Raw Justice

by Martyn J. Pass

  “And there's no risk of a rebellion, an uprising?” I asked.

  “Corano is quick to put them down but they rarely ever get started. During the day an average Remus IV colonist takes a hit of Opho cut with pain meds and zones out for most of the time. Then, when the temperature drops and the ice forms, he or she might wander down to the breadline to collect rations, only to die in the cold. They can't think straight and if both partners in the family are taking the drug then they're pretty much doomed.”

  “Unemployment?”

  “Most work for Corano in his production plants, others doing tasks like repairing the power generators or maintaining the atmosphere recyclers. He pays them in Opho.”

  “Sounds like somewhere I could retire,” laughed Baz.

  “Okay,” said Argo. “What about the vault.”

  “Corano has built his empire on the drug but he maintains it through blackmail. Toppling his competition was easy; he struck hard and fast at the heads of the opposing Cartels. But Commonwealth leaders have 20/20 vision and so turning blind eyes to his activities was not even on the table. Instead, he opened up another line of business – buying and selling information. He bought anything he could on anyone he might need to have leverage over at a criminal price, forgive the pun. People knew that if they had a photo or a recording or a feed he'd buy, then they'd be making a lot of credits for almost no work. It also meant that if they needed his help in using that data, he'd send one of his best 'advisors' to help them out. He ranked you on the quality of your product and how useful it would be to him. When we started feeding him data blocks on Bourmont's schemes during the Martian War, he let the credits fall into our pockets until they threatened to burst.”

  “But they're not kept online?” asked the Intelligence officer, now leaning forward on his elbows with rapt attention.

  “No-way. If someone stole or destroyed it most of his power over the Commonwealth leaders would be gone. Earth Gov. would make a move on him in a heartbeat and pulverize the planet into dust. So he keeps them in solid-state, only one copy mind you, buried deep in his vault on Remus IV.”

  “And how do you know this?” asked Argo.

  “It's his sales pitch,” grinned Mozzy. “He says that 'his best-kept secret is his worst kept secret'. If you manage to win him over with what you've got he shows you around the facility, takes you deep into the planet to see the warehouses of data he has, the sheer volume of dirt he's got on people or that he's holding on behalf of other people even more evil than himself.”

  “So it's a fortress-vault then?” said Mason.

  “Well he's not going to let anyone just walk in and steal from him, is he? We're talking about a structure so vast and so well-built that to penetrate it with orbital strikes would be pointless. There's so much plascrete and steel in the thing that you'd need a million tanks firing a million bunker-busting rockets to get in. He staffs the surface installation with civilians, human shields.

  “Describe it in depth,” I said.

  “On the surface, it's just a normal looking factory where clothes and, of course, Opho is manufactured and processed for distribution. Nothing more than a few stories high, no bigger than a normal office block in width and length. But beneath that lies the real fortress. If you manage to penetrate the shield-”

  “Shield?” I said.

  “Yeah. Stops direct hits to the entrance and keeps out lancer fire from orbital strikes. If you get past that, the vault doors are three meters thick and take a massive amount of machinery to open. Then it’s down into the heart of the beast; twenty-six levels to the power room, another thirteen to the vault itself surrounded by meters of plascrete shielding, impenetrable to the hardest drills. Each level has a timed door, resistant to explosives or chemical devices.”

  “And you're telling me that we should hit this place, rob him blind and hope he doesn't come after us?” asked Baz. Mozzy laughed.

  “If you manage to hit the vault, then by that time his full response force would already be fighting you for every inch of his facility.”

  “I thought they were all off their heads on Opho?” I asked.

  “Not his automated forces which he can call upon in six minutes from the moment the alarm first goes off. We're talking drone units, armored divisions, specialist infantry, AI tanks, the whole caboodle. From the moment you trigger that alarm the entire planetary defense force will be gunning for you.”

  “Sounds delightful,” smirked Argo with that slanted crease in his face. “And you believe that this information will make us release you?”

  “Not that information,” said Mozzy. “The information in that vault. And the fact that I'm willing to go with anyone who wishes to attempt it.” We all looked at him, stunned. “Don't look so surprised, I'm not doing it for you or that pilot-bird. I'm doing it for me. Plus I have the shield codes. You'll need them.”

  “How did you get those?” asked the Intelligence officer.

  “I think it's the reason they've sent the Death Squad after me – after all of us in the squad. Jonesy managed to hack the defense grid while we were on the tour and steal a copy of the encoder key. He gave us all a data file with it in. Given how hard he's come after us I reckon he's not been able to scramble them yet or install a new key.”

  “That would explain how someone has been able to pay for them,” said Sole. “Someone like Corano could pay for that out of his back pocket.”

  “So we can rule out Bourmont tying up loose ends then,” said Argo. “And you stole these codes because...?” Mozzy shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  “Maybe we might have had a plan to hit the vault ourselves. Some of that data would've fetched a good price and now that I'm the only person left I'd see it as honoring my squad by helping to pull it off.”

  “What kind of plan?” I asked.

  “One that only lacked firepower,” he said. “We didn't want to attempt it until we could buy enough arms to hold off the planetary defenses long enough to secure the vault and steal the data.”

  “That would need a lot of firepower,” said Mason, scribbling on a tablet by his hand.

  “I know,” he replied. I stared at him and saw that Argo was doing the same.

  “Detail the plan for me,” I said. “From the top.”

  “Do we have a deal first?”

  “It depends,” said Argo.

  “On what?”

  “On whether or not I think we can achieve it – and by 'we' I mean Carter and his team.”

  He gave me a lopsided smirk and I felt the urge to punch him again. Sure, he'd support a plan to assault a fortress and get myself killed as long as he got a share of the data loot. Maybe I should've tried to be less shocked by that; it was becoming a pattern.

  “Here's the pitch,” he began and I sat back. I wasn't liking the feeling I was getting already. “The shield codes must be inputted into the central terminal inside the production facility on ground level. This done, the outer defenses will shut down, allowing for orbital deployment of equipment and personnel.”

  “Drop pods?” asked Mason.

  “That was our original plan. There's no way you're sneaking a small army in through the front door. Two people might be able to get in at first, secure the building and input the codes. Then, call in the pods.”

  “Onto the building itself?” I asked.

  “Our plan was to blow a hole in the ceiling and call them in with precision laser targeting, drop them within a few meters of the vault entrance which is inside the factory.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then start fighting,” he laughed. “They'll be sending their preliminary attack force at you six minutes from the moment you trigger the alarm. Drones, bots, you name it. Divide the force into a defense pattern while the others get to work on cutting through the vault door.”

  “What's it made from?” asked Mason.

  “We guessed an alloy of molanium and triton-steel. You'd need high-end plasma cutters mounted on robotic CNC uni
ts. Set those babies up and hold off the attackers until you're through.”

  “Then what?” I asked.

  “Once in you'll have to split your force again, one group to head for the security center to shut off the automated defenses, the other to begin cutting through the first door that leads to the stairwell down. Let's understand each other here – there are no elevators, no direct shafts downwards. The place was designed in such a way that in order to reach the bottom floor you would have to use every single stairwell and cross every single floor.”

  “Okay, what internal defenses are there?”

  “So your first team heads for the security center and begins cutting open the door there. Inside they'll find human personnel in armor. Once they're defeated, all the internal defenses can be switched off from there, allowing full access to the lower levels. If you don't you'll be facing plasma turrets and drone squads on every level.”

  “Is door control there?” asked Mason.

  “We suspected that but didn't plan for it. We expected to cut through every door once the alarm was tripped. It's likely that the whole facility will go into lock-down at that point.”

  “So this gets done,” said Baz. “What's waiting at the vault?”

  “The last door – same as the first. Robotic cutters will have to be set up and left to do their thing. Meanwhile, your team up top will be holding off most of Corano's forces at this point. Expect massive resistance; you're stealing his entire empire out from under him, he won't let you do that without a fight.”

  “Lastly?”

  “If we'd managed to get that far, our plan had been to hack the library terminal in the vault and bag as much of the best data as possible. Then, manually carry it up to ground level to exfil using drop-ships. The only hitch to that is the suspicion that Corano will deploy anti-air units the moment he comes under attack, knowing full well that in order to physically steal the data you'd have to fly it off-world. He'd rather see it destroyed than taken from him.”

  “That it?” I asked. Mozzy nodded, exhausted from the telling. I turned to Mason. “What do you think?”

  “We need a map of the place,” he said. “But if we can put a team together and get the gear, it's possible.”

  Argo looked at us both and seemed to survey the whole idea the way a man might weigh a slab of gold in front of him with his greedy eyes. Then he slowly nodded.

  “I believe we will need more hands-on Intel on this location,” he said and turned to his Intelligence officer. “Thoughts?”

  The man gazed impassively into the table, cogs whirring inside his mind. Then he spoke.

  “In return for our aid, perhaps a fine selection of materials from the vault would help our cause? That's before you destroy the rest of course.” He grinned. “Perhaps we could arrange a tour of the facility ourselves. How enticing does the intelligence need to be in order to grab the attention of this Corano?” Mozzy shrugged.

  “We offered him ten data blocks on a General in Earth Government, career destroying stuff.”

  “I'm sure we can better that,” grinned the Intelligence officer and I believed him.

  “We'll be in touch,” said Argo looking directly at me.

  23

  We left the conference room and Argo's team and went in search of somewhere we could get a drink. We were told that there was a quiet bar somewhere on the far side of the station and after dismissing his medic, Mozzy and the four of us made our way over there.

  “Well?” I asked Mason as we walked, not missing the fact that Jo was walking beside me. It felt good.

  “Suicide,” he replied. “But hey, it's what we're good at.”

  “Is it possible?”

  “I think anything is possible if you have enough guns.”

  The bar was something straight out of the Colonial days, all neon signs in science fiction writing with silver paneled walls, slick lino floor planks, and bright red plastic seating. Posters lined the aisles with recruitment cartoons, calling on Earth citizens to 'brave the stars and build better worlds', worlds like Remus IV I wondered. The place was empty save for two men at the far end nursing metal cups of alcohol and what looked like military rations on their plates.

  We took a booth that looked directly at the entrance and sat down, glancing at the menu.

  “Colony stew,” said Baz. “Space rations. Anti-gravity chips. Mac and cheese re-heat. Galactic steaks. Sounds yummy.”

  “I like the sound of the hyperspace doughnuts,” said Mason. “Comes with ice cream and space-sauce.”

  “I didn't think places like this still existed,” I said. Jo smiled.

  “Must be popular with the kids birthday parties or something.”

  “Do you ever feel that the Commonwealth is a little behind the times?” asked Baz.

  “They'll catch up,” said Mozzy. “I don't know about you guys but I'm having the space-steaks; I'm famished here.”

  We ordered drinks while he put in for his meal with extra space-fries. When they came, he inspected the strange looking meat and poked it a couple of times with his fork.

  “Probably human flesh,” said Mason. “I don't see any cows around here, do you?”

  He pushed the plate back and nibbled at the fries. At least they looked like fries though none of us had seen any potatoes either. I drank some of my beer which tasted okay and checked we were out of earshot of the two at the bar.

  “Well?” I asked. “Thoughts, people.”

  “I'm up for it,” said Baz. “Sounds like a cakewalk.”

  “You would say that,” said Mason. “But I'm only sold on the plan if we can find the hardware.” I turned to Mozzy.

  “Well? You're the arms dealer. Anyone around here got the stuff we need at the right price?”

  He shrugged and picked at the side-salad. He looked disappointed. I would be too.

  “Maybe,” he said. “It would mean a trip to the Badlands.”

  “Where's that cliché?” asked Mason.

  “Alpha-Six,” he replied. “A lot of our stock came from there. I might be able to get you an audience. After that, the rest is up to you. Credits speak volumes out there.”

  “We can manage credits,” I said. “It's time we don't have a lot of.”

  “It's on the way to Remus IV though I don't think towing a lot of Earth Gov. Navy with you will help.”

  “They won't be coming,” I pointed out. “Argo will have to keep his hands clean. We'll be on our own for this one.”

  “Don't underestimate Corano. I wouldn't be surprised if he had a fleet of his own.”

  “We'll check that out when we get there,” said Mason. “One step at a time.”

  “Is there anything you want to tell us now that we're not with Argo?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Anything you might have left out for fear of getting arrested? It's important, Mozzy. I need to know that we've got a chance of pulling this off and I feel like you're holding back here.”

  He looked at me, weighing up his options. I stared him out until he looked back at his meal.

  “I'm just a grunt,” he said in the end. “What would I know?”

  “Don't give me that,” I replied. “You were Bourmont's bodyguard. Intelligence was part of your act.”

  “You sure you want to know?”

  “I am.”

  “Corano isn't his real name. The Bala Tribe were part of a failed colony attempt of the outer rim. They went rogue just as the mission got underway and took their ships and made for the Commonwealth. They were pursued and then vanished into thin air. Nobody knows why the fleet pursuing them turned back. After that, they became a real thorn in Earth's side.”

  “And this matters because?”

  “Because Corano was once a Navy Captain. His real name is David Argo.”

  “Plot twist!” cried Baz, laughing. “You expect us to believe that?”

  “He's Admiral Argo's brother. Do you think that the brass at Spec Ops gave two shits about the
Navy when they told us that? It's in the files. The Admiral moved heaven and earth to go after his brother and bring him back. Halfway there he turned around and to this day nobody knows why. He faced a court martial and got off on a technicality.”

  “And Captain Argo, his son, doesn't realize this?” asked Mason.

  “Do you want to tell him 'cause I don't!” he said. “At the mention of Corano, he didn't even blink. He's in the dark as much as the rest of Earth Gov. is. I bet that in that data horde you'll find the real reason that fleet turned back and let David Argo run. What you do with it is up to you I guess.”

  I rubbed my eyes and tried to process it all. The beer was good and we had a couple more, still thrashing out the beginnings of a plan until I could see that Mozzy needed to lie down. If he was going to join us on the mission he'd have to regain some of his old strength first.

  “How about we rent some rooms here?” I said. “Repairs won't be completed until tomorrow. Just use the credits you've been given and we'll meet up tomorrow for breakfast.”

  “What about me?” asked Mozzy. “You're not going to leave me alone and unarmed are you? Don't forget I have the codes. You can't do this-”

  “Shut up,” said Mason. “You talk too much. I can't see Death Squad showing up here with Navy ships and hundreds of Marines wandering about, can you?”

  “But-”

  “Take a room near mine and I'll keep an eye on you, that's the best I'm offering. We aren't sharing, pal. Not happening.”

  “There's a hotel near the dock,” I said. “Let's go there.”

  We headed over there, glad to find it more modern and recently refurbished compared to the rest of the station. Clearly, money made regular stays there. I ordered my room first, took my coded key-card and began to leave.