by O. J. Lowe
Teela looked insulted. “No, no, not at all.” He was starting to sweat again, his voice coming out almost in a stammer. “I’ve got two or three more devastating ideas to wipe this slate clean.”
“Yeah but would she go for them?!” Wade asked. “Our intel on Coppinger suggests she doesn’t like people knowing too much about how her rebellion is going. I think you upset her. I think she decided to hang you out. Of course, maybe that means…”
He paused, something wasn’t right. They reached the speeder, his mind working overtime. Nothing about this situation felt good. Teela had already admitted more or less he wasn’t as on the level as they’d initially thought. So…
The sensation was like a punch in the chest, he flung out an arm and shoved Pree away. “Down!”
She hit the ground and rolled, he jumped backwards, just as he heard the tell-tale screech of a missile being launched, almost saw everything in slow motion as the projectile lit up the sky, tore towards their speeder. The explosion threw him back, sent him sprawling across the parking lot. If either of them had been stood closer…
His entire body hurt, he was trying to see through the blood gushing into his eyes but that aside, no serious damage. He tried all four limbs before trying to get up, staggering to his feet.
Teela hadn’t made it. No surprise there. It was hard to spot him amidst the burning husk of what had once been an anonymous speeder. He was there though, if you knew where to look. Pree didn’t look in much better condition than him but at least she was alive.
Neither of them hung around. They didn’t want to risk whoever had fired at them getting another clean chance to take them both out. Both knew their only chance was to take off at a run and rendezvous later. This mission had officially been a failure. No other way to describe it.
Chapter Nine. Doors Not Closed.
“It is an oft-repeated cliché that all politicians are corrupt. That they’re all soulless, credit-grubbing maniacs who would sell their scruples down the river in exchange for a larger house. Some have been proven to be that way. This reporter pursued the late Ronald Ritellia enough for that very thing. What made Ritellia unique though, was that everyone knew he could be bought, often for a lot less than expected, for his financial details were released upon his death. What makes a real corrupt politician is when nobody realises just how inherently dodgy they are, the ones who preach to be paragons of morality only for them to be caught with their trousers in the cash register. Sadly, it becomes more and more common with these dangerous times. Credits buy loyalty and Claudia Coppinger is aware of that more than most, thanks to her dalliances with Ritellia, supplementing both his wallet and his bed…”
Excerpt from a Kate Kinsella article about corruption in politics.
Getting a flight to Vazara in recent days had become harder, David Wilsin had to admit. Nobody wanted to go there and risk flying straight into the middle of a civil war. Most of the aeroports didn’t provide it as an option. Of all the vacation destinations out there, it had become a lot less attractive in a very short space of time. Granted, he remembered that some parts of Vazara had always had the same sort of effect on your average tourist that a mincing factory did to a cow. The result usually wasn’t that dissimilar either.
He’d met Leonard Nwakili while he was the premier of the kingdom. Regardless of feelings about the man, it was impossible to deny that he’d done an acceptable job of trying to bring some stability to a notoriously fractured kingdom over years gone by. When unification had kicked in and the five kingdoms had joined together, he’d studied his history, Vazara had gotten a much worse deal than the other four. They’d given so much, unwillingly admittedly, and gotten so little back in exchange beyond a history of poverty and disease mixed in with an unhealthy wave of crime. Before Nwakili, the premiers had been an endless array of charlatans, dictators and shysters out to get what they could from the kingdom before people realised their true colours.
Wilsin had read an article by Kate Kinsella a few days earlier, it had made the most salient point about politicians he’d read in a long time. The most corrupt were usually the ones best at hiding it. The two were connected. That had been in an aeroport in Premesoir, it felt too long ago. They’d been travelling non-stop since, flying from Blasington to Munchauzen, Serran which had taken a day, he’d barely managed to sleep over the cough of ill-sounding engines that had hacked their way through the skies. Following the arrival there, they’d caught another flight to Latalya, a port city down by the southern edges of the kingdom cast in the shadows of the Trabazon mountain. From there, you could just about see Vazara, the city of Umdidi, over the Elkan Ocean, on a clear day with a good scope.
With him, Brendan and Ben Reeves touching down in Latalya, Wilsin had been able to sense the mood of the city in a few moments, there was a great deal of tension in the air. The people looked muted and dejected, like they were expecting the worst to happen. He couldn’t blame them really. If Mazoud’s new regime did decide to expand out and take its control beyond the borders of Vazara, this would likely be the first place it tried to roll over. (Well, there were a few scattered islands between here and there but as far as he knew, they were uninhabited. Nobody knew for sure which kingdom the Tsarco Islands belonged to. It probably wouldn’t become an issue until either kingdom wanted to stop the other claiming them.)
The long travel had given them a chance to hone their cover identities, given Unisco wasn’t welcome in Vazara any longer. Hence the new weapons and their official ID left at home. The heavy T6 felt unusual holstered on his hip, he wasn’t used to walking around with a blaster on display. Brendan insisted on it. They were going into hostile territory, it would be unwise to do otherwise. And, Reeves had pointed out with a dry smirk, it would have made them stand out more walking around Vazara if they weren’t carrying weapons. Brendan had glared at him, stopped short of admonishing him. They were using their own names, Brendan had resorted to his doctorate.
Not a lot of people knew that now he was retired as a spirit caller, Brendan King had taken up a lecturer’s post at the Blasington Academy of Education for a few years now. The man was a digger, an explorer, an archaeologist at heart and like all great men, he relished the chance to pass it onto the next generation. The way Wilsin had heard it, calling had never been a passion for him, though he’d been outstanding at it, it was never what he’d solely wanted to do with his life. A tough competitor best summed him up, Unisco had required it of him. His ability to create golems had left him a legend, golems both strong and durable. He wasn’t the only one out there who could do it, but King’s golems were regarded across the kingdoms as the best of the lot.
Without the day-to-day of spirit calling, Wilsin knew Brendan had briefly served as a city champion before giving it up, he’d managed to combine his time between archaeology, endeavours like the expedition they found themselves on now, the classroom and his time with Unisco. He was one of the most senior agents Wilsin knew, he’d been there even longer than the director. Arnholt respected him, even if maybe the stories went that he didn’t necessarily like him that much. Rumour had it, he wanted the top job, didn’t like that Arnholt had been sworn into it ahead of him. He’d never seen it between the two of them, their relationship had always been best described as coolly professional in his opinion, the way he’d seen it.
“I’m here on a research expedition, joint with Doctor Alex Fazarn of the Tripoli Institute,” Brendan had said, laying it all out on the table in front of them, all their documents blown up in projection form; their identification, images of the team they were meeting, their maps, their routes, every list of supplies that they’d need. “Mr Reeves is one of my students from the university…”
Reeves nodded at that. He didn’t look perturbed at the idea of the lie. One of the documents that flashed up was his university pass, the word ‘student’ stamped across it in large blue letters, as well as a faked transcript document, course registry and application, all looking real as far as Wils
in could tell.
“Mr Wilsin…” Not even agent now they were in hostile territory, Wilsin noted, “is under his guise as a spirit caller, interested in exploring this new frontier, to see what has sprung up in the rise of the Green.”
“Least I don’t have to do much acting,” he said dryly. “I am interested in exploring this thing, though I’m not sure I’d call it a new frontier. A little dramatic for my tastes.”
It was with an ironic smile, he noted Brendan could hardly call him out for stuff like this now. Not with them, for all intents and purposes, undercover. He could be as cheekily insubordinate as he liked, not that it was in his nature to push it. Brendan well had it in him to make him suffer after the fact.
“But being the first to set foot in there and bring out records of what it’s all about? Couldn’t pass that up now, could I?” He could feel a little hint of excitement down in the pit of his stomach over there, his heart beating a rapid little crescendo in his chest. The possibilities were endless. Could be nothing. Could be something. Could be everything. Who knew?
There hadn’t been much actual information about the Green that had engulfed Vazara since its first appearance, Nwakili’s initial tactic with it had been to try and ignore it, movements that had later devolved to trying to stop people from going in. Later that had been bumped down to an invitation list. The edges were being combed daily but still the Green advanced. Scant days passed before the former edges became deeper into the Green. What parts were explored left often contradictory and out of date information. It was perhaps this thought that left a small fleck of unease in the recesses of his mind
To be without bad feeling and unease would be reckless. What if they went in and they were just swallowed up by it all, never to get out. He admonished himself almost immediately, it was the thought of a scared child, not a trained Unisco agent and decorated spirit caller. Danger was supposed to be something he laughed at. When people were of that opinion, he always wondered what sort of lunatic they figured Unisco agents out to be. Nobody ran senselessly into danger, they certainly didn’t laugh at it. They took it one step at a time, considered every step, waited for backup… They were trained to believe that rushing in blindly wasn’t even an option.
Unlike this mission. Every step looked to have been planned meticulously. Brendan knew what he was doing, he’d been setting up and carrying out operations for years. There’d been well over a fortnight to set it up, that was a lifetime by Unisco standards. Most were rush jobs, thrown together at a minute’s notice on hastily verified information. He’d heard about that one involving that Coppinger warehouse as a prime example. He was glad he hadn’t been involved in that fiasco, it sounded like nobody involved in its execution had come out of it well. The last he heard, Roper wasn’t in a great mood over the way it had panned out. He hadn’t been seen for a few days, vanished under the excuse of ‘following up a lead’, rumour had it he wasn’t being put in charge of planning missions anymore and Swelph had placed Davide Icardi in charge of the department while Brendan was away. They needed something, well anything right now. Brendan had told him they’d pinned a lot on Ulikku being able to provide information. Given the mission had gone wrong on his intelligence, they were treating whatever he said with a lot more caution now than they had before.
As much as this mission to Vazara and into the Green sounded like a great experience, he wasn’t entirely sure what it had to do with stopping Coppinger. He’d voiced as much to Brendan and Reeves on the flight over. Wilsin wasn’t even sure Reeves had taken it in, perched in his seat, legs folded underneath him in quiet meditation and eyes closed. He looked serene, relaxed, like he didn’t have a trouble in the world. Wilsin would have killed to have felt like that right now. As it was, Brendan had replied, and he’d gotten the impression he felt much in the same way.
“Coppinger took responsibility for the Green,” he said solemnly. “She did this. It’s no small thing. Given some of the claims she made in recent months, her aspirations to divinity, we need to see if there’s something in this. See if it is man-made or if there’s a higher power at work. There’s got to be an explanation. Has to be. I’m not entirely sure I’m ready to believe godhood comes to those who are truly willing and able to look for it. I’m not sure I want to believe that.”
For someone who researched the past, Wilsin thought, Brendan looked a lot like he didn’t want to believe in the future he thought was coming. He wasn’t entirely sure he could blame him. The future they were all about to inherit was a very scary and violent place, a place where Claudia Coppinger was about to inflict her madness onto the kingdoms. She had already done her bit in breaking apart fifty years of unity. There was going to be death, plenty of people were going to suffer before she was done. He might not even make it through himself. But if he was going out, he was going to make sure that it mattered.
That was the future that David Wilsin found himself believing in. They had to win. They had to stop her. She’d gone too far. This was the sort of thing Unisco needed to be able to deal with. They always said they were the best, they always said no threat was too large. It was time they backed it up when it mattered. He had to believe that nothing was broken so badly it was beyond repair. The kingdoms might be shattered but maybe one day, they could be back together. Things could be back to normal. Still, before fifty years ago, the norm was that there was no unity, so nothing lasted forever. He knew that.
Peace then. That was the aim. No more Coppinger and her insanity. He’d often wondered about the events that had transpired to set her plan into motion, often he felt that working those out were perhaps the key to, if not stopping her, then reaching some common ground to negotiate. It felt like too many people were just intent on wiping her out without a thought for the consequences. Wilsin wasn’t sure that he liked that approach, there had to be a better way. Killing Coppinger might stop the war but it wouldn’t stop the madness she’d unleashed. Everything was out of the bottle right now.
It always amazed him that there were those who felt that getting rid of Coppinger would fix everything and it would all go back to normal. He’d heard that view expressed on more than one occasion and it was all he could to avoid shaking his head. Getting rid of Coppinger wasn’t going to be the end of their problems, it’d be the start. Stuff couldn’t go back to the way it had been before. A lot of bad blood had been shed over the past six months. Vazara had broken away, killed its rightful leader and sought solace in the rule of a maniac and her puppet ruler. The Senate were going to be punishing the kingdom heavily before they even considered letting them back in. They’d feel they had to. They liked their status quo, they wanted to go for anyone who dared to break it. Punishment leads to prevention. Four wasn’t going to become five again in the immediate future, but who could say ten years down the line?
With Brendan asleep, he’d said as much to Reeves, voicing aloud thoughts running around his head. Getting them out felt good. And the Vedo was a good listener, he sat serenely, deep in contemplation before nodding.
“You’re right, of course,” he said. “We know what the Senate will likely do. For an organisation based on democracy, they only like it when it suits them. Remember when half of Serran wanted to secede away?”
Wilsin nodded. He wasn’t going to forget that. It was something that had only lasted a few weeks, but it had felt a lifetime, screenshots of voters being beaten as police trying to stop them from voting, Senate-sponsored heavies and sycophants intervening to warn the people wanting to leave what would happen if they did. They spoke of doom and gloom and violence and recession, of dark days to come if they didn’t get their way. They didn’t care that the people had grown tired of the archaic rules they’d found themselves living under, rules that applied a broad stroke to try and cover sensitive circumstances that couldn’t have been dreamed of fifty years ago.
The world had changed. The Senate hadn’t changed with it. There were other kingdoms out there, Wilsin was under no illusion that they�
�d liked to have joined. The Senate wasn’t for turning. They had their trough and they were going to ensure they kept it to themselves.
“I sometimes worry for the world we find ourselves moving towards,” Reeves said. He slipped back in his seat, unfolded his legs and closed his eyes. “Things used to be so much simpler. And then I met a man with a sword.”
He couldn’t quite hide the sigh from his voice and that caught Wilsin’s attention. The younger man looked tired. He wasn’t sure Vedo were supposed to look tired.
“Tell me,” he said. “What’s the story between you and Baxter. When did you meet him, what made him train you… Never really spent this much time with one of you people before.”
Slowly, Reeves opened his eyes, cocked his head at him. “You people?” he asked. At least there was the faintest hint of a grin present. “That doesn’t at all sound condescending.”
Wilsin didn’t know what to say to that, instead shrugged his shoulders. It felt like an empty gesture. “It’s true though. Didn’t mean it that way.”
“Yeah, integration probably hasn’t happened as well as they thought it might,” Reeves said thoughtfully. “I mean, it’s a bit of a change in our game. For the longest time, we kept to ourselves. Then we were thrust into the spotlight.”
“Carcaradis Island?” Wilsin asked. He wasn’t going to forget the first time the Vedo had been introduced to the kingdoms. How many lives had their appearance saved that horrific day? In future years, they’d probably look back on it and realise it was the single most important day in the recent history of the kingdoms for everything that had spun out of it since.
“Carcaradis Island,” Reeves said. “We came for Arventino. To honour her memory and our master. I’d say we didn’t know what was coming. I’m not entirely sure that’s true. I think Master Baxter had an inkling something was going to happen. Maybe Ancuta did, maybe she saw something that gave her a hint. Nothing much gets past either of them. Suddenly we’re working with you, and no offence, David but I wasn’t happy at the time.”