Ragnarok (The Echo Case Files)

Ragnarok (The Echo Case Files) Page 4

by C.S. Stinton

  * *

  ‘I like these guys,’ said Tycho as they rode in the back of one of the HCPD cruisers. ‘They seem to have it together.’

  ‘They seem blindingly incompetent,’ grumbled Ramirez. They had been told precious little, even with their status confirmed by the raid team, and invited to come to the Central Precinct if they wanted answers. The situation was compounded by that Harrigan, as a civilian in the Flarestar at the time of the raid, was under arrest by default. That the HCPD computer database hadn’t been told he was permitted to be out of jail made matters worse.

  While the half-dozen HCPD officers who’d stormed the bar were unharmed, stray gunfire from the chaos had clipped a couple of patrons, and they’d had to wait for the ambulances to arrive. Officers positioned at the rear exit had picked up most - but not all - of the Flarestar’s patrons who’d run, which sounded like even more incompetence to Ramirez. But the crowning disaster was that they hadn’t seen Captain Grace Takahashi, and were blissfully unaware that there was another way out of the bar.

  Just a glance through the rear door of the stockroom, which led to a stairway into the rest of the huge building, proved them wrong. Takahashi could have gone anywhere, and by now was likely hailing a cab ten levels up and getting far, far away.

  Ramirez had considered putting a notice out to have the Northern Star intercepted if it tried to leave the planet, but Takahashi could circumvent such a minor measure if she’d been operating on Thor for this long as a smuggler. And her faith in local law enforcement had hit rock bottom.

  ‘It’s not that bad, Chief,’ Tycho said as they were driven along the lanes in between the towering skyscrapers of central Hardveur. ‘We got the answers we wanted. We have a lead on who to ask.’

  ‘But no idea where to find him. Jovak, that’s all we know. Takahashi was going to tell us.’

  ‘And Harrigan will have an idea, or someone here on Hardveur will. This was our first stop-off, Chief. We weren’t going to hit a home-run in the first conversation.’

  ‘I take issue with that logic; there’s no inherent reason the first conversation can’t be the best lead. That’s why you go there first.’

  ‘Philosophy aside, it’s early days yet. You know this. You’re getting awfully tense about this whole case.’

  Ramirez looked from the buildings of Hardveur streaming past the window to the front of the police cruiser where the driver hadn’t reacted to her calling the HCPD incompetent. It was likely he couldn’t hear her past the wall compartment, but she didn’t want to trust such an assumption. ‘It’s fine,’ she lied. ‘We want to talk to the local police anyway.’

  ‘That’s the spirit. And this way we don’t have to pay for a taxi, and we don’t have to sit with Harrigan.’ He’d been bundled into the back of one of the vans. Tycho shifted her weight. ‘Sorry I didn’t have your back in there, Chief. I had this bruiser bearing down on me right after you left.’

  ‘You look in one piece.’

  ‘A bottle broken over the head works wonders on anyone. But Harrigan - he was after you like a rocket.’

  ‘I know you want to trust him so this case is made easier. But I think you’re clutching at straws.’

  ‘He stopped you from getting shot -’

  ‘He could have gone for me, or he could have gone for the gunman. He went for me. He tackled me to the floor and was in no rush to let me get back on my feet. Yes, he stopped me from getting shot, but he also helped Takahashi get away.’

  ‘He couldn’t have had more than a split second to weigh up his options before he went for you,’ Tycho pointed out. ‘Do you reckon he thought that quickly?’

  ‘I know he was a Marine, and I know he was a good one. Yes, I do believe he can think and react that quickly in a fight, because he’s not dead.’ Ramirez drew a careful breath. ‘He’s not dead when the rest of his unit are.’

  Tycho made a face. ‘Are we going to judge him for his military record, too?’

  ‘This is war. You don’t pull a soldier off the front line without good reason. He pulled a stupid stunt for glory and he got the men in his platoon killed. For what? So he could brag about taking down a Null fortification?’ Ramirez shook her head. ‘We have a lead on the smuggling underground now. Takahashi has pointed the way to this Jovak. Harrigan is no use when it comes to Ragnarok’s attacks or the political protests. We don’t need him.’

  ‘Are you saying we leave him to rot in an HCPD cell?’

  ‘I’m saying that might be the best thing for everyone involved.’

  Tycho gave a slow nod. ‘You could be right. We can have the HCPD ship him back to Odin as soon as this evening -’

  ‘No.’ Ramirez shook her head. ‘We keep him in the local cells in case we need him again.’

  ‘And why’s he going to want to help us?’

  ‘Because he’s signed the contract.’ Ramirez frowned at Tycho. ‘We’re not going back on this deal.’

  ‘Chief, I don’t disagree with you on any of it, including the part where the man’s likely trouble, but -’

  ‘And I gave him my word.’ Ramirez tore her gaze away from her partner, staring at the skyscrapers streaming by the window. Everything moved too fast for her to pick up any detail, giving the impression of Hardveur as nothing more than a gloomy blur of people and metal and activity.

  Tycho drew a deep breath. ‘Being bitter about what he said about Tyr isn’t a good reason to let a smuggler and deserter back on the streets -’

  ‘I’m not bitter.’ Ramirez still didn’t look at her. ‘There are a lot of words to describe how I feel about Tyr, and “bitter” doesn’t come close. But those words, and those feelings, are why I’m not going to break the man’s trust, and I’m not going to renege on this deal so long as he doesn’t. Not even if I dislike the deal. Not even as a preemptive strike.’

  She could almost feel Tycho’s frown. ‘Chief, you’re more decent than these folks deserve, you know?’

  ‘No, I don’t know that. Decency is what people deserve.’

  ‘All right - you’re more decent to them than they’ll be to you, and I really don’t want you or me getting killed for that decency.’

  ‘I don’t want that either. But of course I’m more decent than them. Because this is what makes us different. And decency shouldn’t change just because you don’t like someone.’

  Tycho watched her for a few long moments, gaze incredulous. Then she laughed - and the tension in the air was gone, because the laugh was genuine and honest and did what it always did to wash away any conflict or disagreement between them. ‘That’s what I always like about you, Chief. Next to you, I’m the cynic. It’s reassuring.’

  They were at the Central Precinct of the Hardveur City Police Department not long after, their cruiser joining the rest of the flotilla that had come from the Flarestar. The building rose like a juggernaut, squat and fat, out of the lithe and stylish skyscrapers around it, and they glided into the gaping hole in the side that was the garage entrance. The badge of the HCPD was emblazoned above, twenty metres high, a beacon of order and hope in the middle of this gloomy clump of cynical, unlawful metal and people squashed together.

  The HCPD hadn’t been sure, at the Flarestar, what to do with them. They’d looked at their ID cards, said repeatedly how they hadn’t known the Marshals would be there as if this would change the facts until an officer with a lieutenant’s pips had let himself out of his cruiser. Although he wasn’t the ranking officer he’d been listened to, even by the cops running the raid, and when he’d suggested he take them to Commissioner Beyer everyone had been happy to pass the issue up the chain.

  He’d been polite, calm, courteous, and despite his rank was rather young, the product of a fast-track protocol. She had to hope this meant he was good at his job, and at the least had been co-operative and was smiling at them when he opened the door to let them into the huge garage. ‘Here we are, ma’am. Central Precinct.’

  ‘Thank you, Lieutenant Navarro,’ said Ramirez. N
avarro looked like he hoped they’d be impressed, his eyes lighting up as he swept a hand around the metal chamber the rest of the convoy rattled into, and she couldn’t bring herself to point out that she was no stranger to local law enforcement. Even if Hardveur was one of the bigger cities in the Confederacy and the Central Precinct was nothing to be scoffed at, she was not about to be awed by the sight of such an operation.

  But she smiled at Navarro anyway. It never hurt to foster good relations with the local police. ‘I imagine there’s going to be quite a waiting list to see the Commissioner, with all of this lot coming in?’ She waved a hand at the police van that was slowing to settle on the hard concrete of the garage floor, officers swarming to get their prisoners out and down to the cells. As they opened the rear doors of the van she caught a glimpse of Harrigan, a smirk on his face.

  He likely didn’t expect to be in the HCPD’s custody for very long. Ramirez clawed back the hint of guilt, and latched instead onto the satisfaction.

  ‘No, ma’am; the raid’s gone textbook. People will have to do their questioning and reports and then the Commissioner will get involved. I reckon he’s going to be more interested in talking to a pair of Marshals anyway,’ said Navarro, gesturing for them to follow him into the belly of the building.

  Any jealousy which hit Ramirez as she walked through the busy corridors, past the offices heaving with police activity, was from the knowledge that the HCPD had a better funded and better staffed operation than the so-called elite Confederate Marshals. And when Navarro brought them through one of the office bullpens to the huge door made of a wood that had to have been specially imported, she had to reflect that Commissioner Beyer had a better office than Director Tau.

  ‘Sit here,’ Navarro said in a friendly way, gesturing to two chairs outside of the door. ‘I’ll let the Commissioner know and I’m sure he’ll be right with you. I’ll get you a coffee.’

  Fifteen minutes later, as they still sat in those chairs, Tycho broke the silence. ‘The kid lied to us.’

  ‘I’m sure the Commissioner’s a busy man,’ said Ramirez. ‘He’ll be “right with us” as soon as he can.’

  ‘No. I mean, I’m pretty sure this isn’t coffee.’ Tycho sniffed her mug of inky black liquid and made a face. ‘I’m pretty sure giving me this is against the 2258 Hubal War Crimes Act.’

  ‘It’s not that bad.’

  ‘That’s because your insides are made of titanium, Chief, from drinking shipboard coffee. You fill half your cup with sugar. You have no standards.’

  ‘Says the woman with a pickled liver,’ said Ramirez, then stood as the big wooden door swung open to reveal the portly figure she presumed was Commissioner Beyer.

  He looked in his mid-fifties and like he’d been in a desk job for the last ten years at least, wide around the middle and in a uniform that expected a gut. A thick moustache streaked with grey hid the worst of a droopy face, his eyes dark, deep-set and suspicious, but his sleeves were rolled up and his shirt stained in a way which gave a workmanlike impression. Ramirez wasn’t sure if this was a genuine clue that the Commissioner got stuck in alongside his officers, or if this was merely an image he cultivated.

  Beyer looked at them, an unimpressed glint in his eyes. ‘So you two are the Marshals, huh?’

  ‘Commissioner Beyer.’ Ramirez pasted on a polite smile. ‘I’m Lieutenant Commander Ramirez, this is Lieutenant Tycho, and we’re -’

  ‘Interfering with my men doing their job.’ He made no move to usher them into his office, remaining in the doorway. All around the bullpen, the dozen or so officers coming to and fro or at their desks stopped what they were doing so they could pretend to work and, instead, listened. ‘I had no word there’d be Marshals in the Flarestar.’

  ‘That’s because we didn’t tell you,’ said Ramirez. She’d hoped to avoid a jurisdictional conflict. ‘I know Director Tau informed you we would be coming to conduct our investigation into the weapons in the hands of Ragnarok.’

  ‘Yeah. You’re here to tidy the military’s screw-up, letting these guys get their hands on your guns?’

  Ramirez felt Tycho tense beside her, and gritted her teeth. ‘We’re here to stop Ragnarok using them to hurt civilians. I’m aware that Ragnarok have conducted attacks on your Second Precinct, on the 16th Street Monorail Station -’

  ‘Oh, good, you’re not completely unaware,’ growled Beyer. ‘You’re just getting underfoot at the first opportunity.’ He stabbed a meaty finger in their direction. ‘If you’re here to deal with Ragnarok, then what the hell does the Flarestar have to do with you?’

  Ramirez frowned at the finger. But before she could speak, Tycho had stepped up. ‘The Marshals Service doesn’t answer to you, Commissioner Beyer,’ she said.

  ‘You’re in my jurisdiction -’

  ‘The Orion Confederacy is under martial law. We’re military officers, and Marshals empowered by the Senate. That makes this entire planet our jurisdiction.’ Tycho’s eyes flashed, and Ramirez folded her arms across her chest, letting her partner talk. It was best if only one of them got angry, and it was, she had to concede, Tycho’s turn. Reminding Beyer of his place in the law was no bad deed. ‘The Marshals have the right to march in here, assume control over the entire investigation into Ragnarok, and reduce you to the coffee boy. In which case, by the way, you need better coffee.’ She waggled her mug at the Commissioner. ‘By senatorial decree, we can’t get in your way. But you can get in ours.’

  Beyer rocked back on his heels, unaccustomed to being talked to like that by anyone, let alone someone half his size. His expression screwed up. ‘There are several hundred officers working the Ragnarok situation, Lieutenant. You really want to assume control of this operation?’

  ‘If this operation isn’t working to help us, Commissioner, then it’s working against us. I’d rather take on a whole load more work than put up with a local PD which is going to act like we’re the inconvenience. The whole reason we’ve been sent here is because you didn’t manage to bring this situation under control sooner!’

  While Tycho was indignant at the raid, indignant at Beyer’s attitude, and above all, indignant at the bad coffee, Ramirez knew a lot of her ire was for show, so she made her smile as warm and encouraging as possible when she stepped forward, lifting a hand. ‘Thank you, Lieutenant.’ She looked at Beyer. ‘But I’d really rather not have to shoulder that extra work, or dismiss the work you’ve done so far, Commissioner.’

  Their tactic was transparent, but the intention was not to trick Beyer. They weren’t lying; they could assume control of the whole HCPD division assigned to Ragnarok if they wanted to. But it would be a pointless and cumbersome endeavour bogging them down in management, and entirely counter-productive to their focused operation. Beyer had to know both points.

  ‘If we inconvenienced your raid today in any way, Commissioner, then I apologise,’ said Ramirez, mollifying herself by making the apology sound as insincere as she could get away with. ‘We wanted to get our own impression of the smuggling situation in Hardveur, so we could trace how Ragnarok are getting the goods in. But what’s done is done, and all we can do now is move on, yes?’

  Beyer tugged on his moustache and looked across at the bullpen. The presence of his officers listening was, Ramirez reflected, a mixed blessing. On the one hand, he couldn’t appear too unreasonable or his officers would know whose fault it was if the wrath of the Marshals fell upon the HCPD. On the other, he couldn’t look weak in front of them.

  ‘The raid achieved its goals,’ he said at last. ‘We have several known smugglers in our cells right now, and we’ll be sure to use them to trace a line to Ragnarok, if one exists. It was a blunt measure but, in this city, blunt tactics are best. You’ll learn this.’

  ‘Thank you for the warning,’ said Ramirez, fighting for sincerity. ‘We have the name of a smuggler, Jovak, who may be working with Ragnarok and shipping in the military ordnance for them. He’s our best starting point.’

  ‘Then I’ll g
o through our records and try to get you a lead on his location, Commander,’ said Beyer, relaxing at the implied deference. ‘I’ll also hand over any records my men get from the interrogations of the smugglers in our cells.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘So I do suggest you keep your focus on the local smuggling operations.’

  Ramirez quirked an eyebrow. ‘You do?’

  Beyer nodded. ‘Ragnarok are brutes. They either attack in force, needing immediate response from a considerable police presence. Or they strike suddenly, unexpectedly, which requires rapid response. It’s easier to have a rapid response if you already have patrol cruisers out in the city. The HCPD are in the best situation to deal with them.’

  ‘Be that as it may, I’m charged with finding where Ragnarok are getting their munitions from. That will require me to investigate more than smugglers in general; I’m going to have to make enquiries into the organisation itself.’

  ‘Then I’ll pass you the information you need. As and when I find it. So long as, of course, you pass the HCPD anything that will help us keep the peace around here. You might only be worrying about some munitions, but I need to worry about a whole city’s safety.’

  ‘And the city will be safer with the munitions out of Ragnarok’s hands.’ Ramirez didn’t falter as Beyer kept his gaze on her, and she knew she’d pushed as hard as she could in front of his men. But he wasn’t trying to elbow them out of the city entirely, and that would have to do for now. So she nodded, and saw some of the tension in Beyer’s shoulders ease. ‘Agreed. But so we know what to chase, do you have any leads on any ringleaders of Ragnarok?’

  Beyer scowled. ‘They’re efficient and organise under a solid cell structure. They’re also stubborn as mules. All I know is that their strikes are too well co-ordinated with the local protest movements for that to be coincidence. They’ve been stirring up trouble in protests we had no fore-warning on.’

  ‘You think they’ve got connections from inside the movement?’ said Tycho.

  ‘I think they are the movement. But Locke’s a slippery bastard.’

  ‘The former mayor?’ Ramirez’s brow furrowed. ‘It’s one thing for him to throw his weight behind a movement which protests the curbing of civil rights in the Confederacy - it’s another thing entirely for him to be part of, or leading, an anti-government terrorist organisation.’

  ‘Which is why he still sits in his fancy office instead of in one of my cells,’ said Beyer. ‘I’m not stupid enough to start making accusations without evidence, and I hope you’re too smart for that, too.’

  ‘Some cases we crack through smarts,’ agreed Tycho. ‘Others, dumb luck. Emphasis on the “dumb”.’

  Ramirez lifted a hand. ‘We’ll steer clear of him. Now, one last thing -’

  ‘Yes, your criminal.’

  ‘He’s not my -’

  ‘I’m going to have him shipped back to the garrison on Odin. And I’ll make no mention in my reports of him wandering around with Marshals. We should be able to get this one managed under the table with no fuss,’ said Beyer.

  Ramirez couldn’t miss the irony that he was being his warmest on the topic which annoyed her the most. But then, a man like Beyer was probably accustomed to operations which were best left off the books. She had found it to be an occupational hazard of men in his line of work and with his level of authority. ‘That won’t be necessary. I have documentation placing him into my custody,’ she said, pulling her pad out of her jacket.

  Beyer looked surprised. ‘He’s still been picked up involved in a brawl in a raid conducted by my people. Do you want to claim he was in your custody when he was arrested?’

  She scowled. It was a cheap trick, one designed to make her and the Marshals look ineffective - as if criminals released into their custody continued to commit crimes right under their very noses. ‘He knows the smuggling elements on Thor,’ she said. ‘He may be of use to me. He’s of no use to me on Odin.’

  ‘I can’t have him arrested in Hardveur and not shipped back to his prison,’ said Beyer, opening his hands.

  You can. You could find some bureaucratic trick, or you could let the authority of the Marshals overrule you, or you could leave him off the books. But those are methods which either weaken you or have risks, and you’re not about to allow either.

  ‘He’s in my custody, and I need him for my investigation,’ said Ramirez, fighting to keep her anger from her voice. ‘You don’t have the right to ship him back to Odin, not when he’s been released under my authority.’

  ‘Into your care. Not mine. I’m not the babysitter for your problems.’ Beyer gave a crisp nod. ‘He’ll be shipped back to the cells he came from, and maybe you, Commander, should think twice before carting around a smuggler and deserter.’

  She squared her shoulders. ‘On the contrary, Commissioner Beyer - maybe you should think twice before interfering with a Confederate Marshals investigation. You will be releasing John Harrigan into my care, and there’ll be no more about this.’

  ‘There’ll need to be reports about this...’

  There it was. That technically the Marshals could do more or less whatever they wanted - but public opinion, born of loose tongues and paper trails could never be avoided, and Beyer could delay her with a bureaucratic nightmare if he wished. In practice that could keep Harrigan out of her hair and still languishing in a cell in Hardveur, but he would be lost to her as a resource.

  She met Beyer’s gaze. ‘No, there won’t. He’s been released into my custody, and for the purposes of this investigation he’s my man. He’s only in one of your cells due to a raid on a bar which was, frankly, improperly conducted and incompetently carried out. I would presume your gains will be few, while dangerous individuals will have slipped through your shockingly wide net.’ Beyer hesitated, and she took a step forward for the last blow. ‘I think it’s in everyone’s best interests if nobody pays too much attention to this raid. And with Harrigan released back into my custody, I certainly have no reason to think twice about it.’

  Beyer looked at her for a long moment, looking like he was chewing on the inside of his mouth either in thought or frustration - then his eyes snapped over her shoulder, and he barked, ‘Navarro! Get the Marshals down to the cells so they can pick up their deadbeat!’

  And without another look he stormed back into his office, slamming the door behind him. Ramirez turned to Navarro, who seemed to have missed or was ignoring the tension in the air, and was hurrying back to them - but on the way she caught Tycho’s eye, and the grin that threatened on her partner’s face.

  She couldn’t share it. It had been satisfying, yes, to strong-arm Beyer into what she wanted. The power of the Marshals was absolute partly so they didn’t have to get caught up in jurisdictional squabbles. In theory, at least. In practice, Beyer could make life difficult if he wanted to, and she’d just aggravated him. She wouldn’t be able to bully him around again; that was her one shot of being crude and in future she’d have to ask nicely. She wasn’t sure he would give her what she wanted again.

  Nor was she sure that the continued presence of John Harrigan in her team was going to be worth it.

  5

  ‘I considered joining up with the Fleet,’ said Lieutenant Navarro as he led them through the warren of corridors in the HCPD’s bastion of a central precinct. Ramirez was used to her uniform winning her staring eyes around local law enforcement, but they were still in civvies. The respite was welcome.

  ‘We need everyone we can get in a time of war,’ she said.

  ‘Then how come you’re chasing crooks while there are Null out there to kill?’

  The question had been curious, not accusing, but Tycho’s jaw still dropped with indignation. ‘Reports are saying the impact one Marshal has on the crime rate is worth fifty flat-foots.’

  ‘But those are all hypothetical,’ Ramirez interrupted. ‘We’ve only been around a couple of months. I suppose we’ll see how it pans out.’ She was eager to not make any mo
re unnecessary enemies in the HCPD. The conversation with Beyer had not gone how she’d hoped, and keeping officers on-side could be valuable - and Navarro worked in the Commissioner’s own office, had his ear, had local respect.

  He was looking abashed, realising he’d misspoken. ‘It must be pretty cool,’ he said as they waited by a lift. ‘I mean, we don’t really deal with anything outside of Hardveur. Or, at least, I don’t. But you guys get to go over the whole Confederacy.’

  ‘We bust a lachryma smuggler on Manat last time,’ Tycho said, easily mollified.

  ‘And I bet you only had half as much paperwork to do as us. We can’t take a leak around here without needing to fill out a form.’

  ‘We might have more powers,’ said Ramirez, stepping into the elevator, ‘but our reports have to be more thorough, I found, than anywhere in the Confederacy. Our internal oversight is strict. The powers are meant to help smooth operations, not let us be a goon squad. Our director is exceptionally strict in checking, when a case is over, that all conduct is proper.’

  Navarro nodded. ‘Guess that’s a good thing about Commissioner Beyer. He might be a hard-ass sometimes but he trusts us to get the job done fairly.’

  Meaning his oversight is minimal so long as you get results, thought Ramirez, but before she could push the point Tycho had moved the conversation on.

  ‘So how come you didn’t join the Fleet?’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong, I did want to,’ said Navarro. ‘Just my folks were totally against it. I had a few high school friends who joined the Marines.’ He hesitated. ‘Most of them bought it at Thoth.’

  A car shot by outside, audible even through the metal lift and granite walls beyond. The noise rattled louder than it should have done in Ramirez’s ears as she flinched. ‘A lot of good people died there. I‘m sorry.’

  Navarro nodded. ‘It’s weird, it’s like they‘re still on deployment. I mean, I‘ve not seen them in eighteen months, obviously, but they weren’t around for ages before that anyway. I got used to them not being here. And now I guess they never will be. Unless the Null got them.’

  Ramirez and Tycho exchanged glances. Civilians always spoke of the Null in one of two ways - like they were the worst possible thing imaginable, or, because they couldn’t imagine it, like they were nothing big.

  ‘You wouldn’t know if the Null got them,’ said Tycho in a comforting tone. ‘Not by now.’

  ‘Yeah? They, what, rot?’

  ‘What the lieutenant means,’ said Ramirez, ‘is that the odds of their being encountered and identified after so long are ridiculously long. Most of the Null forces are ship-bound. It’s Fleet policy to not try to identify any corpses - and they all have to be vaporised anyway.’

  ‘What, all of them? Even the ones who already got back up again once?’ Navarro looked stricken. ‘I thought there was only so much damage a human body could sustain before they became impossible for the Null to reanimate.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Tycho, ‘but Null nanotech is notoriously difficult to detect, contain, or destroy. Even if you space a corpse, the nanites will persist and keep it animated in a cold vacuum for - well, we don’t know how long yet. Spacing them is better than nothing, but you never know where that body’s going to show up.’

  ‘So if you fought even one Null soldier, and he killed just one of yours, you‘ve got to reduce both of them to less than ash,’ said Ramirez. ‘If there’s any dead flesh and if there’s been even the slightest contact, the nanites will infest and reanimate it.’

  ‘Real quick, fighting one Null soldier can turn into fighting half a dozen,’ said Tycho. ‘And for every man you lose, they gain one.’

  Navarro had gone quiet, looking like he was chewing over the nightmare scenario that had become a common horror to soldiers on the front at Kruger and now at Vega - and, here in the Altair system, somewhere around Hel. Both Ramirez and Tycho had served on ships for enough of the war to be familiar with the boarding actions of the Null War. The Null sought it, craved it. If they blew up a ship they could harvest the remaining parts to strap to their fleet of Frankenstein’s monsters, born of Confederate Fleet vessels. But if they boarded a ship and killed the crew, they added more manpower to their seemingly limitless forces. Many captains of Confederate starships activated the self-destruct of their vessels rather than risk letting themselves be overrun. Plenty did not get the chance.

  The doors of the lift slid open before Navarro had time to summon a response, though Ramirez thought he looked very glad in that moment to be wearing an HCPD uniform, not a Confederate Fleet one. They had descended dozens of floors, and he extended a hand down the corridor. ‘Well, here we are. Jail.’

  There were several wings of the biggest jail in the city, but with Navarro to lead them through the winding corridors they were soon enough passing the duty officer watching over the row of cells in which sat those who’d been apprehended at the Flarestar. Navarro left them at the desk, and Ramirez and Tycho walked down the cold, dark metal hall, the cells flanking either side, to where they’d been directed: seventh on the left.

  Ramirez fought back the déjà vu as they reached the cell, peered through the bars, and saw John Harrigan again lounging on a penitentiary bed. ‘Mister Harrigan.’

  He hadn’t been asleep, just pretending, and one piercing blue eye popped open to peer at her. ‘We gotta stop meeting like this.’

  ‘Are you well?’ She tried to sound like she cared.

  ‘These incompetents ain’t got around to interrogating me yet, if that’s what you‘re worried about.’ Harrigan stood and stretched, turning his neck this way and that until it popped. ‘There’s a reason I ran wild on this world for so long and only got grabbed at Odin.’

  ‘Yeah, it was charitable of you to help raise Odin’s shockingly low arrest rate for contraband smugglers,’ said Tycho.

  ‘That’s enough,’ sighed Ramirez. ‘We‘ve got work to do.’

  Harrigan slouched against the bars. ‘What’s our next move?’

  ‘Jovak’s a priority. But he’ll need finding first, unless you have any obvious leads.’

  ‘Some. I can find him, don’t you worry, but if he’s changing his stomping grounds I might have to check a few places.’

  ‘And I want you doing it carefully if he’s working with Ragnarok. We don’t want to spook them,’ said Ramirez.

  ‘Exactly what I was thinking. There’s a few other bars we can go to, but we’ll be best holding off until tonight if we want to be all nosy, like.’

  ‘So in the meantime?’ asked Tycho.

  ‘In the meantime we need to settle down,’ said Ramirez. ‘Weiss arranged an apartment for us on the south side. We’ll go there, get settled in, and you can set your tech up, Tych. And we can get in some proper coffee.’

  ‘You say that like you know and care what real coffee is, Chief, don’t lie to me.’

  Ramirez ignored this and waved down to the duty officer. He looked over and swiped his keycard on his terminal, and the cell door clicked and swung open.

  ‘This apartment. It’s got ultranet? Nice views? Good food served to us by scantily-clad ladies?’ He sauntered out.

  ‘It better, or I don’t know what the hell the Marshals Service is coming to,’ said Tycho.

  Again, Ramirez ignored her. ‘You can stay in the cell if you prefer the hospitality of the Hardveur PD.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Harrigan. ‘It ain’t like they‘re any good at keeping the wrong sort locked up for long. And you know full well I‘m the wrong sort.’

  ‘It’s like you read my mind,’ Ramirez muttered, and led the way back out of the cell block and towards the lift. They took the journey in silence, even Harrigan sensing it was unwise to make unhelpful commentary in the middle of the HCPD Central Precinct, and they made it to the lobby without event. It was a large, austere chamber with the public filing up before the desks manned by tired-looking police officers. But right then, most eyes were on the huge screens attached to the columns blaring
out the local newsfeed, and Ramirez glanced over.

  ‘...without any warning to the press or the HCPD, Graham Locke’s Citizens for Liberty have gathered in downtown Hardveur in front of the Confederate Tax Office,’ bleated a beleaguered news anchor, the screen showing her wind-swept and bedraggled in front of a thronging mass of people. ‘In a matter of minutes they‘ve converged in numbers we‘re estimating to approach a thousand – this is a really tremendous, spontaneous demonstration of just how the dissatisfied masses can mobilise themselves when properly motivated...’

  ‘Or properly organised behind the scenes.’ Ramirez pursed her lips and held up a hand for the trio to stop. ‘Change of plans. Tych, are you good to get our gear out of the spaceport lockers and get us settled into the apartment?’

  ‘Sure, Chief.’ Tycho nodded at the screens. ‘You want to go see this for yourself?’

  ‘I do. It might be a lot of pointless rhetoric but that they‘ve put this together without press or police noticing is interesting. Besides, it gives me a chance to do what Commissioner Beyer doesn’t want me to do.’

  ‘Get involved?’

  ‘Talk to Graham Locke.’

  Harrigan quirked an eyebrow. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because either he’s at the centre of what Ragnarok are up to, or his entire political agenda is being hijacked by terrorists. One way or another he’s going to become aware of our presence and I’d rather he did that on our terms. Besides, I want to get a measure of the man.’

  Harrigan shrugged. ‘Where do you want me?’

  Ramirez hesitated, then sighed. ‘Much as it pains me, with me. I want to talk to Locke but I also want a feel for the disposition of the crowd, and if there are any faces there you recognise I’ll want to know. You‘ve still got a better Who’s Who of the degenerates of Hardveur than me.’

  ‘Maybe. That ain’t true if Ragnarok have been running everyone out of town.’

  ‘And if something goes wrong and you don’t recognise any faces, that tells us something, too.’ Ramirez turned to Tycho. ‘Besides, if I send him with you, I’ll come to the apartment and find it filled with coffee, beer, and strippers.’

  ‘There were no strippers last time, Chief. I‘m a professional.’

  ‘And your argument for the wine coolers last time was that even professionals need to wind down sometimes.’

  ‘We do!’ Tycho turned to Harrigan and spoke to him in a conspiratorial stage-whisper. ‘She’s usually a lot more fun than this.’

  ‘I‘m not usually dealing with stolen military ordnance, terrorists, and him.’

  ‘Hey, I‘ve done nothing this time. But I‘m so glad to get to go gallivanting with you instead of shopping,’ he deadpanned. ‘Sounds like it’ll be a laugh a minute.’

  ‘Do you care about anything, Harrigan, other than your own amusement?’

  ‘I care about not being shot. By Null or by firing squad.’

  ‘Before you two start throwing mud on one another and wrestling on the floor,’ Tycho interrupted, ‘I should say, I got that Lieutenant Navarro’s personal comm frequency.’

  ‘Personal?’ Ramirez raised an eyebrow. ‘How’d you swing that?’

  ‘I was charming.’ Tycho paused. ‘And I fluttered my eyelashes at him.’

  ‘Isn’t he a little young for you?’

  ‘He’s a little male for me,’ she said. ‘But he’ll live. It was your comm frequency he wanted, Chief. Besides, Beyer was an ass and we might need a friendly face somewhere in the HCPD.’

  ‘So a sexually frustrated flatfoot’s a great choice,’ Harrigan said. ‘You‘re a menace, ell-tee.’

  ‘I have to get my fun somewhere.’

  ‘I don’t want to know,’ said Ramirez as they emerged from the Central Precinct’s busy lobby and into the grey skies and whipping winds of Hardveur. The pavilion outside was a huge metal square suspended some hundred metres above the ground, and at the far end, through the throng of people, waited the hovercars that had parked at the side of the lanes. Ramirez and Harrigan took the first taxi, leaving Tycho to wait for another, and within moments the vehicle had lurched into the air to join traffic.

  The trip downtown was destined to be short, the Central Precinct not far away from where Locke’s people had begun their gathering. Above, in the giant maw of a garage entrance they’d entered by, Ramirez could already see several heavy hovervehicles careening out, sirens blaring, and tearing overhead in the same direction.

  ‘Of course the police will want to shut the protests down. How dare the people have a voice, huh?’ Harrigan said, peering out the window at them.

  ‘If you think that’s going to irritate me, you’ve chosen the wrong cop,’ Ramirez said, leaning back on the taxi seat. ‘The CFL can conduct whatever lawful protests they like.’

  ‘CFL?’

  ‘Weren’t you listening to the news? Or the conversations Tycho and I had on the transport?’

  ‘Listen to you? As a rule, no.’

  ‘The Citizens For Liberty. It’s the name of Locke’s movement – it’s not just him shouting and people coming running. There’s organisation here, structure.’

  ‘Citizens For Liberty,’ Harrigan repeated. ‘That’s a hell of an original name. Do you think he came up with it himself?’

  Ramirez pursed her lips. ‘It was the name,’ she said, ‘of Ngumba’s anti-Terran movement back in the ‘50s.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘General Ngumba, started the Civil War, beat the Republic at Ta’lab - didn’t you learn anything in school?’

  ‘As a rule, no.’

  ‘That’s a lie. I‘ve seen your records. Your test results are remarkably good.’

  ‘For an enlisted man, is what you mean.’

  ‘No. My point is that your facade of being a farm kid, a salt-of-the-earth type, a simple soldier isn’t fooling me, Harrigan. You think I wasn’t given your file before coming to pick you up? I know everything about you.’

  Harrigan quirked an eyebrow, then leaned across the taxi’s leather seats towards her. ‘It’s going to take more than just a file before you know everything about me, darlin‘.’

  Ramirez’s eyes narrowed. ‘It’s still “Commander”.’

  ‘Sorry. Commander Darlin‘. Anyway, why are we doing this?’

  Ramirez knew what he was doing - jumping between legitimate topics and making digs to try to keep her off-balance, to try to make a hole he could exploit. She would let him divert, but would not forget. She sighed and looked away. ‘I want to get a measure of the man. I want to see him for myself and assess him for myself. He might be the key to all of this, or he might just be some political activist whose bandwagon has been hijacked.’

  ‘So what do you want me to do?’

  ‘Stay silent.’

  ‘And watch?’

  ‘And nothing. You‘re here because I want to keep an eye on you.’

  Harrigan grinned. ‘I knew you couldn’t keep your eyes off me.’

  She gave a bark of laughter. ‘Christ, you‘re obnoxious.’

  ‘Here to help. And – oh, we’re here. Or else there’s a really popular sale going on at that shoe-shop.’

  Ramirez leaned over him to peer through his window at the elevated plaza in the middle of the shopping district below, which was a swirling mass of colour and motion and people. In the centre of the square she could see the tarpaulin of a temporary platform constructed, small but tall enough to give anyone up there a good view of the audience, the rear of it enclosed for equipment, planning, staff. This was organised.

  ‘Huh,’ came the taxi driver’s voice, crackling through to the sealed rear section through the speakers above them. ‘This wasn’t here when I left half an hour ago. You want I should drop you off elsewhere? Damned protests.’

  ‘No, that’s fine,’ said Ramirez, scanning the crowds. ‘Can you bring us down in that back alleyway? Behind the shop?’

  ‘Er, that’s off the programmed air-lanes –’

  Ramirez pressed her ID card again
st the window separating her from the driver’s compartment. ‘Just do it, please.’

  The driver squinted at the card. ‘What are the Marshals?’

  Harrigan snickered as Ramirez turned her eyes skyward. ‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘I’m a cop. You won’t get in trouble for setting us down there.’

  ‘Bribe him,’ Harrigan muttered.

  Ramirez ignored this and fixed the taxi driver with a pointed stare. ‘You might not recognise the Marshals but this is a legitimate government official’s ID card. You can do what I want now, or we can argue about this until you pull over to check this with the ultranet and lose me valuable time.’

  ‘All right, all right,’ the driver grumbled. ‘I’m bringing us down. Why do you want to be in the damned alley, anyway?’

  ‘Because the press will be swarming at the obvious ways in and I’d rather not talk to them,’ she said as the vehicle began its descent out of the main throng of traffic and into the narrow gap between the tall buildings. Here, every level of the skyscrapers was connected by a solid walkway so refuse could be left out the back for collection, or so deliveries could come directly to every floor. This usually happened late at night or early in the morning, so the warren-like network of tunnels was empty at this time, leaving small darkened holes, the whole thing looking like a bee’s nest.

  The taxi eased into the gap on the other side of the building from the protest, slipping through the gloomy shadows so tight they wouldn’t want to meet another vehicle coming the other way. Taking it slowly, the driver had to turn on the rarely-used headlights of the hovercar, easing his way past the metal refuse skips for the businesses that backed onto this floor until he came to a halt.

  ‘This is it.’ The fee counter above the window to the front compartment jumped up by ten credits.

  Ramirez rolled her eyes and considered arguing on principle, but paid the obvious fee hike and slipped into the alleyway, Harrigan behind her. The taxi driver didn’t wait for them to find the right door before he backed out towards bright sunlight, leaving them in gloom with only the pale lights over the plain signs by each simple metal door to guide them.

  The alleyway was a wind-tunnel, tugging at Harrigan’s hair and making Ramirez wish for her greatcoat, so she hurried in the darkness as Harrigan glowered at the retreating taxi. ‘Don’t we get our own vehicle?’

  ‘It’ll be at the apartment. You seemed to think going to the Flarestar first was more important.’

  ‘It was. Those folks wouldn’t have said one word to any of us if they’d heard Confederate Marshals were on the planet. And now the HCPD knows we‘re here, soon everyone will know.’

  ‘Do you assume every organisation is crooked, corrupt, or full of frauds?’

  ‘Why do you think I deserted?’

  He was baiting her and she couldn’t be bothered to indulge him, so she pulled open the door to what she thought was the back room of the shoe shop and was greeted by a flapping attendant.

  ‘Excuse me! We’re not open, can’t you see the crowds there?’

  ‘I know,’ said Ramirez, flashing her the ID card as they headed down the corridor for the front. ‘That’s why we’re coming through this way.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to be –’

  ‘Watch some news!’ she snapped, before she stepped through the front door and then the two of them were in the gathered crowds.

  It was like leaping into a storm. Most of the surging crowd was young, likely students, and with the fervour to match. Not a fervour of noise, for there was a hush over the gathered masses, but the air was electric, the focus on the main platform intense. Ramirez had stood in battle-lines, shoulder to shoulder with soldiers anticipating a boarding action, and even she could feel a prickle up the back of her neck.

  ‘…we are told to sit down, to shut up, and that this is for the best. That the police knows best, the government knows best, the military knows best. But you, the people? Apparently you don’t know what’s best for yourselves.’

  She recognised the voice coming from the front and being piped through the shopping centre’s announcement system before she got a glimpse of the speaker. Graham Locke was familiar from the pictures she’d seen of his file, the recorded news feeds and interviews she’d studied on their way to Thor, but even without those, his presence made his identity easy to guess.

  Tall, with a swimmer’s build and light brown hair only just beginning to grey at the temples, Locke could draw the eye in a crowded room as well as an empty one. This was not by his looks, which were a little square, craggy, nose a little beaky, all imperfections which somehow added to the whole, but by his sheer presence. The gesture of one hand drew the eye, his smile could absorb a crowd and yet seem to be meant, intimately, for you.

  ‘You don’t know where you should work. You don’t know where you should live. You don’t know what you should do with your money. The government knows best. We’re fighting for the survival of the species, which means the individual means nothing.’ Even from here she could see Locke give a twisted smile. ‘As if it’s not the power of the individual which makes humanity great.’

  And the crowd listened, spellbound and motionless. Harrigan leaned over her. ‘Maybe you could wave your ID at these guys!’ he hissed in her ear.

  ‘Shut up and get us to the platform,’ Ramirez said.

  ‘What makes you think I can do that?’

  ‘I somehow think you can shoulder your way through a crowd. Around the side; I want to get backstage.’

  Harrigan rolled his eyes, but then went to push into the surging masses. While Ramirez could have struggled through the throng of enthused, angry people, a man of his size could shove and the way was cleared, so she followed in his wake.

  For now the crowd simply listened. Here and there she could see people stood with their pads recording Locke, some of them with badges of news outlets, some just amateurs or enthusiasts. But as she peered over the crowd to both ends of the plaza, there the flashes of light of professional photography could be spotted, and Ramirez congratulated herself on anticipating the press’ presence. They would always gather for a show.

  And the main attraction was putting on one hell of a performance. Up on stage, Locke paused and pressed a finger to his earpiece, and gave another grin. ‘Already I’m told,’ he said, voice amplified in a way which made him sound close, personal, ‘that the HCPD are here and securing the area. And that soon enough we’ll be asked to move on. Though – do we have any lawyers, or law students in the crowd?’ There were a few scattered cheers. Locke tossed a hand in the air. ‘Was the right to assemble revoked without me noticing?’

  Now the laughter of the self-righteous rippled through the crowd, though Ramirez had to suppress a grin. But they had made it to the barriers at the side of the platform where tall, looming security guards stood. Their work was peaceful, for now, nobody in this protest causing trouble, and Ramirez felt a surge of guilt as she was about to make their day worse.

  ‘Sir, you can’t come any closer…’ they were saying to Harrigan, who grinned and stepped aside just as Ramirez arrived.

  ‘I know I can’t, but I’ve got an all-access pass, and her name is Commander Ramirez.’

  ‘I am not your pass,’ Ramirez muttered, but lifted her ID card. ‘Please tell me you recognise this. My name’s Commander Ramirez, I’m a Confederate Marshal, and I’d like to come back to talk to Mister Locke when he’s done. Nobody’s in trouble, this doesn’t have to be a problem.’

  The guard looked from the ID card to her face, meaty brow furrowing, and Ramirez thought she’d scream if someone else asked her what the Marshals were today. But thankfully his expression cleared and he lifted a finger to his earpiece, muttering into it. He waited a moment, the words of Locke echoing from the speaker system around them, before he stepped back and gestured to a gap in the tarpaulin barrier.

  ‘He’s with you?’ The guard nodded at Harrigan.

  ‘He is,’ said Ramirez, and gestured for Harrigan t
o follow before the point could be pressed. He gave the security guard a sunny, smug smile as they passed and she resisted the urge to smack him on the arm.

  Backstage stood a half-dozen people, two of them sat on fold-out tables in front of pads and talking to one another about sound levels. Another three were speaking rapidly into earpieces as they watched a feed from the front on the small screen that had been clipped to one of the metal poles keeping the tarpaulin up.

  The last was a young woman in a sharp grey suit, dark hair long and perfectly coiffured, makeup impeccable, holding every inch of poise and control in the small room, and it was she who crossed to greet them, extending a manicured hand.

  ‘Commander, I’m Ms Singh, I’m Mister Locke’s assistant. I hope there’s no trouble here but, as you can understand, we’re all very busy.’ Her voice was etched with polite disapproval.

  Ramirez returned a smile which didn’t reach her eyes. ‘I understand. I need a moment of Mister Locke’s time.’

  ‘His schedule’s incredibly tight right now…’

  ‘And my business is incredibly important.’

  Ms Singh paused only a heartbeat. ‘There is nothing he has to say about Ragnarok which is not a matter of record, both public and the HCPD. I’m sure you’ve seen it all.’

  ‘What I want to talk to Mister Locke about is between the Confederate Marshals and Mister Locke, I’m afraid. When he’s back down, I am going to get a moment of his time.’

  The two women stared at each other. Singh was shorter than Ramirez, but not by much, and there was just as much hardness in her dark gaze. But it was only when one of the men talking over his earpiece lowered his hand and turned to them that the moment broke.

  ‘Ms Singh? The HCPD are starting to disperse the crowd at the north entrance.’

  Ms Singh gave an almost imperceptible nod. ‘All right, it’s over. We’re not here to make a scene. Get him back down and we’ll leave with our heads high, on our own terms.’

  Ramirez quirked an eyebrow as Singh pulled away and the six staffers of Graham Locke broke into a bustle of activity. ‘Surely it makes more of a scene if the HCPD forcibly disperses a lawful protest?’ Up front there was another cheer as the spell over the crowd was broken, and with the floodgates opened out swept the chanting, the jeering, the frustrations as the voiceless found their voice.

  ‘I don’t think I’m going to take advice on how do to my job from a Confederate Marshal, if it’s all the same to you, Commander,’ said Singh, bustling about the trestle tables and gathering up equipment. ‘Especially when my job is to help Mister Locke be as big a thorn in the side of the Confederacy as possible.’

  ‘Really? I thought he was trying to make a stand for the power of the people.’

  ‘I can do both at once,’ came a voice from the steps, and they all turned to see the trim figure of Graham Locke padding down. ‘Great work today, everyone. If you’d get us packed up, I’d like to talk to our guest?’

  ‘Technically we’re on public ground, Mister Locke. Neither one of us is the guest here.’ Ramirez stuck her hand out for him. ‘Commander Ramirez, Confederate Marshals. This is Mister Harrigan.’ She decided to not explain his role further.

  Locke shook her hand, his gaze flickering. Around him his half-dozen staffers, including the disapproving Ms Singh, gathered up their equipment and filtered out through the tarp doorway. ‘Commander. Any relation to Maria Ramirez?’

  She hesitated, but tried to smother her surprise and decided honesty was the best policy. ‘She was my mother.’

  His gaze did flicker. ‘My sympathies. What happened was a tragedy. I was an intern on her staff years ago, back when she was Senator for Tyr.’

  Ramirez kept her expression studied, despite the sincerity in Locke’s voice. ‘Thank you. She will be remembered, along with the other martyrs of that day. But if we could get to business, this won’t take long.’

  ‘Of course. What brings Marshals to Thor?’

  Ramirez pulled out her pad. ‘We‘ve been dispatched to try to help bring the group known as Ragnarok to justice.’

  A smile played about the corner of Locke’s lips, rather wry. ‘Ah. And you are, of course, here to ask if I happen to be working with them, perhaps using the CFL’s resources and organisation to fund and coordinate their strikes?’

  Harrigan snorted. ‘We were going to ask it more polite, like. But yeah, pretty much.’

  ‘Then I‘m going to have to disappoint you.’ Locke opened his hands. ‘The CFL is here to protest against the curbing of civil liberties that has come about under the pretence that this will help the war effort. That we are a useful shroud for Ragnarok to hide behind so they can launch their attacks is regrettable but hardly our fault.’

  Harrigan’s brow furrowed. ‘They get to strike from the middle of a busy crowd, from dozens of protests which happen all over the city and keep an overworked local PD hard-pressed. The word "regrettable" sounds like one hell of an understatement.’

  Locke clasped his hands behind his back and straightened. Harrigan had an inch or two on him in height, but it was hard to tell under the piercing green-eyed gaze of the politician. ‘What was it you said you do again, Mister Harrigan?’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  Locke gave Ramirez a tired glance. ‘I am prepared to discuss matters with the Confederate Marshals to help bring the bloodshed to a halt. If you want to throw accusations I’m colluding with these wretched terrorists, please go until you have evidence. If you merely want to throw insults by implying I don’t care about the wellbeing of the city I have served for many, many years, don’t just go, but stay away.’

  Ramirez lifted a hand to forestall any more comments from Harrigan. His words, while incendiary, she had to admit had now placed her in the right position to play appeasement and so perhaps gain some ground. ‘We‘re trying to get a complete picture of the situation, Mister Locke. On how Ragnarok are using your movement to shroud their work.’

  ‘It’s simple. They follow the same public ultranet messages our members do. They watch the news. And at the same time, they strike. Either from a crowd, inciting a protest to violence. Or elsewhere, while the eyes of the HCPD are on us. But this is not secret information.’ Locke shrugged. ‘We plan our events perfectly publicly.’

  ‘Publicly? You just gathered over a thousand people here in a matter of minutes. The press didn’t know, the HCPD didn’t know. And the regular presence of Ragnarok at these kinds of events suggests some awareness on their behalf.’

  ‘It’s entirely possible they‘re some small group who consider us aligned, some extremist anti-government wing who like to believe we operate under the same umbrella. But then, many things are possible.’

  ‘In which case,’ she said, ‘if you could furnish us with a members‘ list -’

  Locke’s eyes hardened. ‘Absolutely not.’

  Harrigan snorted. ‘So you do have something to hide.’

  Locke ignored Harrigan. ‘Understand, Commander, that Ragnarok do not help my movement, not least of all because they provide the perfect excuse to deny the right to public gathering and protest. What we do is not illegal yet, but already legislation is in the works in the Senate to make it illegal. And once it is illegal, it is a small step for past membership to be a black mark in any citizen’s record. I will not willingly hand over those who are brave enough to stand against the government in these times and give the police a permanent excuse to harass and condemn them whenever they please.’

  ‘So long as your members are only protesting,’ said Harrigan, ‘what do they have to hide?’

  ‘From a man like Commissioner Beyer?’ Locke scowled. ‘Everything. I would have ousted him from office when I was Mayor if I had the chance. He is a man for whom the ends justify the means.’ His eyes landed on Ramirez. ‘And frankly, Commander, this isn’t the kind of attitude I’d have expected from you.’

  Harrigan rolled his eyes. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Ramirez knew exac
tly what it meant, and her gaze landed on Locke coolly. ‘I have every respect for citizens who wish to voice their opinions on their government, even in times of adversity. Especially times of adversity, because that is when we drown out the quietest voice for the clamouring masses. I would give you my assurance that a membership list would be destroyed after this investigation, but I‘m not sure you’d believe me.’

  Locke’s gaze had softened, though she wasn’t sure if the hint of shame about his eyes was genuine or a politician’s calculation. ‘Find me evidence of a need, Commander, and we may discuss this further.’

  She gave a curt nod. ‘A staff list, however, you should be able to give me.’

  ‘The employees of CFL are a matter of public record, if you know where to look,’ Locke agreed. ‘I will have the information forwarded to you. They are all public servants, most of them came with me from City Hall. Ms Singh, for instance, has been with me for ten years.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I‘m getting the feeling this isn’t anything more than a chance to put a face to a name. I hate to be rude, but I do have places to be - feel quite free to stop my offices if you have actual business.’

  Harrigan jerked a thumb at the doorway back to the crowd. ‘More public disorder to incite?’

  Locke’s expression flickered. ‘It is evidence, Mister Harrigan, that peaceful protest can work.’

  ‘I‘m sure that cops getting blown up every time your boys wave a placard don’t hurt in getting you attention, though?’

  Locke scowled, but before he could answer, Ms Singh stepped into the makeshift room’s doorway, expression just as blandly disapproving. ‘The car is waiting for you at the end of the plaza, Mister Locke.’

  He nodded to her, then looked at Ramirez and Harrigan. ‘I have an appearance with the CEO of VIRGO this afternoon. If you’ll excuse me, I think we‘re done here.’ He turned to the door.

  Ramirez threw Harrigan a reproachful look, going to follow in his wake. ‘I‘m grateful you‘ve chosen to talk with us today, sir, and if I do have further questions I will route them to your office. But if I could -’

  ‘If you have anything more for me, Commander Ramirez, walk and talk, I‘ve given you more time than has been productive for either one of us,’ said Locke, earning a disapproving look from all three of his companions as they swept out of the tarpaulin and out into the open. The barriers had been carried off and the security guards fell in around them, pushing their way through the crowd that was already dispersing.

  ‘You mentioned difficulties with Commissioner Beyer; I wanted to assure you that the Marshals are an independent body -’

  ‘Who will still cooperate and share information with local law enforcement; I‘m sure you‘re a very good Marshal and Mister Harrigan is a very good whatever he is, but you are still only two people and you will need Commissioner Beyer’s men if you are to hunt and bring down Ragnarok,’ said Locke, his tailored shoes ringing out as they padded across the metal walkway.

  ‘I will get to the truth of this even if it takes me longer, or upsets Commissioner Beyer,’ Ramirez said. They were out of the main shopping district and approaching the open-air plaza, the clamouring crowd parting for Graham Locke - or his security. ‘This might be easier if I knew the nature of your problem with him -’

  ‘Aside from that he’s a bureaucrat more interested in targets and press approval than public service and helping people?’

  ‘Ramirez.’ Harrigan had drawn level, his voice dropping to a low, tense growl, and he nodded ahead to the gaggle of journalists. They’d spotted the small convoy of security guards in and amongst the protesters and were drawn there like moths to a flame of a story.

  ‘Ah, we have company,’ Locke said – and then the press was on top of them, the security guards keeping them at bay, but the air was filled not just with the shouting of the crowds and the roaring of traffic overhead, but the bellowing of questions.

  Questions not just for Locke.

  ‘Mister Locke! How are you expecting the talks with VIRGO to go this afternoon?’

  ‘Do you have any comment on reports from the Mayor’s office that he wants to change the venue of next week’s event to City Hall?’

  ‘What can you say in response to further allegations of links between the Citizens For Liberty and Ragnarok?’

  The questions were less stated, more bellowed at them even more fiercely than the wind which whipped around the street this high up, but Locke seemed unperturbed, not a strand of his hair out of place. He pressed a hand to her back, urging her forward. The flashing lights confirmed this would be a picture to hit the bulletins.

  ‘As always, I can only denounce the activities of Ragnarok,’ said Locke, lifting his voice to be heard over the wind and crowds but somehow sounding cool, collected and not breaking step. ‘Their violent acts stand not only against the law and common decency, but the very principles for which the Citizens For Liberty stand - peace and equality. I look forward to seeing them brought to justice for what they have done, which is why I‘ve just come from a productive meeting with representatives from the Orion Confederacy Marshals Service, Commander Ramirez and Mister Harrigan, and I hope that with my help the OCMS can bring Ragnarok to account soon.’

  This was it. This was what Harrigan had warned her of, as their faces and names were plastered across the local ultranet news feed, her in particular stood right next to the smiling political leader with his arm around her.

  But she knew how to smile, knew how to face the cameras, and as the microphones turned towards her, Ramirez kept her posture relaxed, controlled.

  ‘It’s against Confederate Marshals policy to comment on ongoing investigations,’ she said, forestalling the inevitable questions before they could come. ‘But it is my pleasure to say we have received only the highest levels of cooperation and professionalism from both the Hardveur City Police Department and the Citizens For Liberty, and so we are confident of results soon.’

  Locke’s expression flickered, though if he knew half as much as he seemed, he should have known she wouldn’t be flustered by a scene such as this. Harrigan, for his part, looked like he‘d sucked on a lemon, and kept pace with Ms Singh a short distance behind as Locke carried on.

  He crossed the plaza towards where his long, armoured car was parked, a luxury available only to the wealthy without government funding. Another aide hurried to open a door for him and he paused, hand resting on the roof, hair merely ruffled by the whistling winds as he turned back to her.

  ‘If you want to know more about Commissioner Beyer,’ he said, voice calm and collected, ‘then let us talk, Commander Ramirez, some time in private. If your principles are anything like your mother’s, I‘m sure you’ll find him just as reprehensible as I did. But cameras are everywhere and it doesn’t do to say these things too loudly.’

  He extended his hand to shake hers, and she spotted even before she reached out the datacard in his hand, a tiny rectangle as thin as paper which would connect to her pad with the owner’s contact details. This one was plain, bearing black writing she couldn’t make out, and it didn’t sport the logo of the CFL.

  This one was personal. She looked up at him, and he gave a smile which made deep green eyes dance with an edge she couldn’t trust. ‘Drop me a line sometime,’ he said. Then he ducked into the car, Ms Singh pushed the door shut, and, with the clamouring of the press still hollering for attention, the motorcade pulled away from the curb and sped off.

  6

  The apartment Director Tau had arranged for their team was out of the hustle and bustle of central Hardveur, where the buildings were lower and closer to the surface. Ramirez couldn’t tell if the metal they’d been made from held its bronze - or, perhaps, brown - hue by nature or by the substances choked into the air out of the industrial heartland nearby.

  It humbled the district. There was less of the austerity of the respectable parts of town, less of the chaos of the block the Flarestar sat on. Although everything was tinged with a layer of gri
me that clung to clothes and skin and even breath, it was as if that grime made everything more tangible. Real.

  The elevated plaza outside their apartment block’s main entrance stretched along several buildings and hummed with energy and people. Shops opened out directly onto the walkway, semi-permanent stands spilt across the metal, and here, at least, people stopped to watch and think and talk instead of hurrying from place to place.

  Harrigan’s mood seemed to lift the moment the taxi let them out into the square. He had been in sullen silence all the way from the protest, his veneer of superior amusement eroded for the first time, but now he gave her a lopsided smile. ‘This place looks like fun. You sure you took us to the right street?’

  ‘Oh, good. You‘re talking again. That was a pleasant ten minutes.’

  ‘Just doing the thinking you weren’t. You seem awful unperturbed.’

  ‘Should I be perturbed?’

  ‘Our faces are going to be plastered all over local ultranet newsfeeds. The whole world, literally, now knows Marshals are here.’

  ‘The whole world was going to know soon enough. Did you have something terribly urgent you wanted to do before the curtain was lifted?’

  ‘It gives us freedom to act -’

  ‘We’re at our most effective if people know who we are. The penalty for interfering with OCMS business is far worse than for interfering with just the HCPD’s. The less a pair of Marshals can be swept to one side, the better, and the press’ attention only buoys our prestige.’ Ramirez frowned as they walked across the bustling plaza towards the apartment. Here, people moved quickly but cheerfully, prepared to soak in their environment rather than hurrying with the hunched movements of the upper levels, and she heard more babbling voices occupied with the pleasant minutiae of everyday life than traffic. ‘That isn’t what concerns me, though.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Locke. He did that intentionally. He wanted us outed. And I‘m not sure it’s to make himself look more respectable.’

  ‘I don’t trust him.’

  ‘No. Me neither. What he did won’t hurt us, but he didn’t do it to help, either. Why are you so fixated on operating in hiding, anyway?’

  Harrigan looked away, and for a moment she thought he was going to ignore her question. His gaze was drawn to one of the market stalls they were passing, broad counter sizzling with cooking meats in the local spices that gave Thor cuisine its rich, full-bodied taste. As they walked, he swiped the credit chit Tycho wasn’t supposed to have given him past the stall’s squat datareader and grabbed two skewers laden with chunks of roasted meat and vegetables.

  To her surprise he handed one to her, and to her surprise she took it. She’d not eaten since the flight and her stomach rumbled as her nostrils recognised the onslaught of rich smells, as if the meat had been cooked in wines and herbs for hours instead of thrown together in minutes. Thor food could have been the best in the Confederacy, but they preferred to use their flavoursome spices and herbs for quick satisfaction instead of culinary ecstasy.

  ‘We should have this back home. Pa could sell the cattle for a fortune if they tasted this good.’ There it was again, the farm boy act, but after he choked down another chunk of meat as if he couldn’t help himself, he answered her question. ‘Guess I don’t have the same faith as you that folks will respect you people.’

  ‘They might not yet,’ Ramirez conceded. ‘But they must, and they never will if we hide in the shadows and don’t announce ourselves.’

  Harrigan scoffed around a mouthful. His enthusiasm for the skewer of beef seemed so genuine she couldn’t bring herself to assume the worst, remembering this was probably the first real food he’d had in weeks after jail. And economy-class catering on a civilian transport. ‘You really do believe all that "beacon in the darkness" bull, don’t you?’

  She tilted her chin up half an inch, stung by his disregard and chiding herself for minding. ‘It only stops being bull if we care about it, and so make others care.’

  Harrigan paused as he chewed on the last of his skewer, and she took advantage of the silence to eat hers. It was, she had to agree, very good, and the moment’s respite as she focused on the food and didn’t have to listen to his harping on was pleasant. He didn’t speak again until they’d crossed the plaza, reaching the doors into the building her pad told her they had a room in on the thirty-first floor. Only when they’d ducked into the dim corridor did he begin chewing on the edge of his wooden skewer, and spoke around it. ‘What Locke said...’

  Ramirez didn’t look over her shoulder as she headed for the lift, but when a few more seconds passed in silence she took a deep breath. ‘Which bit?’

  ‘About your ma.’ She heard his breath catch in apprehension. ‘I didn’t know you were from Tyr.’

  Ramirez liked to think she was good at reading people. She was trained for it, if nothing else. Harrigan, she had begun to find, was better than most at obfuscating his thoughts and feelings, and while that was beginning to irk, she believed the hint of apology about his voice was genuine. She drew a deep breath. ‘Born and raised.’ She pressed the button to summon the lift so she didn’t have to look at him.

  Another pause and then, as if the words had stumbled out of him, ‘I‘m sorry. I wouldn’t have said what I did back in Midgard if I’d known.’

  A smile crossed her lips but didn’t reach her eyes. ‘So if I weren’t from Tyr, it would be all right to throw around the tragedy to score cheap points?’

  ‘I was there.’ Harrigan fidgeted with the skewer as they waited. ‘My unit was on recon in Hymir, we were one of the lucky ones recalled and screened before the order came from on-high.’

  To call them ‘lucky’ was an understatement, and they both knew it. The Null had landed so many troops and overrun the major settlements of the planet, including the capital Hymir, so heavily and swiftly that containment had become all but impossible. The planet as a whole had been in danger of being overrun, and the risk of a Null presence on ships and shuttles and transports leaving had been high. To boot, as the Null roamed streets and fields freely, they had gone on to seize control of orbital defences.

  Tyr’s population had been small, the planet far away enough from Altair itself that the most habitable portion of the chilly planet was on the land masses around the equator. The strike had been a complete surprise and reinforcements had been days away, but without immediate action the whole world would have fallen to the Null - and worse, they would have had dozens of infected people, living and dead and hard to identify until they animated, on ships fleeing the world and burrowing deep into the heart of the Confederacy. Just one Null trooper could take over a whole crew and a whole ship and then wage bloody chaos. Dozens would die, maybe hundreds before they were stopped, and death was the Null’s only motivation.

  So instead, with the evacuation half-complete, Admiral Swain had ordered the Confederate Fleet in orbit to bombard the infested cities, including Hymir. Soldiers still on the planet were lucky to get the recall order, luckier still to get off-world in time. The civilians had not been so fortunate, and a small population centred around the major settlements had been decimated. What had once been the heart of Altair’s culture and academia had been reduced in hours to smoking craters and desperate pockets of refugees trying to rebuild what little they had left, and the world would, everyone knew, never recover.

  It had been a hell of a blunder that had let the Null infest themselves onto one of the Confederacy’s most major planets so quickly and decisively, but there had been no court-martial for Commodore Krieg of the Hel picket and his incompetence. He’d paid for his mistake with his life, and now waged bloody war on his former comrades in the fighting at the edges of the Altair system, only now under the bannerless Null instead of the colours of the Confederate Fleet.

  ‘I wasn’t there,’ said Ramirez as the lift doors slid open and she stepped in. ‘The Exupery was in action in Kruger at the time.’

  Harrigan nodded, but her hopes he
would stay silent were soon enough dashed. ‘It was bullshit, what they did there.’

  ‘There was no choice. Those people were dead once the Null were amongst them, it was only a matter of time.’

  ‘I don’t believe a tragedy like that can happen and there’s nothing we can do to stop it. Not when the blood’s on our own hands.’

  I do, Ramirez thought, watching the display window at the top of the lift tick the floors up. Because otherwise someone knew there was a chance to save Tyr and chose not to, and I’ll go mad if I believe that. ‘Have you lost any family in the war, Mister Harrigan?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then perhaps you will keep your thoughts to yourself in future rather than throw civilian casualties in the faces of others. Especially others who continue to fight rather than get put in the brig for smuggling.’

  He scowled, but then they were at the thirty-first floor and the lift doors opened and she could stride away.

  The smell of coffee greeted them as they entered the apartment the OCMS had arranged for them. It was the only character the place had - otherwise the walls were bare, the furnishings plain. Tycho had made herself at home, the coffee table strewn with her stack of pads and the display screens she’d set up to feed more information at once. Ramirez didn’t know how she could keep up with such a flow, so many little windows bustling with so much data, but she knew Tycho was good at what she did and didn’t question it.

  ‘The essentials are in,’ Tycho said, not looking up as they shut the door. ‘Coffee and noodles. I put an APB out for the HCPD and spaceport security for Jovak and his ship, nothing back yet; we‘re already signed up with the membership feeds for Locke’s movement and I‘ve started to cross-reference their protests with Ragnarok’s strikes, both location and time...’

  Very good at what she does. Ramirez’s lips twitched. ‘Coffee is an essential?’

  ‘I‘m also planning on bringing charges against Commissioner Beyer for feeding us that sludge. Hey, do you think that would be an abuse of power?’ Tycho waggled a stylus at the bedroom doors. ‘Middle room’s mine, the Chief gets the one on the right, Harrigan on the left.’

  Harrigan looked at the doors. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because the shower unit in that one’s leaky and you‘re the one with the criminal record.’

  ‘Low blow. Why aren’t we bunking at the orbital military garrison?’

  ‘The Chief’s a sap and likes to see cities.’

  ‘That’s not the reason,’ said Ramirez, crossing to the kitchen to pour herself a mug of coffee. She knew Tycho’s tastes. This would be the real stuff. ‘I don’t want us shuttling back and forth from orbit, and no, it’s not because of my airsickness.’ Not just, at least.

  ‘You don’t want even the Fleet to be monitoring your comings and goings,’ said Harrigan. He shoved his hands into his pockets and sauntered to the tall windows, watching the grey-brown smear of downtown Hardveur zooming along beyond. ‘I didn’t think you’d possibly consider anyone in a uniform crooked.’

  Ramirez almost choked on the first mouthful of coffee and looked at Tycho, who grinned. ‘Tych, how many more Fleet officers do you think we‘ve arrested than civilians?’

  ‘Since the Marshals or ever?’

  ‘Let’s be fair and give it the last two months.’

  Tycho’s eyes twinkled. ‘Well, there was Mercer and his co-pilot. So two civilians. And, what, twenty Fleet?’

  Harrigan’s eyebrows raised. ‘Twenty? In two months?’

  ‘Twelve of them were a squadron of pilots who were trying to steal their Beowulf fighters,’ said Ramirez, hiding her smile behind her mug. ‘That was only a week’s work.’

  Tycho leaned back on the flat, grey sofa. ‘How was Locke?’

  ‘Suspicious. I would have thought a man full of all of his ideals would be more upset by terrorists piggy-backing his movement. I have his personal contact details and he wants to talk. I think he’s trying to be helpful to allay suspicions.’

  ‘Might he be helpful because he’s innocent?’

  Harrigan scoffed at Tycho’s words, and Ramirez frowned as she agreed with his sentiment. She looked apologetically at her partner. ‘He was far too stand-offish at first; I think we surprised him and now he’s trying to cover ground.’

  ‘Honestly, from what I’ve got here,’ said Tycho, gesturing to her upright display screen on the coffee table, ‘I think you‘re right.’

  Ramirez went to join her on the sofa as Harrigan stayed where he was, watching the traffic. The man probably hadn’t had a decent view in a month. ‘What do you have?’

  ‘Locke likes the element of surprise in his protests, because if he schedules them in advance the police show up and at the least block them off. The HCPD can’t suppress the marches, not yet, but they can corral them away from the public eye and the press. I have basic membership access to what he advertises, but this isn’t very secure and the HCPD are likely viewing this already, based off their response times to past protests announced on these feeds,’ Tycho gestured to the windows in turn as she spoke - the CFL members‘ communication feed, the chart showing timestamps of CFL gatherings, HCPD response times, and, for those where it had happened, Ragnarok attacks.

  ‘When Ragnarok have been showing up at the big, public protests, they‘ve been trying to tangle with the police,’ Ramirez said. ‘These have been strikes to raise their profile. The times they‘ve been attacking legitimate targets under the shroud of the protests, it’s the much smaller, less-advertised ones.’

  ‘Why are they attacking locations with hundreds of witnesses?’ asked Harrigan.

  ‘It’ll be partly the attention,’ said Ramirez. ‘But the chaos will help them hide in the crowd and it’ll slow down the efficiency of a police response. And - let me guess, Tych, they‘ve got to the scene before the HCPD have on the smaller strikes and protests?’

  ‘Yep.’ Tycho smirked. ‘CFL members are encouraged to show up promptly but not early to these sorts of marches, so they can roam around and pick up momentum before the HCPD notices. We‘re talking hundreds of people descending on one street in a ten minute window. It’s several minutes before anyone thinks to tell the HCPD. Long minutes after that before the HCPD can rally officers to converge on the area and contain the protest. When Ragnarok have struck out of these, they have been there before the first of the HCPD were even on the scene. This isn’t an attack of opportunity - they‘ve known these protests were coming.’

  ‘But the HCPD haven’t - and these protests haven’t been advertised on the open membership channels for the CFL?’

  ‘How can the CFL mobilise hundreds of people in ten minutes without notice?’ said Harrigan, looking away from the window.

  ‘Cell structure, I would wager,’ said Ramirez. ‘It sounds serious, but this is serious for Locke and his followers. The more he can make the HCPD look impotent, the more he can create drama to draw media attention, the more people are talking about his issues. The less politicians can ignore them. Without these theatrics, without this intricate organisation, any protest he organised in advance, the HCPD would clear the area of public, of press, and stop them from roaming. They’d be shouting in a sound-proofed room.’

  ‘Okay, so he’s got maybe twenty guys in his inner circle who know what’s going on in advance and can marshal up their... pet protesters? Don’t these people have jobs?’ Harrigan scowled.

  ‘A lot of them don’t. There’s a reason there’s such a trade in the sort of black market goods which gave you a smuggling career. The taxes and rationing and trade control and goods being reallocated to the Fleet with only at-cost reimbursement have choked several industries. All in the name of the war effort, a war most of these people have never seen. Locke and the CFL give them an outlet, a means of doing something about this, when it’s all they can think about.’

  ‘And Ragnarok give them a chance to fight back,’ said Harrigan.

  She bit her lip. ‘There is that. The CFL are the perfect screen for Ragn
arok activities and give them even more of a media boost, to boot. Without them, they’d have to operate in hiding, with surgical strikes - this way they can stage attacks when a thousand cameras are on them and disappear into the chaos.’

  ‘If Locke cared so much about the people whose rights he’s claiming to fight for, he’d stop these secret protests,’ said Tycho. ‘He’s getting his movement smeared with blood.’

  Ramirez stood, her feet urging her to pace. It was a habit she’d never managed to beat, a way to walk off the energy born of churning thoughts and rattle ideas around inside her until she made sense. Tycho spotted this and quirked an eyebrow. ‘Uh oh.’

  Harrigan turned. ‘What?’

  ‘The Chief’s pacing. Means we‘re about to get a dose of idealism.’

  Normally Ramirez would have smiled at Tycho’s well-natured joke, but when the joke was made to Harrigan she realised just how similar their senses of humour were. Even if Tycho lacked Harrigan’s mocking edge. ‘Locke would say that stopping his protests would be surrendering not just to the government, but Ragnarok.’

  ‘Ragnarok want the same thing as them. To topple the government,’ Harrigan pointed out.

  ‘That’s not what Locke wants, or at least, what he says he wants. He’ll say he wants change, he’ll say he wants to give a voice to the ignored, he’ll say he wants to remind everyone of the injustices overshadowed by war.’

  Tycho raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that what he’d say, Chief, or what you’d say?’

  Ramirez paused, looking across the small apartment at her two companions. She sighed. ‘What I’d say,’ she conceded. ‘Locke tried to throw a spanner in the works of our investigation. I reckon, at best, he’s using CFL to springboard the rebirth of his political career, instead of trying to do something good for the people.’

  Harrigan snorted. ‘Protesting against the government in a war is “good”. For a member of a jackbooted witch-hunting unit you‘re awful fluffy.’

  ‘For a criminal against the Confederacy you‘re awfully in favour of trampling over freedoms and rights.’

  ‘I favour results, darling. At all costs.’

  ‘That’s still “Commander Darling” to you.’

  He just smirked in response, taking her irritation as a victory, and Tycho cleared her throat. ‘So what’s our next move, Chief?’

  ‘We need to find Jovak and we need more on Locke.’

  ‘I‘ve gone through as many of his records as I can without breaching privacy laws,’ said Tycho apologetically.

  ‘So?’ said Harrigan. ‘You‘re Marshals, can’t you do whatever you want?’

  Tycho shrugged and pointed at Ramirez, who tried to not glare at her partner for her betrayal. ‘We need reasonable suspicion to do so,’ Ramirez said. ‘Gut feeling isn’t good enough at this point.’

  ‘Gut feeling and some awful big coincidences about how close Ragnarok and Locke are. Your boss won’t understand this when you explain it to them?’

  ‘Director Tau trusts me,’ said Ramirez. ‘That’s the point I don’t expect you to understand. Just because we can, doesn’t mean we should. We have to have reasons to act, reasons to use our powers.’

  ‘What’s the point in being part of an unshackled group of law enforcers when you slap the shackles back on yourself?’ Harrigan folded his across his chest, looking even bigger with the dying brown light of Hardveur silhouetting him against the tall apartment window.

  ‘The rules we make for ourselves,’ said Ramirez, ‘are all the more important when there are no rules.’

  ‘No, the rules you make for yourselves when there are no rules get you killed.’

  ‘So, Chief, what’s next?’ Tycho looked desperate as she intervened yet again.

  Ramirez stared at Harrigan for a heartbeat more. Then she looked at her partner. ‘I‘m going to talk to Locke. More privately, more properly. Get a better read on him, on his motivations. I want to know if he’s some political con or if he’s top of our suspect list. Meanwhile, find me Jovak.’ Her gaze went back to Harrigan. ‘You can do that, can’t you? This is why you were brought on.’

  Harrigan’s expression was still flat, but he nodded. ‘Right,’ he said with a mocking sneer to his voice. ‘To do the bits of your job you can’t do.’

  She tensed. ‘I can have you back in a cell on Odin with just one comm-call, Harrigan.’

  ‘Oh, hey, being screwed over by the Confederate Fleet. That’ll be a new experience.’

  Tycho looked at Ramirez. ‘Do you want my gun, Chief? If you‘re going to shoot him, I kind of want to be a part of this.’

  It was an expression of support, but it was also a joke to break the moment, and Ramirez’s lips twitched. ‘Thank you, Tych, but I’d rather give Mister Harrigan one last chance to justify his presence here.’

  ‘I can find Jovak,’ he said, jaw tilting up half an inch. ‘The man’s like slime; you just look under enough things and he’ll be there.’

  ‘I thought Takahashi said he was better than you?’

  ‘Gracie said he beat me to a couple jobs. I beat him to more.’ Harrigan scratched his stubbled chin. ‘Things have changed on Thor. I can hit a few more places, though, places where folks will talk to me. Kill two birds with one stone - look for Jovak and get our finger on the pulse of just how deep in with the underworld Ragnarok have got.’

  Ramirez noted the “our” and decided to take this as a victory for now. ‘Then there’s your job, Tych, if you can’t look into Locke more without committing an interstellar crime. Work with Harrigan.’

  ‘You mean, babysit?’

  ‘We’ll be going to bars,’ said Harrigan.

  Tycho perked up. ‘Babysitting’s changed a lot since I was fifteen.’

  Ramirez rubbed her eyes. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Local? Sixteen hundred hours. Standard time? Oh-two-hundred hours.’

  ‘That’s why my eyeballs are trying to crawl out of their sockets.’ Standard time wasn’t just the clock the Presidency and Senate of the Confederacy operated by - helped by this being local time in Rome - but ships and stations, too. Including the transports they’d taken to and from Odin. ‘I‘m going to get some rack time.’

  ‘If you leave me to cook dinner,’ warned Tycho, not looking away from her screen, ‘it’ll be noodles. Without flavouring.’

  Ramirez looked at her. ‘You complain about how we won’t spend money for better travel, but refuse to buy better food?’

  ‘I refuse to buy food I have to slave over to cook. My time is more expensive than business class.’

  ‘I’ll cook.’ They both looked at Harrigan with confusion, and he shrugged. ‘I can cook. If you let me loose on the market.’

  ‘You can go shopping,’ said Tycho. ‘If you run, I will put an APB out on your ass and when the HCPD haul you in I will let the Chief shoot you repeatedly in the nuts.’

  Harrigan just gave his crooked smile. ‘You two ladies are the best hostesses.’

  Ramirez didn’t dignify the exchange with an answer and headed for her room. It was barely bigger than the cell they’d found Harrigan in on Odin, but she had what she needed. A bed, a desk, a narrow wardrobe. Her uniform, crumpled, was rescued from the duffel bag Tycho had liberated from locker storage at the spaceport, and she made an effort to press out the creases before hanging it up. It looked as if Thor would be best served out of uniform, but she refused to leave it a mess.

  She removed her belt, took her Hauer from her holster, and gave it a thorough examination before she set it on the bedside table, ammo clip within arm’s reach. Then, only then did she sling off her jacket, her boots, and lean back on the bed.

  She couldn’t help but feel like a teenager as she pulled out the contact card Locke had given her, as if he’d passed her his frequency right before a big party. Not that deciphering the intentions of a major suspect was like pining over a boy, but this wasn’t much like any suspect investigation she’d done before, either.

  She pressed the card to her
earpiece and pocketed it as she heard the familiar crackle of the connection going through. But though she recognised the voice which responded after several tones, it was not Locke. ‘Can I help you, Commander Ramirez?’

  She tried to not feel surprised. Of course she’d be patched through to an aide, and of course an aide would identify each caller before responding. ‘Ms Singh. Is Mister Locke available?’

  ‘He’s in a meeting at present. If you’d like to arrange an appointment, you can contact him on the main office frequency -’

  Disapproval dripped from her voice enough to make Ramirez interrupt. ‘He gave me this frequency. I would be grateful if you could tell him I called. He offered us a chance to meet and talk.’

  Half a heartbeat. Then, ‘Of course, Commander. I shall tell him. Good day.’ Singh’s voice dropped, and in its place was just the cool tone of a dead comm-line.

  Ramirez couldn’t help but smirk with satisfaction as she lay back on the bed and closed her eyes. It had been a long day and wasn’t over yet, but an opportunity to distress supercilious bureaucrats couldn’t be wasted.

  7

  ‘This place,’ said Tycho, ‘had best be better than the last two.’

  It was the following evening. Their first full day on Thor had been spent meeting with industrialists who had been victims of attacks by Ragnarok, and any of the CFL who had identified themselves openly and cooperated. After wandering from lobby to waiting room to office to quiet coffeehouse they had emerged with scant more information than had been in their briefing packets in the first place. The CFL conducted its protests in the face of mixed public opinion and HCPD oppression. Several industries which supplied key resources to the running of the Confederate Fleet or sometimes the HCPD itself had found themselves targeted by Ragnarok.

  They had expected this, but it had left Tycho tired and irritable, and if the evening’s work didn’t get results she would find some way to take it out on Harrigan. They had done the rounds the night before in a nightclub he’d sworn blind would host someone who’d give them information on Jovak, but closer examination had shown the smuggler very few familiar faces, fewer still who’d talk to him, and none who knew anything of value.

  Harrigan’s apparent solution was to move even lower down the hierarchy of Thor’s classy entertainment venues. Perhaps, this time, dropping off the bottom of it.

  Tycho didn’t mind much. She’d dressed for the occasion, her unimpressive height overwhelmed by boots that finished off a rough-and-tumble ensemble and added inches. When Harrigan dubiously asked if she could run in those, Ramirez, watching, had just laughed.

  ‘Like she’s drunk,’ the commander had said. ‘But she’ll keep up and break their kneecaps with a kick.’

  But now they were there and had seen precious little progress, Tycho was less pleased.

  ‘It’ll be a damn sight more fun than where Ramirez is going tonight,’ Harrigan growled in response to her protest. They were winding their way through a street that hit Thor’s surface, the concrete pavement underneath cracked from years of disrepair. Here the moon and stars were swapped for the dazzling lights of towering, civilised Hardveur above, the huge buildings staring down at them like parents disapproving of offspring who had turned rowdy - and violent, and drunk, and criminal. There were no neat strips of light along the walkways to provide illumination, just the neon-bright signs of this bar, or that shop, all trying to ply the passers-by with booze or men or women or music or drugs. It smelled of repulsor fumes, of tangy metal, of sweat, of refuse, of poverty, of desperation. And of the thin veneer of excitement slapped over the top as the denizens embraced the freedom their downtrodden existences gave them, the only consolation prize for coming last in a society that ignored them.

  Tycho, in her way, liked it. The rest of Hardveur was sleek and cold, detached, unreal. Their apartment block was better, a pleasant middle ground, but the surface at least felt like a genuine place where genuine people lived, instead of some mask the populace shrouded themselves in. She was from Riyam, the biggest of the moons of Ta‘lab in the Alpha Centauri system, where there was space and greenery and resources enough to never need to build up atop each other like this. Hardveur was a million light-years away in terms of mentality, but anything to make her feel like she wasn’t just bouncing off the mask was welcome.

  ‘I hear they‘re going to a nice place. Bistro Epsilon. Best food on the planet. Very fancy.’ That was what Ramirez had said, at least.

  ‘Sounds like a laugh a minute.’ Harrigan shouldered his way through the crowd. For a man who’d only spent a year on and around Thor, he knew how to wear the city like a second skin, she thought. ‘Anyplace I don’t know which fork to use to kill myself with, I steer clear of.’

  ‘Damn, we should go. Then I’d get dinner and a show! Shame we‘re not invited.’

  ‘Why’s she?’

  ‘I don’t know. Which is why she’s going - to find out. Rule number one of any investigation, Harrigan: Never trust the helpful ones.’

  ‘What’s rule number two?’

  ‘Never trust the unhelpful ones.’ Tycho shrugged. ‘All comes under rule zero: Trust nobody.’

  ‘That’s deep, that. Them Ramirez’s rules?’

  ‘No, I came up with those all on my own. Ramirez’s rules are more complicated.’

  A plume of steam erupted from the next doorway along and a pair of women were engulfed before they emerged, shrieking with laughter and surprise, and hurried down the busy street. Harrigan grabbed a fistful of Tycho’s leather jacket and yanked her around. ‘This way.’

  ‘Amazingly, I can steer myself.’

  ‘Even without Ramirez to tell you what to do?’

  ‘You‘re sounding bitter.’

  Harrigan shrugged. ‘Just sounds like she gets a fancy dinner while you do the proper work.’

  ‘Unless we get a lead on Jovak this is one great big waste of time,’ Tycho reminded him. ‘Anyway, what’s it to you how this operation’s run? You help us, JAG put a cap on any possible sentence.’

  ‘If Ramirez keeps her word.’

  ‘Hey.’ Tycho grabbed his elbow, pulling him to a halt. ‘Ramirez isn’t the one you want to worry about changing the agreement.’

  Suddenly he seemed taller in the gloomy light, a bright green sign over her shoulder flickering and reflecting on his face to make his features more angular, brutish. His smile was crooked and unpleasant. ‘That a threat, ell-tee?’

  She held her ground, knowing he could probably stab her and leave her for dead in the middle of the road and, down here, nobody would react. Even if she could comm Ramirez, all that would achieve would be interrupting the dulcet tones of Bistro Epsilon’s string quartet with her death screams.

  ‘A reminder. If I had my way, we’d be lying to you and flinging you right back in jail where you belong. She’s the one who’ll make sure the deal sticks. So, you know.’ Tycho shrugged. ‘You could stand to be a little nicer.’

  ‘Nicer? She jumps down my throat at any goddamn thing.’ Harrigan scowled, and Tycho was surprised to see his frustration looked genuine.

  ‘She’s not usually like this. She’s normally the calm, polite one while I get to rip idiots to shreds. No, she can’t stand you. But she’ll stand by her word. So maybe you cut her a little slack.’ Tycho let him go and turned to carry on down the street, even if she wasn’t sure where she was going. He’d say.

  ‘What makes her more pissed at me than you are? I‘m a disgrace to both your uniforms.’

  He was attentive, she’d give him that. Irksomely attentive for some ground-pounder, and Tycho fought back a scowl. ‘You‘re a disgrace to the Marine Corps.’

  ‘Is that worse? Neither one of you are Marines.’

  She‘d said too much. ‘Where are we going, again?’

  Harrigan was wearing a crooked smirk she distrusted, and Tycho cursed herself for trying to appeal to his better nature. Ramirez was going to kill her. ‘Freightyard 26,’ he said. ‘Just around the bend.’


  ‘I‘m guessing that’s not some pretentious industrial name,’ said Tycho, pushing on through the press of people, ‘and this is actually a warehouse.’

  ‘Maybe once. I‘m pretty sure the folks who run it don’t own the building. But down here, who cares?’

  The sign for their destination was either a remarkable endeavour to remain in-keeping with the aesthetics of the ground level, or this club was one of the most rotten places Tycho had ever been to in her not insignificant career in law enforcement. Someone had taken two huge metal light-tubes, designed to glow vibrant orange when powered and made for industrial marking, and had beaten them into the shape of a two and a six. Bent that way, they were all the more likely to crack and spew the chemical insides that made them glow in the first place, but they were suspended above the twisted metal doorway. From outside it was hard to tell where Freightyard 26 ended and its neighbours began, the wall a mass of grey and brown, buildings tumbling together, but the place looked big.

  ‘For the love of God,’ said Harrigan as they approached, ‘do not tell anyone you‘re a cop.’

  ‘Do I look that dumb?’

  ‘Don’t ask that, Tych.’

  She grinned, amused despite herself, and ducked in. It was so gloomy outside that it was hard to tell she was even indoors, except the air was even more close, more choking, more full of smoke and sweat. And now there was the pounding bass bouncing off walls and ears, a throbbing mix of noise that she would barely describe as music but one thing it had, in spades, was a beat. And that was enough.

  Harrigan looked at her, obviously trying to tell if she was going to be shocked and appalled at the big open chamber of bootlegged alcohol and the unruly sight of poor people and criminals having fun, but only found a grin across her face that wasn’t false. Maggie Tycho was a cop for many reasons, but one of those reasons was simple. She liked people, and her job brought her into contact with a great many people.

  ‘The guy we‘re looking for,’ hollered Harrigan in between pounding beats, ‘is called Jones.’

  Tycho wrinkled her nose. ‘Jones? Really? Not "Silas Knife-Eyes" or something?’

  ‘You watch way too many movies!’ He chuckled and waved for her to follow as he plunged into the writhing mass of dancers, using his bulky size to shoulder a path, and she followed in his wake. This was the sort of place, she thought, that would give MPs from her past assignments fits. A single raid would keep a magistrate busy for a month, and that was just on the infractions she could spot. Aside from the smuggled alcohol there would be illegal narcotics, illegal firearms, black market trade going on across sticky tables, all manner of crimes planned under the cover of a roaring crowd, and half the faces would likely make a criminal record database burst into tears.

  Harrigan led them through the crowd to the twisting stairway to the upper level, a metal gantry that had barely been converted from when the building had been an actual warehouse. From here they could see most of the main floor, for all the good it did to peer through crowded bodies, and those up on this level enjoyed the shadows as they stood above the main lighting rigs. A few glances into dark corners gave Tycho sights she could live without.

  ‘We‘re looking,’ shouted Harrigan as they got to a central point with a good view, ‘for a guy at one of the tables. Bald head. Tattered little red jacket. Two guys built like battleships next to him. They said Jones didn’t want to dance with Ragnarok; that’s why he’s wound up down here. We find him, we ask him where Jovak is, and then we bag Jovak.’

  Tycho managed to not roll her eyes as he told her how to do her job, but diligently began scouring the tables. The description was vague with colours almost impossible to make out in this lighting, and soon she found her gaze drift up to the gantry, to one of the other corners of the upper level. Someone caught her eye.

  ‘How about,’ she said, elbowing Harrigan, ‘we skip right to the end of that adorable little plan?’ Harrigan followed her gaze and straightened. He had to know Jovak personally, while she only had his file to go off, a picture of his pointed face and deep-set eyes, but this reaction confirmed it. ‘Go around,’ said Tycho. ‘We’ll come at him from both sides.’

  Harrigan could bully his way through a crowd, but she was small and slight and could wind her way along, getting men and women alike out of her way with the occasional smile and wink. Sometimes it was best to slip by unnoticed - sometimes a second’s attention was all you needed to get what you wanted.

  Jovak hadn’t noticed her, which was just as well, as she was making better progress than Harrigan. She trusted the former Marine to be able to back her up in a struggle but this was still a matter for Marshals, and he would be better served as backup only if it went ugly.

  Jovak’s picture had to be a couple years out of date, she decided. There was a burn scar across his right cheek which was new, and his face was drawn, wrinkled. The war took its toll on all sorts of people, and she suspected it didn’t make life for a smuggler much easier. Working for Ragnarok was likely not the man’s first choice.

  She was almost upon him, and it would be easy. She’d step up behind him, put a hand on his shoulder and her sidearm in his kidneys, and tell him he was under arrest. And if he didn’t like it, she’d slam his face into the railing. If bouncers got involved, so long as she could gather a winning smile and assure them she’d be taking trouble out their door, her ID card would still do the trick down here well enough.

  He looked over at her and didn’t seem to care, but then he glanced to his right and saw the burly figure of Harrigan making his way down the gantry.

  And froze as he recognised him. ‘Harrigan.’

  ‘Shit,’ Tycho muttered.

  The bottle Jovak had been drinking dropped from his hand, and both she and Harrigan began pushing their way down the crowd towards him. She was almost there and his attention was on the other man - he’d be distracted, she could get to him, and maybe, if he bolted she’d be lucky and he’d come right at her.

  But she wasn’t lucky enough. Either he panicked or, if he knew to run from Harrigan, he knew he wouldn’t be alone, because Jovak didn’t bolt along the gantry. Instead he grabbed the railing and swung himself over to drop into the crowd below, and the moment he hit the dance floor, he ran.

 

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