sent here to stop, he embodies our worst.”
Sanchez crossed her arms and shifted weight from one foot to the other, body language that told Carr she wasn’t yet sold on this story. “And who would that be, Admiral?”
“Colonel Samson Dansby.”
“The Butcher of Caswell Station,” Carr said, almost on reflex.
Sanchez was clearly confused. “Wait—Butcher? You mean Hero—the Hero of Caswell Station” she said, looking around the room at the faces of everyone else. “Don’t you?”
“It happened before you joined OMI, so you wouldn’t know,” Carr said.
“A tale of human tragedy and government complicity,” added Bettencourt.
Sanchez raked her fingers through her hair. “Ok, so what I know is that there was an incident years ago at a Gerrhan mining habitat out in some remote system.”
“Brontes,” helped Lin.
“That’s it—Brontes. The place was called Caswell Station and some terrorists took the miners hostage and demanded ransom. The government sent in Marines under Dansby’s command and they rescued the hostages. He and his men were heroes.”
Following Sanchez’s account, the room was silent.
“I take it that’s not what really happened.”
“It’s the official version of events,” said Carr.
“I’m afraid the truth is somewhat less inspirational,” said Bettencourt. “Back in Sixty-Nine, Samson Dansby was a rising star, a major in our Marine Special Forces. As you said, Commander Sanchez, terrorists had taken control of Caswell Station and were holding the personnel hostage. When they realized they were surrounded by a company of Gerrhan Marines with no way out, the culprits surrendered. Instead of placing them under arrest and bringing them back for trial, Dansby had the terrorists spaced—had them tossed out an airlock, every last one of them. There should have been a court martial, but our government decided that the spectacle would be too embarrassing. The Commonwealth leaders rebranded Dansby as a hero to protect themselves. They even promoted him to colonel.”
Bettencourt seemed to be fatiguing, his voice growing fainter. Lin took up the tale.
“Later, the Commonwealth turned their back on Dansby. Basically, they forced him to resign his commission. The man felt betrayed by the starhold he had given a lifetime of service to. And then, as if it weren’t all bad enough for him, the Sarissans invaded the Commonwealth. Dansby’s wife and children were on a commercial shuttle over Kition when it got caught in a firefight between Gerrhan and Sarissa warships. The shuttle was destroyed, along with everyone aboard.”
“That broke him,” declared Bettencourt. “Pushed him over the edge.”
Callen, the man who had played the police inspector, stepped forward. “About a year ago, Dansby and his people turned up here on Pontus, but they weren’t interested in working with Gerrhan refugees. We assumed he wanted to fight the Sarissans, to ferment rebellion on Gerrha. Apparently, we underestimated his appetite.”
Bettencourt had rallied. “When Dansby first arrived, a few of our people joined up with him. After Kolo Khiva was destroyed, one of them came back to us. She told us that Dansby had helped orchestrate the destruction of Kolo Khiva, that he was collaborating with the Massang. Unfortunately, we never got the full story from her.”
“Why not?” asked Carr.
“Because the morning after she returned, we found her dead in her quarters,” Lin answered. “One of Dansby’s people had crept in during the night and slit her throat. Since then, we’ve kept our distance from Dansby. We don’t bother him, and he hasn’t bothered us.”
“His agenda is pure hatred,” added Bettencourt.
“With respect, sir,” spoke up Sanch
ez. “If that’s the case, why haven’t your people done anything?”
“Because they’re all cowards,” said Lin scornfully.
Some of the group lowered their eyes to the floor. Others scowled back at her.
“Lin has long expressed a desire to take action,” explained Bettencourt. “Some of my remaining colleagues are hesitant to attack a fellow Gerrhan. Others are simply fearful—not for themselves, understand. These are all brave people, but they fear what Dansby might do to their families here and back on Gerrha should they should fail.”
“There’s also the fact that your government considers us criminals,” said Callen directly to Carr. “I think we are on what you people call the Hunt List. Why should we hit Dansby? Why draw attention to ourselves?”
Carr looked around the warehouse, trying to read the faces before turning back to Bettencourt and Lin. “How do we know all of this isn’t just an elaborate production? How do we know you aren’t lying to us?”
Again, the frail man in the hoverchair seemed to transform, to turn steely. “Carr, if we wanted you dead, we would have killed you by now.”
“Fair enough, but I could say the same thing.”
Carr puckered his lips and gave a sharp whistle. From behind pillars, containers, and machinery appeared eighteen Sarissan Marine Raiders. They wore light armor stealth suits and their weapons were trained on Bettencourt and his followers.
Quickly, Carr put up his hands and spoke to the entire room before anyone could react.
“Everyone, listen to me! Listen-to-me. This doesn’t have to end badly. My wife and I were sent here by Empress Ardith herself. For this assignment, Her Majesty granted us Imperial Aegis, which means that we speak with her voice. I’m going to use that authority right now. I hereby invoke our Imperial Aegis to order that your names be removed from the Hunt List. Your days as fugitives are over. All you have to do is put down your weapons.”
No one moved, so Sanchez took up the plea.
“Some of you have children, family members that aren’t here. Think of them. You can all walk out of this room with nothing further to fear. You can continue to help your fellow Gerrhans if you just lay down your weapons.”
Starhold's Fate Page 17