Raw Justice

by Martyn J. Pass

  “The Aurelius has changed that, right?”

  “For all of us, don't forget,” I winked, reminding her subtly that her share of the prize money wasn't unsubstantial either. She tilted her head in acknowledgment just as we found a coffee shop with exterior seating.

  “My shout,” she said, gesturing with her comms unit. “I owe you one.”

  “What's the occasion?”

  “You unpacked for me. I had the shock of my life when I woke up and found everything had been put away, even my smalls.”

  “I'm sorry if I-” She held up a hand as we joined the queue and I noticed her cheeks flush a little pink.

  “I've known you long enough to see the gesture for what it was. Thank you.”

  I nodded and we both stared into the glass display where rows of cakes were stacked on three tiers, mouth-watering in the soft lighting. Layered sponge, chocolate fudge, sticky-toffee pie, lashings of whipped cream and fruit compote. Combined with the aroma of freshly ground coffee, I felt my stomach growl with need.

  “Look at that one!” said Jo, pointing to a slab of marble cake topped with fresh cream. “I've got to have it. What about you?” I pointed to the salted caramel slice on its own on the middle tier.

  “That one please,” I said. We waited. The seating outside the cafe offered us a sectioned-off place to sit and watch people come and go and once we'd placed our order we took seats on the furthest edge, right in the heart of the traffic but apart from it at the same time. On the table was a small floating disc with our order number on it and Jo gave it a spin in mid-air. Now that she was sat opposite me and not with her hands inside the workings of the ship I could see that her hazel eyes, deep and thoughtful, had the effect of dragging your attention to her face the way a tow rope might pull a ship into dock. Her hair, far from untidy, was carefully gathered into a bun where a few strands were allowed shore-leave to visit her temples, stroking her cheeks as they went. They gave her both a young but wise expression, a kind of balanced character that made talking to her very easy. Combined with a smile that showed a row of not-quite-perfect teeth, I felt like I was having coffee with an old friend, someone who knew my heart even before I did. I felt a little ashamed that I hadn't noticed any of this before.

  “How's the nebulus buffer?” I asked. She grinned.

  “Fine now. I still can't believe they put that thing in our beautiful ship. I mean, what kind of cowboy does that, even to meet a deadline? Are you going to get in touch with them when we get back?”

  “What, and complain? I'll forward that to Alice, she enjoys that kind of thing,” I said. She shook her head.

  “It might put them off doing it to some other schmuck next time.”

  “Are you calling me a schmuck?”

  “Yeah, I guess I am.” She winked and saw the waiter coming with our order. “Brace yourself – cake incoming!”

  We waited until he'd put the plates and the cups down before talking again. Jo, with a spoon to her lips, let out a strangely erotic groan as she tasted her dessert.

  “Oh my,” she said. “It's divine!”

  “Mine is superb,” I said and I meant it. The next thing I knew her spoon was coming across the table towards me and, more importantly, my cake. I deftly struck it aside with my own and the clash of cutlery made the couple next to us turn around.

  “Woah!” she cried. “I'm paying so I get to taste.”

  “This isn't a sharing portion,” I pointed out. “If you wanted it you should have ordered it.”

  She struck again and we met, this time overturning the salt shaker on the other side. We broke up into a fit of laughter as the duel of spoons continued. In the end, I went on the offensive, allowing her to slip past my guard and thus enable me to plough my spoon into her cake and scoop out a very large piece. I stuffed it into my mouth at the same time as she did, giggling and spitting crumbs everywhere.

  “Mutually-assured-destruction,” she said, wiping caramel sauce from her cheeks where she'd smeared it. “Bravo, sir. Bravo.”

  “You forget that I'm an expert in war.”

  “I never forget that,” she laughed, struggling to bring her humor under control. “How could I? You keep blowing up my ship.”

  “Your ship?”

  “Our ship then, if you prefer. As it's me that keeps fixing her then maybe it's more of a 70/30 split of ownership.”

  “Really?” She nodded and sipped at her coffee. “Last time I heard it was TRIDENT's coffers paying for this field trip.”

  “A small matter of the frozen planet? Ahem?”

  “You helped, sure. I'll grant you that.”

  “Helped?” she chuckled and the sound was sweet to hear. “I was instrumental.”

  “If you say so. I felt that it was more of a team effort, and when I say 'team' I mean me.”

  She licked her spoon and looked straight at me like I was the only person in the world. For a moment I enjoyed the feeling I was getting and all the wrong signals I was happy to receive. But when I looked away and saw the crowds of people coming and going, of normal life carrying on and on in an endless stream of insignificant events, I forced those emotions back into a corner and took a deep breath. Gone was the lover after a sliver of freedom and back in his rightful place was the soldier simply between wars.

  “You never told me how you got into this kind of work,” I said.

  “You ever read my file?”

  “I leave that kind of thing to Alice,” I lied; I'd read all their files and made background checks on those in what I considered to be my 'core team'. It wasn't suspicion, just common sense. I suddenly realized that Angel's file hadn't prepared me for any of this though. If Argo was to be believed, even the name on it wasn't her true one.

  “Well,” she said, scraping the last of the sauce from her plate. “I didn't really get a choice.” I cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah, I was one of the unlucky ones who was 'asked' if I would like to get involved in more... masculine trades, so to speak.”

  “Not that whole quota fiasco?” I asked. She nodded.

  “Not enough women in male-dominated subjects. Answer – invite more women to get involved. My family were on the breadline, I was an only child and we needed the money. If I went to college and studied astroengineering right through to my HGD, maybe even university level, they'd receive food coupons while I learned. Not really much of a choice, right?”

  “No.”

  “So I did, of course. I can't say that I enjoyed it. A girl like me who didn't really fit in side by side with some of the best engineers in the business, trying to compete with them day in and day out. It was hard, I can tell you that. There were times when a project had to be in the following day and the only way I could meet the target was to work through the night. I'll confess – the guys managed it better than I did. They were machines themselves while I was flagging. I wanted to go home and curl up under a duvet with a cup of tea.”

  “But you survived?”

  “Yeah, just. Turns out I had a knack for it, as you can tell. I had to fight from the ground up for every single merit but by the end, I finished top in my class for the final year before heading to University on the lunar base. Zero-G repair work, suited and booted, all kinds of crap you'd encounter on a space-faring vessel.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then...” She trailed off and looked away into the crowds just like I'd done a moment or two earlier. I get to do that, not you, I thought to myself. “Jo?” I asked, very gently. She turned back.

  “It's nothing,” she replied and sipped her coffee. Silence and a subtle shift in mood between us. Walls, I thought. They go up so easily.

  “I could eat that cake again,” she grinned but it was half-hearted and she barely made eye-contact with me.

  “I know about the addiction,” I said very softly. “We both did when we hired you.”

  She looked up then and I could see the pain behind those eyes, welling up like tears yet she was not crying, not showing any visible emotion th
at might make her look weak. No doubt she'd had to bury her feelings in that environment just to survive. Some days I felt like everyone was a veteran of war, a conflict that left plenty of scars. Some you could see, others not so much.

  “It wasn't my finest hour,” she laughed. “But I got through it, still am getting through it I mean.”

  “I know.”

  “Can I ask you something?” she said. The place suddenly seemed to go quiet for her, for no reason whatsoever and I found I was leaning on the table now, closer than before. I could almost smell the scent of coffee on her breath.

  “Sure.”

  “Can you ever switch it off?”

  My expression turned to something a little more confused and I found myself asking her to repeat the question.

  “I mean, being Carter. Can you?”

  “Maybe it's the calories talking, Jo, but I'm-”

  “I think you understand,” she cut in. “There was someone there before, someone knocking spoons with me who grinned like he was a boy again but when I tried to talk to him he vanished.” I felt my throat constrict and my stomach tie itself in knots.

  “What are you getting at?” I managed to say.

  “I understand okay? Mars was bad and ever since then you've been all about the work and the business and whatever else you're supposed to be doing. But now and again that young man shows up, he was there next to my bed when he thought I was dying from the crash. He was there last night, unpacking my clothes because he saw I needed help.”

  “But he's not there the rest of the time, right?” I finished. She nodded and that beautiful face broke into a smile that I thought should blind everyone around us.

  “So you've met him before?” she said. I nodded. “I thought so. He's sweet.”

  “He's...” I stopped, felt a surge of panic run down my spine, and I wanted to shut the whole thing down. Angel had done this not too long ago and the reaction had been the same, perhaps not as intensely as this one but the assault was the same. “I can't do what I do when I need to do it and be that man; it's just not possible.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “You don't just wake up one day, kill a dozen people and then go home and put your feet up. Because when you strip away all the nice PR work and the brochures, TRIDENT is nothing more than killers for hire.”

  “That bothers you?”

  “No, it doesn't. What bothers me is the fact that it doesn't bother me. Not anymore. I actually think we provide an important service, we fulfil a need, a necessary evil to keep the bad guys at bay. But it comes at a price.”

  “Your soul?”

  “No,” I said, looking away, willing myself to stop speaking. “My heart.”

  Jo said nothing. She was looking away as well and I guessed that it'd been too much, that she was probably regretting asking the question now. Seeing men weak is off-putting, especially when those men are tasked with getting you home off dangerous missions. That's why we never show it, never let you see the demons lurking in the shadows. Because if your protectors are weak, where does that leave you?

  I got up to go, clearing my throat and downing the last of the coffee. Jo stood up too and we stepped out from behind the table, inches apart.

  “We should find the others,” I said. “Otherwise Baz will have blown our budget on-”

  I hadn't seen it coming. Never in a million lifetimes had I anticipated it or planned it. But the next thing I knew I felt her lips pressed against mine, one hand on my cheek and the other on my arm, pulling me into her. I didn't break away, I did quite the opposite. I put my hands on her hips and returned the embrace. She tasted sweet and heady, like taking a deep breath of air before a plunge into ice-cold water. Her skin on mine was soft and scented and as my mind melted into the moment I felt something snap inside me, something I was aware of but couldn't quite figure out until much later, much later. When it was too late to do anything about it.

  She pulled back an inch from my face, lowered her own and held her eyes closed. Our breaths came in short gasps, foreheads touching.

  “Wow,” she whispered. I grinned.

  “Where did that come from?”

  “Somewhere very hot.”

  “People are looking.”

  “Screw them,” she laughed. Then, pulling back with flushed cheeks she looked directly at me. “I've wanted to do that since the medibay.”

  “It was that skin-tight thermal suit, right?” We both laughed.

  “It was your heart. I saw it. You showed it to me.”

  I said nothing. She smiled, touched my cheek again, and let go. Standing there before me, brilliantly beautiful in a way I'd never even noticed before, this woman had blind-sided me the way so many of those closest to me had done and would continue to do in the years that followed.

  22

  The conference room left a lot to be desired. It looked grubby in spite of the bullet-proof glass which swung around in one great arc, overlooking the entire sprawling shopping mall below. The furniture was aged and faded where artificial lights had bleached the color from them. Deep armchairs flanked a reasonably round table of artificial wood the color of burned lumber but there was room enough for the five of us and Argo's contingent of Marines and officers. Mozzy had been carefully escorted from the ship to the conference room, his medic in tow, and he looked pale and tired but alive at least.

  “Take a seat,” said the Captain as his Marines, dressed as plainly as possible, took positions at either door. His two Lieutenants flanked him as well as the mysterious-looking Intelligence officer who'd been strangely absent until now. As a pleasant surprise, Captain Sole had been invited also and he sat to Argo's left just as anti-surveillance devices were posted around the room. We were seated, Mason on my right as we faced the Captain, Baz to my left with Jo and Mozzy on either side. As I caught her eye I could swear that my lips felt a faint echo of that kiss that now threatened to distract me from what needed to be done.

  “Not ideal,” said Argo, gesturing with a sweep of his hand. “But things being what they are, a necessary evil.” I nodded. “I considered refreshments but I feel that time is passing rapidly now. With the threat of Death Squad units, perhaps the time for niceties has gone.”

  “Why the diversion here?” I asked. “The Commonwealth I mean.”

  “I have my reasons, one of which is to refresh old acquaintances with former shipmates who can tell me the 'lay of the land' so to speak. If I'm right then the enemy fleet will first move against the Commonwealth before any direct action is taken against Earth Government itself.”

  “Why?” asked Baz.

  “To prevent an alliance of sorts. Without full Commonwealth support, Earth Gov. will be forced to stand alone. I'd very much like to prevent that possibility. Commonwealth shipyards boast some of the best and most powerful craft. If we let that fall into enemy hands we might find ourselves at war with familiar ships.”

  “I assume you've read my brief?” I asked. He nodded.

  “Tempted as I am to arrest this man-” Here he tilted his head towards Mozzy. “I'm willing to hear you out. Be warned though, should this be a ploy to buy your freedom with false coin, I'll see you spaced from my own decks. Are we clear.”

  The former soldier nodded as if shaken from behind. He looked frail and tired, unable to put up any kind of smart-ass defense this time. Argo seemed to notice that too.

  “Start from the beginning,” I said to Mozzy. “The whole plan this time, and the location.”

  Clearing his throat, which now sounded wet and phlegmy, he began to croak out his plan.

  “Corano runs most of the planet's Opho production,” he said and coughed. “He was once a member of the Bala Tribe, the drug-runners who were smashed back in '008 as part of a Spec Ops 'war on drugs' in the Colony worlds. Back then he only dealt in the small stuff, coke, heroin, the old-school Earth narcotics that were sometimes cultured on those colonies found to have the best conditions. The tribe was almost wiped out but the action manage
d to disband the survivors and scatter them into outlying systems. Corano made it to Remus IV, the only planet in the Alpha-Four system with working atmosphere recyclers.

  “For fifty years or so he worked his way up the political ladder which to Remus IV colonials was nothing more than a local Governance. Here he dropped off the radar for Spec Ops and was presumed dead along with his other cronies in the Bala Tribe. Time passed. Soon he'd risen to the top seat, High Governor of the colony which by now was the size of a small city. Out of there came rumors of Opho shipments, reasonably small scale to begin with, but still enough to make some of the Commonwealth dealers a little edgy.”

  “Opho?” asked Baz.

  “Ophomius Lo Phina,” said the Intelligence officer. “A potent narcotic that brings euphoric pleasure with very little risk of long-term addiction.”

  “I didn't think that was possible,” he replied. He gave a wry grin.

  “In this case, it is. But the price for this momentary high is brain cell corruption and major organ failure in 46% of cases. It also renders the user either catatonic or, in some cases, extremely violent.”

  “It's like playing Russian roulette with a broken plasma pistol and overcharged cells,” said Mason. “It's not a matter of when it kills you, just how much damage it does to the rest of the world when it does.”

  “Ah,” he said and fell silent. Mozzy continued.

  “Soon we got wind of other competitors vanishing off the face of the Commonwealth. Corano simply had them 'taken care of' using his own people or those he'd managed to implant into other colonies. By his 94th birthday, Opho production was the sole export of Remus IV and at a reasonable 34 credits per gram, the cash started rolling in. The planet's reputation grew under this trade and any kind of political competition was quickly put down. He's been in that seat ever since and no one has ever managed to take him down.”

  “What do his people have to say?” asked Mason.

  “Nothing,” grinned Mozzy. “They're starving in the streets. The entire city is in ruins because he controls all imported goods and forbids any kind of independent enterprise. He claims that it's in their own best interests and that lining up at the food dispensaries shapes their character. The streets are filled with refuse and anything that can be taken apart and weighed in as scrap has long since been torn up. The entire place is a dump.”