“They say the Relay will be done in days. Will you be leaving then?”
Sigrid nodded. “I have to. I’m not going to sit back wondering what the Council is up to. The next time someone moves against us I plan on knowing well in advance.”
“See! You even think like a general.”
“If I do, it’s just the programming.”
Suko shook her head. “If that were true, then we’d all be thinking the same thing. I think it’s wonderful. I feel safe knowing you’re looking out for us.”
Suko leaned forward to kiss her again, but Sigrid pulled her head back and flashed a sly smile. “You do! Then who’s looking out for me?”
“Who do you think? Now shut up and kiss me already.”
“Now who’s being commanding?”
Epilogue
Silver Linings
June 22, 2348
It had been a very good day.
Randal Gillings sat back in the comfortable chair behind his desk as he scanned the report his attaché had just brought to him. Outrage over the attack and destruction of the Panama Lift facility, combined with news of the apparent ‘rebellion’ on Scorpii, had fueled calls for increased defense spending. And with the loss of the thirty-six ships at Scorpii, those calls had been upgraded to demands for immediate action.
Coran Industries had personally signed a contract to deliver seventy-eight new front line ships, with options for hundreds more. His shareholders would be rich, and Coran stood to surpass even Daedalus as the single most powerful company in the Federation. His position as Chairman of the Council would not be challenged for decades to come. There would be a Draft to recruit new personnel for the CTF forces, and Coran’s own workforce would also need to be increased tenfold. He was already being hailed as the architect for the New Society by the news readers. Of course, Coran had supplied the services with the appropriate copy to read.
Yes, it had been a very good day.
So why didn’t he feel better? Gillings frowned and poured another whiskey from the decanter on his desk. He neglected to offer one to his attaché who sat before him. The man was efficient, but he was excessively timid, and Gillings wondered why he hadn’t yet fired the man. Relatives.
He brooded again on why his mood was so foul. The answer was simple. Andraste. Those little girls had thwarted his latest attempt to appropriate Hitomi’s technology. Twenty-one girls had been delivered personally by the Kimura Forces, and yet those girls had escaped. But not on their own—they had been aided.
Gillings stared hard at his attaché. “You’re sure it was her—Lawther.”
His aide squirmed uncomfortably. “I can’t say if it was her personally, sir, but it seems they were definitely aided by the Mercenary Guild.”
“Which clan?”
“Uh—all of them, sir.”
“And you have no idea where they’ve gone?”
“No, sir. Daedalus has so far refused to divulge any information regarding their destination. We even offered double the usual amount of the bribes.”
“Compensation,” Gillings reminded him. “Bribes are illegal.” He took another gulp of the whiskey and refilled the glass. That news was somewhat disturbing. It wasn’t like Daedalus to refuse him information. He’d have to have words with Joffrey, and soon.
“Triple it. Quadruple it,” Gillings said. “Someone in that blasted organization is bound to know something. I want to know where they’ve gone. And perhaps you should add some of this business with the Mercenary Guild to the news feeds. It might not be a bad idea to implicate them along with the Hekatians in this rebellion.”
His attaché made a quick note on his pad. “Of course, sir. Might I say, early reports show the stories are playing very well with the public. Seventy-eight-percent of people polled are calling for a military strike on Hekate.”
“Seventy-eight? Change it to ninety-two and run that story.”
“Very good, sir. With those numbers, you might actually be able to persuade the Council to move against the Mercenary Guild now.”
Gillings dismissed the idea. “No. Not just yet. With the losses on Scorpii, I’m afraid we’ll still need to suffer the Mercenary clans, at least for the short term. We still need to retain them under contract to maintain order.” He drained his glass. “Soon, though. Let’s just deal with the news campaign first. We’ll need full public support to move against the Guild.”
Gillings’ attaché bowed and headed immediately down the elevator to the parking level where his car was already waiting for him. The chauffeur held the door for him and he slipped inside. Unlike Gillings, the man who waited for him in the car did offer him a drink, and he took it, raising the glass politely.
“Thank you, Karl. Might I say, you’re looking much better than the last time I saw you.”
Karl Tarsus snorted a laugh, nodding to the man he’d only known as Smith until very recently. His real name, he now knew, was Harry Jones, Special Attaché to the Council Chair, and Personal Aide to Randal Gillings. He still didn’t trust him, but the money and resources he could get his hands on were staggering. Tarsus still hadn’t been able to trace the source, but it was not the Council or Coran Industries. More investigating would be required.
Thanks to Harry Jones, Karl Tarsus was now a man on the move—a new player in Mercenary Services. But he was operating as an Independent now. The Mercenary Guild would not take him back, but that was just as Mr. Jones wanted.
“Have you arranged for the new ships?” Jones asked.
“Crewed and ready.” Tarsus took a case out from under his seat and opened it. “And I got your package—CTF Naval transponders. Not easy to get your hands on.”
Both men knew that to be true. Tarsus held out one of the tiny devices in his hand; all CTF ships carried the transponders that would confirm their identity to other ships.”
“Have them installed right away. I have your first target. Crucis Prime.”
Tarsus closed the case and looked up. “Crucis! You can’t be serious. Six ships against that facility…Perhaps with fifty ships…”
Harry Jones chuckled and poured two more glasses of whiskey. “Don’t worry. We only need to poke the hornets’ nest, not destroy it. I want you to get in, cause as much trouble as possible, and get out. Just make sure you’ve got these installed.” He patted the case with the transponders. “I want every Mercenary on that station to know who attacked them.”
“I don’t suppose they’ll be too happy with the Council.”
“No, I don’t suppose they will.”
“This might actually galvanize the clans against them.”
“I would imagine that’s a possibility.”
“They may even chose to move against the Council in force.”
“I would be surprised if they didn’t.”
Tarsus studied him for a long while, then shook his head. “Harry Jones, you’re an interesting man. I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me the rest of your little game? What this is all about. Is it Power? Money? Women?”
“Why not all three?”
Tarsus’s grin was bordering on leering. “Forgive me, but you don’t seem the type—at least, not for such mundane pursuits. Now, do tell.”
Harry Jones opened his mouth to answer, but then closed it and raised his glass instead. “To possibilities, Mr. Tarsus.”
The End
The adventures of Sigrid Novak continue in The Machines of Bellatrix
Chapters One & Two are included here
The Machines of Bellatrix
The Girls from Alcyone II
by Cary Caffrey
CHAPTER ONE
Train à Grande Vitesse
July 14, 2348
Bellatrix
The TGV sped along, cruising at a pedestrian 782 kph. The noise and crowds of the city were quickly left behind. There was nothing before it now, nothing but open desert and the thousands of kilometers of empty track that stretched into the night.
There was little to see
outside and even less to hear. Not even the rushing blast of transonic winds could penetrate the insulated passenger compartment. The only sounds in the cabin came from the labored breathing of Dr. Farrington’s slumbering companion. The doctor didn’t know the man’s name, nor did he care to. He was far too preoccupied, too busy mulling over the course of recent events. Events that had led him to this godforsaken armpit of a planet.
Independents.
How Farrington had become involved with a group of rebels was beyond him. He never cared for politics and avoided such topics when possible. It was only his work that mattered.
Farrington cursed. The whole thing was academic. The facility on Scorpii was lost, and his work now in the hands of the Council for Trade and Finance. He was a wanted man. A fugitive. And he was still no closer to an answer.
He knew whose fault this was. It was Lady Hitomi Kimura. She was to blame. She should never have fired him from the project. Without him, Project Andraste would not exist. Not without his research. Not without his diligence. Without him, Andraste would still be a proposal sitting on some middle-manager’s desk. And for this, for all his efforts, he’d been sacked. It was Hitomi’s fault he’d been forced to continue his work elsewhere.
And it was Hitomi’s fault he’d ever been found by the Independents.
Dr. Farrington sat a little straighter then. He tugged on the edge of his shirt and thrust his chin out. It mattered not. He would start again. Here, if he had to. There were always new investors. No one knew more about Hitomi’s work than he. And this time it would be different. This time he would be in control.
Dr. Farrington had made certain of that.
Farrington dug deep into his coat pocket. His damp fingers coiled around the tiny object thrust there, if only to assure himself that it was still there and still safe. It hadn’t been easy to smuggle off of Scorpii, but he had done what was necessary, and now it was his and his alone. Farrington withdrew his prize. The tiny data-module was no more than two centimeters square, but it was crammed with vast petabytes of data, exact copies of the Primary Control Modules taken from seven girls captured on Alcyone. Now, all he needed was time. Time to study. Time to plan.
Farrington leaned against the window of the small cabin and looked out. Not that there was anything to see. Bellatrix had no moon to light their way. It was not a scenic planet. Flat and arid, the only landmarks of note were the squat scatterings of manufacturing centers that dotted the landscape, huge factory complexes surrounded by squalid ghettos that had sprung up to house the migrant working population.
People didn’t come here for the sights, they came here to die.
But that suited Dr. Farrington just fine. No one would be searching for him here.
Farrington felt the slight shift in the cabin. He checked his wristwatch again. They would be slowing now as they made their approach into New Shēnzhèn. He reached for his bag. From here it would be a simple matter to lose himself in the crowds. He would find a quiet place to hole up, rest, and yes, work. Here he could finish his work without the nonsense of wars or rebellion to distract him. And when he was ready, he would name his price, he would—
“Excuse me, Dr. Farrington?”
Farrington gave a start and looked down to see the meaty hand that gripped his wrist. For the first time he took notice of his cabin companion. The man across from him slumbered soundly no more.
Farrington tried to pull his arm away, but the man held him fast. He realized the bulk he’d mistaken for fat wasn’t fat at all. The man was on the large size, but he was powerfully built, barrel-chested and with thick strong arms. He had the stern look of a professional, one used to giving orders and having those orders followed.
Mercenaries.
“Let me go—release me!”
The mercenary considered the request. “As you wish.” He relaxed his grip, causing the doctor to tumble back against his seat. Farrington’s eyes shot quickly to the cabin door.
“You are free to go,” the mercenary said. “I didn’t come all this way to hold you hostage, but fleeing won’t serve either of us.”
Breathing heavily from the exertion, Farrington glared back at him. There was only one thought in his head—flight. Farrington lunged for the cabin door and threw it open—only to bounce off the person standing in the doorway, a steel wall blocking his way.
He fell back on his seat and stared up at the person who had prevented his escape. A woman! Not even a woman. A girl, a teenager of no more than seventeen and half his size. The long black coat she wore came down nearly to the floor, hiding most of her slight figure. Dark lenses shielded her eyes. She turned slowly toward him and stared down, her face cold, thoroughly devoid of emotion.
Farrington shuddered.
The mercenary waved her forward. “Come in, Victoria. Shut the door.”
The girl obeyed. She stood with her back to the door, hands at her side, feet apart. Farrington wasn’t going anywhere.
Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, Farrington dabbed the sweat from his forehead. “I-I thought you said I was free to go.”
“Yes, but not before returning what you stole from us.”
Farrington’s hands shot to his pocket. He pawed at the lining, searching, digging deep, but his treasure, the data-module, was gone.
“I’ll take that, Victoria,” the mercenary said.
Farrington watched as the girl handed the prize over to him. All his efforts, all this time, it was all for naught. He had lost. Without the stolen module, he was nothing. This mercenary should have killed him. It would have been more merciful.
“Oh, do cheer up, Doctor. It’s not as bad as all that. You must know we couldn’t let you leave with such a prize.”
“Who—who are you?”
“My name is Tarsus. Major Karl Tarsus. My companion’s name is Victoria. Say hello, Victoria.”
The girl turned her head toward him as if on a swivel. She looked down at him, but said nothing. Farrington felt himself recoil despite himself.
“What…what will you do with me?” Dr. Farrington asked; he feared he already knew the answer.
“That, my good doctor, is up to you. You have two choices, as I see it. You can walk out that door—yes, I’ll let you go, I assure you. Ah, but what waits for you out there? That is the question. Have you considered that? I think you’ll find the realities quite harsh. You’re a wanted man now, Doctor. A terrorist. I’m afraid the authorities are well aware of you and the role you played on Scorpii. They have prepared quite the reception for you. But, fear not. It wasn’t chance that got you this far, Doctor, I assure you. You’re only here because we wanted you here.”
Farrington noticed his mouth had drooped open and closed it. “Here? On Bellatrix? Why…?”
“You didn’t think the facility on Scorpii was the only one, did you? No, I can see you didn’t give it much thought. Well, then I’ll tell you. Scorpii was nothing. This…” Tarsus gestured up around him, his palms open, arms wide. “This is where it began. And this is where it will end. With your help.”
“You have the data-module. You don’t need me.”
“Don’t be so modest. If all we wanted was the data, we could have taken that when we spotted you at the transfer station on Hadar. You are one of the few remaining people to have worked directly with Lady Hitomi Kimura. That experience is of value to us. And perhaps we have something of value to offer you.”
“I want nothing to do with you.” It was a mistake. Farrington knew it. Yet he couldn’t stop himself from asking. “What could you possibly offer me?”
“Security, for one. Your life, for another,” Tarsus added, leering meaningfully. “Oh—and perhaps we have one other thing to offer you. The one thing you need more than anything.”
Farrington caught the gleam in Tarsus’s eye and took the bait. “What?”
Tarsus glanced to the girl by the door. “Why, Doctor, we have volunteers, of course.”
Volunteers…?
Farrington
stared up at her as if for the first time. He understood then and felt the fool for missing it. “She’s one of them, isn’t she?”
“You mean from Alcyone? No, Doctor, Victoria is something entirely different. Isn’t that true, Victoria? Why don’t you show the doctor?”
The girl removed her glasses to look upon the doctor with her own eyes. No, not eyes at all, Farrington saw. Bionics. Constructs. He spotted the artificial irises, the lenses shifting to focus on him, scanning him. Little attempt had been made to make them look human or natural. This was pure mechanical efficiency. Farrington rose. His fear vanished in an instant, replaced by scientific curiosity.
Without thinking, he reached out, held her face, turning her head back and forth. Her skin was cold to the touch. But when he moved to examine her eyes, her gloved hand came up to halt his probing fingers. The hand that gripped him felt hard, unyielding.
He looked at the glove and then to Tarsus. “May I?”
Tarsus nodded.
Farrington peeled back the glove and stared at the artificial limb. Plasteel skin stretched all the way up to the girl’s elbow, where it melded to the reddened flesh of her natural arm. The bionics were advanced, efficient. But this was a blunt instrument, ugly, simple and crude. This was not the work of Lady Hitomi Kimura. Farrington had seen this work before.
“Wolsey.”
“I’m impressed,” Tarsus said. “You recognize the man’s work.”
Farrington’s lips formed into a sneer. “The man wouldn’t know a micro-dermatome if it slapped him in the face.”
Tarsus chuckled.
Dr. Wolsey had worked under him during his time at Kimura Corp—using most of his time to plot against him, apparently. It had been Wolsey’s report that had seen Farrington dismissed; the student betrays the mentor.
Farrington looked again at the girl. It was clear they’d made advances, solved problems that had eluded him. The jealousy burned within him.
“How—how did you solve the issue with the Recombinant?” Farrington asked.
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