by Elliott Kay
“You know I could do it.”
“I’ll give you one in ten odds. Two in ten if we count the probability we’d both go out together.”
“That’s what I appreciate about you, Juntasa. It’s your humility.”
“I’d never warn you before deciding to throw you out a window.”
“Saying so doesn’t count as a warning?”
“You’ll let it slide. You need friends around here.” Juntasa shrugged. “Although I hear Geisler’s hiring.”
The elevator doors opened up to the foyer outside the Sunset Lounge. Jazz music drifted through the open doors, signaling a mood chosen by Geisler himself. Ordinarily he went for flashy modern music to make the crowd feel as young as most of them looked—artificially, at least. Dignified music like jazz warned the boss wanted to impress someone. “Good evening, Major,” said the hostess. “Corporal. Good to see you.”
“Thanks. We don’t need a table.” Dylan breezed past the hostess, then continued with Juntasa. “I’m tempted to make you wait outside for making me paranoid.”
“If the airvan crash didn’t make you paranoid already, I’m doing you a favor.”
“Hang back while I do this, it’s best if I’m on my own. And no drinking. The shareholders have watchdogs sniffing around,” Dylan reminded her.
Most patrons were still dressed for the office, though loosened up for the club. Some made it home to change into more festive clothes. Dylan recognized it all as an extension of the work day. By making this a venue where he and other key players were accessible, Geisler had made the club an unwritten social expectation for anyone with ambition.
Nobody got too drunk and nobody had too much fun while Geisler was present. The corner table with couch seats overlooking the main floor was his until he left for the night. Gatekeepers sat at the table right outside his private corner, allowing or rejecting those who approached with subtle body language. None wore badges or uniforms. They looked like any other patrons, but virtually everyone knew. The gatekeepers never blocked Dylan. From the start, Geisler made clear she could contact him day or night.
Geisler’s favored guest of the night wore a uniform different from Dylan’s. The CEO reclined against his couch, listening to the Union Fleet captain beside him. The captain had one arm around a lovely woman in a silver silk dress and his other hand around a tumbler of something expensive.
“…and every time I bring this up, they tell me no, it all has to go through proper channels,” said the captain. His words threatened to slur right into one another. “Everything has to be vetted, they say. Procurement can’t show favoritism. Assholes.”
“It’s the fundamental flaw of a coalition force,” Geisler sympathized.
“It is! I mean, we’ve gotta play footsie over which system provides the biggest share of rice and beans? Seriously? Oh, hello.” The captain sat up straighter as he noticed the new arrival, though his smile remained a touch crooked.
“Captain MacDonald, you remember Major Dylan, don’t you?” asked Geisler. “She may not share your political hindrances, but I’m sure she can sympathize.”
“Captain.” Dylan nodded. “Nice to see you again.”
“Likewise. Uh, do you know Vickie?” He tilted his head to the woman beside him. “She’s in, uh…”
“Compliance,” said Vickie. She sat up and offered her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Major.”
“Likewise.” Dylan shook her hand, limiting her smirk.
“We were talking about you earlier,” said Geisler. “You had a more interesting few days than the rest of us. I shared our initial data on the pirates with the captain.”
“Damn lucky thing that freighter was able to fight ‘em off like that,” said MacDonald. “Any new leads?”
Dylan noted the slightest shake of Geisler’s head. “The pirates either took off into FTL or hid behind one of the gas giants,” she said. “We’re keeping an eye out. Hopefully the bloody nose will keep them from getting ambitious for a little while.”
“Y’know Tom, if we had a couple of ships stationed here, we could go out and look for them ourselves,” suggested MacDonald.
Geisler flashed a tight smile at Dylan. “Captain MacDonald has taken this opportunity to regale me with the benefits of a standing Fleet garrison.”
With all the subtlety of a child negotiating more cookies, I’m sure, Dylan thought. She kept up her pleasant face. “He is the Union Fleet liaison. It’s his job.”
“We’re bound to see a patrol through here regardless,” said MacDonald. “This isn’t the only hit of the year.”
“And as long as the aliens are keeping quiet, Fleet anti-piracy patrols are good politics, hm?” Geisler pointed out.
“Even a couple of ships ported here would be a significant increase of security.”
“Yes, but then we have to build dedicated berths for them. And the neighbors would notice. I don’t want the aliens getting interested. Patrols are fine. A permanent presence feels noisy to me. Provocative.”
“My glass is provocatively empty,” said Vickie. “I think I’m going to chat up the bartender about something a little more complicated. Join me?” she asked MacDonald.
He followed as she slid out of her seat. “Duty calls,” said the captain. He managed to stumble his way out, Vickie beckoning him with a grin. Once they descended to the main floor, Dylan pulled up a chair opposite Geisler.
“So, what happened?” Geisler asked, dropping the after-hours games.
“You mean other than Vanstone trying to handle the whole thing without me while I was on the way back from Qin Kai? That was bullshit. He’s supposed to coordinate with me.”
Geisler sighed. “I’ll talk to him. What about Malone and these people he came in with?”
“I think it’s exactly what it’s supposed to be,” said Dylan. “They’re another xenoarchaeology expedition like the others. They’ve got a more elaborate plan and more tools than most who come out here. The students look legitimate. One or two could be operatives for someone or another, I suppose, but we live with that all the time.”
“You’re telling me Malone took all his blood money from the war and went to college?”
“Looks like it,” she said.
Geisler scowled. “Why in the hell would he do that?”
“My guess? Spite.” Her brow darkened. “He’s lippy, too.”
“So you think it’s nothing to worry about?”
“No. I think we should throw him off the planet.”
“Because he’s here on a college field trip?”
“You caught the part about him getting lippy with me, right?”
“I don’t detect any lasting injuries, major.”
Dylan sighed. “He came right out and told me an insurgency leader approached him. Five minutes after Vanstone’s people let him go, apparently. Malone thought it was a sting operation. He didn’t make a confession so much as a complaint. I don’t think he’s here to hook up with the insurgents. I left a couple of my people to keep an eye on him and the camp.”
“Only a couple?”
“I’m not going to waste a whole squad on this. He’ll either slip away or he won’t. All we really need to know is whether or not he disappears.”
“I’d like a little more certainty than that, major,” Geisler grumbled.
“Then why let him be here at all?” she asked. “You have final say over who comes and who goes. This whole expedition isn’t going to leave if Malone has to go, and it’s not like they bring in that much money regardless. Or hell, hand him over to NorthStar. I’m sure they’ll pay a nice reward for him. Who cares? Why is he worth the headache?”
“Because other people who come here looking for shelter are worth the headache, major. Their money is worth the headache. Building a reputation of independence on Minos is worth the headache. We’ve taken in more than a few exiles and disgraced aristocrats. If we banish this one, we show where our line is. We show where we bend to external pressure. I’d rather not do that over s
omeone who will only be here for a matter of weeks.”
“Then a couple of people is all I’m going to spare,” said Dylan.
“So be it. I’ll defer to your judgment.”
Geisler’s eyes tilted up. Vickie slid back into her seat with somewhat less grace than she’d shown in leaving it, or perhaps with a little more annoyance. “Sorry if I’m interrupting, Major. Tom, we need to talk about this job.”
“Where is the job right now?” Geisler asked.
“I left him in the bathroom. Think he’ll be a minute, but that’s exactly why I needed to come back. This is a bigger hassle than we expected. I’m gonna need some help.”
“Help? One escort isn’t enough? Or is he a safety problem?”
“Oh, he’s harmless. It’s nothing like that. But he’s a pain in the ass. Last night MacDonald got so drunk I practically had to carry him onto the bed. I’d have left him on the floor except you made such an emphasis on comfort and hospitality. I’m not doing that again. If you want me to keep him distracted and partying, I need help with the damage afterwards. Call it a personal driver or valet or something. I can’t carry this guy on my own. Not literally.”
Dylan covered her smile. Geisler’s frown suggested he didn’t find it funny. “I’ll get someone to make the arrangements,” he said. “We’ll have to be subtle. MacDonald seems to know not to look too closely at how he’s treated, but if it gets too obvious that he’s being handled he may change his behavior. On that note, do you have anything interesting for me?”
“Nah, it’s exactly what it seems like on the label. This is a cushy job at the end of his career. He’s happy to soak up the perks as long as nobody comes out and calls them bribes. His staffers seem happy to hand him off to someone else. I don’t think they care. I imagine even the Fleet knows better than to trust him with anything sensitive.”
“And yet he made it all the way to the rank of captain,” said Geisler.
“Old military saying: ‘You fuck up, you move up,’” said Dylan. “Some people can’t be trusted, so they get pushed out. If they can’t be pushed out, they get pushed up to someplace unimportant. Hence officers like MacDonald.” She smirked. “I can think of a few here.”
“I should probably find MacDonald again,” said Vickie. “You won’t forget?”
“It’s reasonable. I don’t think I can arrange a ‘driver’ without his staff noticing, but I can make sure to have people close by in case you need something. You’ll get a message on your holocom within the hour. Make sure you’re subtle.”
“You hired me for my subtlety,” said Vickie. As if to prove it, she caressed Geisler’s hand as she slipped away again. Dylan almost missed it.
“I told you not to worry about our new Fleet liaison,” Geisler explained with a shrug. “I have it handled.”
“Apparently. There’s no problem with him getting involved with someone at the company?”
“Everyone works for the company on Minos,” said Geisler. “At least almost everyone. On that note, I’ll leave you to handle our college visitor how you choose, but for what it’s worth, ‘a couple of guys’ doesn’t seem like much to me.”
“We can kick him off the planet. We can lock him up. We can bury him out in the desert if you want, but that’s always risky.”
“No, no,” Geisler demurred. “Nothing so drastic. Even if the act is smooth, the after-effects could bring even more grief.” He frowned thoughtfully. “I suppose if he stays out in the desert he’s not such a problem.”
Chapter Thirteen:
Learning Experiences
“Officially, Minos allows private business. In practice, Minos Enterprises undercuts any competition of its monopolies. Officially, we have privacy rights and free speech. In practice, everything from holocom software to public gatherings are limited. And never forget: Minos Enterprises dominates the high-end computer chip business thanks to the crystal mines and manufacturing plants. They could pay for top-quality schools, medicine, you name it. The company would rather spend that money on control than on progress.
“It makes you wonder what they’re hiding.”
--The Anchorside Advocate: Banned and Proud of It, July 2280
Vandenberg had joked about the tedium of archaeological work from the first day of lecture in the intro class. Naomi talked about it, too. So did multiple portions of the textbooks, the guest speakers, and every other instructor on the courses Tanner attended on the ship coming to Minos.
Tedium turned out to be a solid measure of counter-surveillance.
Seven days into their tenure as minders for the excavation, Solanke and Garcia were bored out of their minds. They’d watched the field school prepare for the eventual sandstorms, resetting survey markers and rearranging priorities. They’d watched yet another field walk, with the students spending another full day walking in a line to painstakingly look over the entire canyon floor, whether dry or under a meter of water, for any possible trinket or even so much as an oddly-shaped rock. The only excitement had come when someone found a lost tool.
The guards’ patterns became completely transparent before long. Tanner had no trouble spotting them at any given moment, day or night. He knew when one went off to the bathroom. He knew which was chattiest. He knew because they kept him in sight at all times.
The pair kept tabs on the field school as a minor detail. Their real responsibility was a single student, and before long all his classmates knew it. Vandenberg knew it, too—thus assuring that Tanner dug in all the spots least likely to reveal anything of interest.
“So why do you think you’re gonna find anything here?” asked Garcia. He loomed at the edge of a pit, staring down at Tanner and Nigel. “Isn’t this off in a corner away from the water and all?”
Tanner glanced back across the canyon floor. Streams of water and accompanying stretches of shore separated his pit from the others. A large, freestanding spire of rock separated them from most of the camp, too. Tanner shrugged. “That’s what makes this spot important. It’s off the path. Out in the shade. It’s a good spot for dumping stuff.”
“Dumping? What, you mean you’re digging for trash?”
“Ancient alien trash, yeah. What people throw away tells us as much about them as what they keep, right?”
Garcia made a face. “Man, I gotta stand here watching you dig through garbage? And you haven’t even found any yet?”
“Garcia, how long have you been working for Precision?”
“Six years. Why?”
“Okay, so Precision isn’t exactly military, but it’s close, right? In six years, you haven’t figured out yet that being a military grunt involves lots of shit jobs?” Tanner offered up his shovel. “If you’re really bored, you can help out.”
“Piss off, schoolboy.” Garcia withdrew to a shaded spot along the canyon wall where he could still see and be seen.
“That got rid of him,” muttered Nigel. He stayed on his knees, scraping away at the wall of their pit with his trowel.
“Truth hurts, I guess.”
“I can think of shittier jobs than watching two guys dig a hole,” said Nigel.
“What, you mean like actually digging one?”
“Heh. Yeah.”
Tanner frowned. “Sorry about that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean being over here with me,” said Tanner. “We’re not gonna find anything.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Nigel sat up, glancing subtly at Garcia before looking back to the campsite. “You’re not entirely wrong about this spot. Not what you were saying before, I mean. I wondered why Vandenberg sent us over here, but what you said is about the only explanation I can think of, too. This spot is pretty sheltered by the canyon walls, so it might have been used for something, anyway. Assuming this was a settlement.”
“Nah, this is all to keep us out of the way from the others. Keeps the guards out of their way, too,” Tanner added. “The goons have to keep sight lines on me. Stay close enough to re
act if I do anything suspicious. Vandenberg knows that, so he sent me over here to keep them looking the wrong way. He sent you because it would look weird if I worked all alone.”
Nigel’s face darkened. “You really think that? Did he say something?”
“No. But that fits his pattern, too, doesn’t it?”
Nigel didn’t answer. His expression darkened further. He stood to look back at the rest of the camp, noting other dig pits and a couple of classmates in the water sifting through the silt in the streams. Then his attention returned to their pit. Moments ago, Nigel dug with practiced technique, setting an example for Tanner to follow. Now he stabbed the wall of the pit with his trowel.
“Sorry, man,” said Tanner.
“Whatever.”
Though Nigel was two years ahead of Tanner in the university, he was also two years younger. Tanner tried to think of something sympathetic to say for his frustration, but none of it seemed useful. He turned back to work.
“Here’s what I don’t get: why are you here?” asked Nigel.
“Field school offers enough course credits to have a minor in xenoarchaeology by the time we wrap this all up. And Naomi asked.”
“A minor?” Nigel laughed bitterly. “You’re here doing this and you aren’t even going for a full degree?”
“It lets me pull ahead on my academic schedule.” Tanner held one of the penetrating scan units against the pit wall to give it a whirl. The task took only seconds: nothing came up. He didn’t come up with anything for Nigel’s resentment, either.
“You don’t have to push that thing against the wall,” Nigel scolded. “Pressure doesn’t help.”
“I’m not—” Tanner stopped. He was pushing, like a scrubber against the hull while people took shots at him.
Nigel kept digging. The care in his work was gone. He sent burst after burst of dirt and rock down at their feet. “What were you saying about your schedule?” he asked.
“It helps with my credit totals. Not so much with my major, though.”
“In what?”
“Ecology. Always wanted to go into planetary survey work. Figured a minor in xenoarch with some field experience would look good on my CV.”