by Piers Platt
Beauceron frowned, and considered swearing at the man, but decided not to. His phone buzzed again.
I’m tired.
He laid his head on the bar.
Just rest for a minute.
“Martin.”
Beauceron started, lifting his head off his arm. “Alexei?” His head hurt, and his mouth tasted awful. Outside, the sun was setting.
I must have passed out for a while.
“How did you find me?”
Rozhkov smiled. “I’m a colonel in the Interstellar Police. Don’t ask questions you already know the answers to, my friend.”
Beauceron grunted. “Join me for a drink?”
“No, I think not. Come on, stand up. I’m taking you home.”
Beauceron allowed the older man to guide him to the bar’s entrance, and waited while his air car pulled around from valet parking, doors swinging open as it slid into the curb.
“Watch your head,” Rozhkov told him.
“I’m fine,” Beauceron protested, seating himself. Rozhkov sat next to him. “Home,” Beauceron ordered, and the car pulled smoothly away.
“High blood alcohol levels detected,” the car noted. “Human-piloted flight has been disabled for safety.”
Rozhkov shook his head. “Your father wouldn’t have tolerated this kind of behavior,” he said.
Beauceron snorted. “My father’s dead, thank goodness. Let’s both be thankful he’s no longer around to see what became of his once-promising son. He’s dead, Katarina is dead ….” He trailed off.
“I’m still here, Martin,” Rozhkov told him.
“Oh? I’m surprised they didn’t fire you, too. You shouldn’t have stood up for me, Alexei. You have your own career to worry about.”
“It’s not much of a career, anyway. Perhaps if I had made more of a name for myself, I could have saved you, but … I just don’t have the political capital. I’m sorry, my friend. This one is too big. They needed a scapegoat.”
Beauceron nodded numbly. “I know.”
They rode in silence for a while, the lights of the city flashing past. At last, the air car pulled into Beauceron’s apartment complex, nosing gently into the curb by the front entrance. Rozhkov helped Beauceron out of the car.
“I’ll be fine from here,” Beauceron said.
“You sure?”
Behind them, a police cruiser pulled up, ready to take Rozhkov back to the station. The officer driving the car shot Beauceron a cold stare, then looked away.
“Yes, thank you.” Beauceron started to walk toward the building, then stopped, turning back around. “Alexei? What … what am I going to do now?” There were tears in his eyes as he gestured at the empty pocket on his jacket where he normally wore his badge.
The older man sighed. “I don’t know, Martin. But you don’t need to figure that out tonight. You have some money saved?”
“Yes,” Beauceron said.
“Good. Take some time, clear your head.”
“… and then what?”
Rozhkov smiled sadly. “Then you start again. Find something new to challenge that intellect of yours. Elisaveta and I will be here for you, if you need us.”
He got into the police cruiser and Beauceron watched as it took off, heading back into the city center. It disappeared, and he sat down heavily on the curb.
Something new. A new challenge.
* * *
There was a message waiting for Rozhkov in his personal account when he sat back down in his office. He did not recognize the sender, but the subject line was the appropriate code word. He sighed, deleted the message, and pulled out his spare holophone, dialing a number from memory.
“Identify,” a robotic voice ordered.
Rozhkov checked the phone’s holograms, and read out the code sequence. “Two-four-two-tango-one,” he replied.
“Stand by. Identity confirmed. The line is encrypted, you may proceed.”
“I’m sending you a file,” a new, human voice told him. “It has the details for a contractor that went rogue during an assignment recently. Be on the lookout, and report in immediately if you suspect you come into contact with him.”
“Into contact with a contractor?” Rozhkov asked. “How would I know?”
“Maybe your team arrests someone with the right implants, or you see someone changing their appearance. Just call us, and we’ll direct you from there. There’s a twenty million dollar bounty on him,” the supervisor noted.
“Fine,” Rozhkov relented.
“Status update on the investigation into Senator Reid’s murder?” the supervisor continued.
“Nothing new,” Rozhkov said, sighing. “I told you I would contact you when I had something to report. But there’s nothing to report.”
“Have the police connected Senator Reid’s murder with the cybernetics lab incident?”
“No. Not that I’m aware of. That’s still being treated as a robbery gone wrong.”
“Did they interview the research assistant who was kidnapped?”
“They tried. He lawyered up and hasn’t said a word.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing incriminating. I don’t think he’s actually heard of the Guild, but he’s smart enough to know he was caught in the middle of something significant, and the more ignorant he pretends to be, the better. All he’s told us is he was taken hostage, and then was unconscious for the gunfight, which is all supported by surveillance footage.”
“And the Reid investigation?”
“I can’t touch that, I’ve been recused – too much personal involvement.”
“But you’ve heard …?” the supervisor prompted.
“They know it was the Guild – that bag is wide open, and the cat is miles away. But so far, only police know that. The debate now is whether to go public with that information, or try to cover it up to protect our reputation.”
“Which way are they leaning?”
“I don’t know,” Rozhkov said. “That’s not something I can really find out.”
“Can you influence the decision?”
Rozhkov snorted. “No. No one pays much attention to the opinion of an old colonel whose son-in-law failed to prevent the murder.” Rozhkov took a swig from a coffee mug on his desk, and then wrinkled his nose – the drink had gone cold hours ago. “I’m done with this,” he told the phone. “I’m not reporting to you anymore.”
“You’re not done until you take off the uniform,” the voice replied. “And remember this: you’re not the only source we have on Alberon. If we find out you’re withholding information from us, there will be severe penalties.” There was a click, and the line was disconnected.
4
The police detail came to attention, the seven officers identical in their dress uniforms. At a command from the detail’s leader, each shouldered his auto-rifle, and pointed it in the air.
“Fire!”
The blast echoed across the grounds, shattering the quiet of the cemetery. Across the casket from him, Senator Charl Lizelle saw Senator Reid’s widow start in surprise at the sudden noise. Her eyes were red from crying, but she had maintained her composure through the ceremony. The police detail fired twice more, a full twenty-one gun salute. The formal ceremony ended and the crowd began to disperse under the watchful gaze of the press cameras.
Lizelle made his way around the casket and hugged Mrs. Reid, murmuring his condolences. A tall, handsome man with greying blonde hair, he had to stoop to match her height. He straightened and moved on, making room for the other senators and dignitaries who had chosen to attend. At the back of the crowd, he caught sight of a small knot of his staff, but he saw Senator Blackwell approaching him, and Lizelle waved his staff away.
The two senators stayed silent as they walked, putting distance between themselves and the crowd. On a small bluff overlooking the rows of headstones, they stopped.
“Mastic couldn’t make it,” Blackwell observed. “She’s finishing that bill of hers.”
; Lizelle grunted. “She could have worked on it during the flight. It would have been better if the three of us were here.”
“It would have been better if it had never come to this at all,” Blackwell said.
“I know,” Lizelle sighed. “The whole thing is … unsavory. Reid was misdirected, but his intentions were good.”
“He was too much of a threat. We couldn’t let his corruption investigations go any further. He was getting too close.”
Lizelle shook his head. “I just hope this is the last time we have to use Group assets on a fellow senator.”
“At least he didn’t have any children,” Blackwell said.
“Mm. Small mercies, I suppose. Still, we need to issue the director a stern reprimand. It’s appalling how much publicity that rogue contractor has generated.”
“Are you worried?” Blackwell asked.
“About exposure?” Lizelle gave a curt shake of his head. “No. But it’s bad form. Shall we head back?”
They walked back toward the grave site, where a few knots of people were still milling about. Blackwell pointed his chin at Lizelle’s staff.
“Who’s the new girl on your team? The dark-haired one.”
“Dasi,” Lizelle noted. “She joined my PR group last year.”
Blackwell cocked an eyebrow. “Weren’t you the one who warned me about hiring young, female staffers, Charl? Especially cute ones?”
Lizelle chuckled. “Indeed I was. But unfortunately, Dasi’s excellent at her job … I had to make an exception to my own rule.”
* * *
Dasi paid the taxi fare with her holophone and stepped out onto the street. Behind her, the door closed automatically and the cab pulled away. She crossed the sidewalk and pushed through the door to the bar, pausing to scan the room. Near the back of the bar, a young man had just stood up, gathering his things, but he saw her and smiled. She hurried over to his table.
“Sorry, Khyron!” she apologized, leaning in for a quick kiss. “I was going to come straight here after our flight docked, but I got pulled into something at the office. Again.”
“It’s okay,” Khyron told her. “Welcome home. Do you want to stay, or …?”
“Can we just eat here? I’m starving,” Dasi said.
“Sure,” Khyron agreed.
They sat, and Dasi laid her coat over an empty chair. “Henrie and Lars were here earlier?” she asked, indicating several empty beer glasses.
“Yeah, they said to say ‘hi,’ ” Khyron agreed. “I think they broke up again, but they were avoiding my questions, so who knows.”
“I haven’t seen them for weeks.” She frowned. “Khyron, I was late the last time we tried to meet them, wasn’t I?”
He shrugged. “Yeah ….”
She took his hand and squeezed it. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, really.” He squeezed her hand in return.
They skimmed the menu, and then programmed their orders into the datascroll mounted in the table’s surface.
“How was the trip?” Khyron asked, when they were done.
“Sad,” Dasi told him. “Senator Reid was a real crusader … we lost him too soon. And seeing his wife at the funeral, trying to be strong, but clearly devastated … it was heart-breaking. It made me miss you.”
“The net is swirling with conspiracy theories,” Khyron said. “Should I believe any of them?”
“No!” Dasi frowned at him. “That’s crazy. It was just a tragic accident.”
Khyron finished off his beer. “Okay. So what happened that you had to go into the office?”
“The usual,” Dasi said. “Lizelle had an idea on the flight back, and he wanted to brainstorm with the team while it was fresh. The man is so driven … it’s kind of awe-inducing watching him work.”
“I can’t tell if you’re complaining, or idolizing him,” Khyron said.
She laughed. “I wouldn’t call it idolizing. But it’s hard not to be inspired by his work ethic and his conviction. Even though I’ve never worked so hard in my life.”
“But you like it?” Khyron asked.
“Yes,” she said, without hesitation. “I mean, I wish I got to see you more often, but other than that, it’s great.”
Their food arrived, and Dasi dug in to her plate hungrily. “What about you?” she asked, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “How is FiveSight coming along?”
Khyron sighed, and pushed a piece of food around his plate with his fork.
“That bad?” Dasi asked.
“Kind of,” Khyron admitted. “My subscription ran out on the financial data feeds. I’ve still got the historical data, but I’m not getting the live updates anymore.”
“So renew the license,” Dasi suggested.
“I can’t,” Khyron said. “I’ve almost exhausted the grant money.” He put his fork down. “It’s so frustrating! Dasi, I’m right at the cusp of a huge break-through, I can feel it. I just need more data.”
“Are there any other open source datasets?” she asked.
“No. I already incorporated every one I could find.”
“Did you try your friend at the Immortality Project?”
“Yeah,” Khyron said. “He said he can get me in to see their database lead, but not for a couple months.”
Dasi frowned, and set her own fork down. “That’s no good.” She studied him closely. “Khyron, are you mad we moved to Anchorpoint?”
“No, no … I don’t mind following you, not when your career is taking off. I’m just frustrated, that’s all.”
“You can just hang around, and be my house-boy,” she joked.
He cracked a smile. “I do wash a mean load of laundry.”
Dasi laughed. “You do. When you remember to separate the lights and darks.” She took another bite of food, then held up a finger.
“What?” he asked.
“Had an idea.” She finished chewing. “What about senate data?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, why don’t we ask Senator Lizelle to get you access to some of the government databases that aren’t public.”
Khyron raised an eyebrow. “The government has reams of data. Like, mind-boggling amounts. But would he go for it?”
Dasi could hear a tremor of excitement in his voice. She grinned. “Let’s find out.”
5
Lakeworld was hotter than Rath remembered. Maybe it’s the summer season now, he thought. The warm air from the truck’s passenger window buffeted his face, the forest zooming by in a bright green blur. Beside him, the truck’s driver fiddled with his audio system, switching to a different music station. A new song came on, and the driver joined in, singing with gusto. Rath didn’t recognize the words, but his neural interface helpfully provided him with a running translation, until he mentally turned it off. He pulled up an aerial map on his heads-up display and checked their progress again.
Close enough.
“This is it,” Rath said.
“Here?” the driver asked, tapping the truck’s brakes. “Ain’t nothing out here man, you sure?”
“Yeah, this is it. My friend sent me the coordinates, apparently there’s good fishing in the lake over there.”
“You say so,” the driver shrugged. “Thanks for the spare parts from that pack of yours.”
“Thanks for the ride,” Rath replied, opening the door.
He hopped down onto the gravel road, slamming the door behind him. His leg wound gave a twinge of protest, and Rath scowled. The driver honked once in farewell, then pulled off. Rath checked his compass bearing and set off into the woods. Once he had found a good walking pace, he slid his Forge around and pulled it on backwards, across his chest. He opened it and had it build an auto-pistol and several multi-purpose grenades as he walked, carefully pocketing the weapons as they were completed. Finally, he had the machine build him three micro-drones, just as he had done on his last visit. He launched them and let them roam in front and overhead, circling his position and feeding
him video of their progress. He reached the dam less than twenty minutes later, and squatted outside the same door he had entered before. He waited, letting the drones search the outside of the dam first, the cliff-face and waterfall above the pool, and the hydro-electric facility. As best he could tell, it was deserted.
He stood up, leaving the drones flying in a random security screen pattern, and walked down into the facility, his steps echoing on the damp concrete. The mines were still there, undisturbed, at each intersection along the tunnel, leading him onward. He heard the rush of water ahead, and soon the tunnel brightened, opening out on the spillway. Rath took a deep breath and stepped out into the light. The spillway was empty.
Rath spent the rest of the day searching the abandoned facility, but he found no sign of 339 – Paisen, Rath corrected himself, her real name is Paisen – either in the tunnels below the dam, or anywhere nearby. He cooked a light dinner sitting up on the lip of the dam, looking out over the valley below, and ate it as night fell. It was a moonless night, and the stars were spectacular. Rath lay on his back and studied them for a while, then sat up and triggered the counter bracelet on his wrist, watching the golden 50 spin and then wink out.
Where are you, Paisen?
The bracelet was hers – she had swapped their bracelets back during their confrontation in the spillway, several years before.
She should be wearing my bracelet; it would show her that I reached fifty, too.
Rath picked a pebble up and tossed it idly off the dam, watching it tumble through the air and eventually disappear in the gathering darkness below.
So where is she?
Rath had not planned beyond escaping from the Group, and then linking up with Paisen – the other contractor had seemed so driven, so sure of herself.
She has a plan. ‘We’re going to make them pay,’ that’s what she said.
He lay back down, eyes reflecting the starlight above.
Rath fell asleep on top of the dam, but hours later he started awake, gasping for air. In his dream, he had been trapped in a frozen river, under a sheet of ice, while the bodies of his victims floated by, grasping at him. Rath shivered, despite the heat, shaking his head as if to clear it of the images.