Vanguard Rising: A Space Opera Adventure

by A. C. Hadfield

  “I’m serious. Just go, leave the office, find something else to do for a while.”

  The door opened and Hugo burst in. He grabbed Harlan’s arm and pulled him away from the cell. “What the hell are you doing? I told you to forget about this; you’re late for your disciplinary hearing, and the governor from Asimovia is in no mood for your bullshit, now get your ass in my office now.”

  Harlan brushed him off. “All right, all right, no need to grab me. I’m coming.”

  Before they left the cell, Harlan turned and looked at Leanne one last time. She seemed genuine, her body no longer tense. She leaned forward with both hands against the glass, her eyes wide, almost beseeching. She mouthed the words, “Leave here.”

  As Hugo led Harlan to his office, he asked, “Well? What did she say?”

  “Nothing. At least nothing that matters.”

  Harlan couldn’t get out of his head that she seemed almost concerned. Why would that be, considering that just a couple of days ago she was trying to kill him?

  What had happened between then and now?

  It was unlikely she had changed her mind about him in that time, so there must have been something else. Which raised other questions: who or what had got to her since she came here, and what did they want?

  Harlan would have to figure that out later. Hugo didn’t seem to be in the mood for any more of Harlan’s dissent. The two men entered Hugo’s office and sat at opposite sides of the desk.

  A video screen on the back wall showed an irritated and red-faced governor.

  “About time,” he said, his flabby jowls shaking with each word. “I don’t make these appointments just for the fun of it. I’m a busy man.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” Hugo said. “We just had some last-minute business to deal with on a previous case. You have our full attention. “

  Harlan folded his arms, not bothering to add to Hugo’s cover story.

  “Let’s get down to it,” the governor said. “Tell me in your own words what happened to the abbot and how it came to be destroyed.”

  The governor had white bushy eyebrows that seemed to move of their own accord when he spoke. His face was gaunt, and Harlan guessed his bones would be brittle and weak. The governor rarely left Asimovia, and he didn’t seem the type to keep up an athletic regimen.

  “I can only tell you what was in my report,” Harlan said. “The killer under the identity of Santos Vallan killed the compromised abbot, all in an effort to lure me to a specific location. You can use your imagination of what the plan was from then on.”

  “It seems to me,” the governor said, “that your history with this individual is the sole reason for you traveling to Asimovia and ultimately for the abbot’s destruction. You have admitted in your report that your ex-wife, aka Vallan, was with you on the transport ship for nearly two weeks. Surely, you can understand, from my point of view, that it seems as if you two were in league together. It could easily have been you that hacked the abbot’s code.”

  Harlan refuted the claim and reiterated that he had not known that his ex-wife was on the transport ship, and that he was just following the data and intelligence provided to him.

  On and on the questioning went. The governor seemed to enjoy going around in circles, making the same points and accusations over and over again, without any conclusions coming from the discussion.

  Throughout this, Hugo remained quiet, only interjecting to correct references to policy and law as it pertained to silicon runners’ investigative jurisdiction.

  “Governor,” Hugo said, holding his hand up to stop the conversation, “I think we get the point, and I think you understand fully now what happened from my agent’s point of view. I have disciplined Mr. Rubik for his failure to oversee the circumstances that led to the abbot’s death, and he has been reassigned to a different case. And trust me, it will take a long time for him to regain his prior status.”

  The governor scratched at his two-day-old stubble and mumbled something off-camera to a subordinate in his office. Then, bringing his attention back to them, he said, “I’m unsatisfied by this, but it appears the law doesn’t allow me to take it further. Therefore, I shall write my complaints to the Luna representative. Additionally, I’m placing a banning order on Mr. Rubik, preventing him from traveling to Asimovia or its associated boundaries for the next two years. You are, of course, entitled to appeal this decision, but given the sensitive relations with the abbot leadership currently, I feel that would only add to the tensions, especially given the incident on Earth.”

  “You’ve heard about that?” Hugo asked. “That story hasn’t been released to the public yet.”

  “No, I realize this, but your agency, Mr. Raul, is not the only one who has eyes and ears within the solar system. Now, if you don’t mind, I have things to attend to. I expect an update on the case and details of the charges as soon as anything progresses.”

  The governor’s image disappeared, and the screen switched off.

  Harlan breathed out a sigh of relief, thankful that the inquiry was over. “I thought that was never going to end. He certainly knows how to repeat himself.”

  Hugo glared at him and spent the next ten minutes tearing yet another strip off him for not doing more to get the governor onside. After a while, Harlan tuned out, having thoroughly stopped caring.

  All this shouting and blustering wasn’t getting anyone anywhere.

  While Hugo continued to lecture him, Harlan checked in with Milo, this time using his thoughts to communicate with the peripheral—one illicit aspect of this particular model that he did like.

  — How’s things going with the search for commonalities?

  — Not well, Milo said. The problem is, almost all the information is hearsay and rumor. It changes a great deal depending on the source. You’ll be glad, or maybe horrified, depending on the mood, to know that there is a cult out there who view you as their savior. They’re saying you killed the abbot on Asimovia as a sacrifice to God.

  — I’ve heard worse about me.

  — The incident on Earth is of more interest. I need more information.

  — Let me get this thing with Hugo dealt with first.

  “Well?” Hugo asked Harlan.

  “Sorry, what? I zoned out for a moment there.”

  “The missing abbot. Did you read my brief?”

  “It’s on my to-do list right after I’m done here. I wanted to make sure I was focused for the inquiry before putting the old gray matter to task on the new case.”

  Hugo shook his head. “You need to get your shit together, Harlan. Human-abbot relations are on a downward trajectory, and things are going to go to shit if we don’t arrest the slide.”

  “Got it.”

  “Read the brief, find the abbot, and help us ease the tensions. Oh, and while you’re out, I want you to go and speak with Irena Selles, that survivor from the Station Nord attack. Find out if she’s telling the truth about the abbot going batshit-crazy or whether there’s something else to it.”

  “I’m already on the missing abbot case. The Earth incident sounds like a full-time job. Why not have another agent assigned to it?”

  “Because I sense a connection between the two, and I want to know who and what is behind it all. The virus you found in the abbot on Asimovia could be connected.”

  “Anything else, boss?” Harlan asked.

  “Yeah,” Hugo said. “Get the hell out of my office and don’t show your face in here until you’ve got something substantial to show me. Oh, and if I catch you lurking around Leanne’s cell one more time, I swear I’ll have your ass jettisoned into space.”

  Harlan saluted his boss and left the office. The other silicon runners all turned to look at him, the group of them clearly having listened in. Alex Aurier, one of the old-timers, had a smirk on his face. “Sounds like you need some salve for that reaming you just took.”

  “You enjoy the image, grandpa. Stick it in your bank for those cold, lonely days.”
>
  “Screw you, Harlan. The way you’re going, lonely days will be all you have.”

  Harlan stopped and approached Alex, leaning into his personal space. The old man didn’t move, but Harlan could see his muscles tense. “You always give the shit out, but you can never take it, can you, grandpa?”

  Staring right back at him, just a few centimeters apart, Aurier just smirked. His breath stank of cheaply produced mints and ethanol. His blue eyes contracted unnaturally, indicating pupil upgrades. “I’ve taken it for long enough, Harlan. Now get out of my face before this old bastard shows you what experience can do.”

  “You threatening me, Aurier?”

  “Damn right I am.”

  The two men stood up. Harlan planted his feet and made a fist, ready to deliver a punch to the old bastard’s kidneys, when, before he had time to react, a couple pairs of hands grabbed his shoulders and waist. Two agents behind Aurier did the same, and they were pulled apart.

  Harlan held up his hands and smiled. “It’s all right, lads. There won’t be any trouble from me today. I’ve better things to do with my time.”

  Alex Aurier just glared at Harlan. “I’ve always hated you, you jumped-up little orphan prick.”

  “Not like you to hate on orphans. From what I hear, you take quite the shine to some of the young boys on weekends.”

  Aurier’s face turned red as he struggled against the other agents holding him back. Harlan knew he had hit a nerve. Only last week, he’d come across a file regarding Aurier spending a lot of time at the Second Chance orphanage—the very same place that Harlan grew up in. He didn’t know exactly what Aurier was doing there but knew it wasn’t standard procedure and had vowed to look into it. Given the older agent’s actions today, Harlan brought it up a few notches on his priorities. As soon as he was done with his current caseload, he’d make Alex Aurier his personal project.

  “Fuck you, Harlan,” Aurier said, spitting at Harlan’s feet. “I swear, one of these days I’ll put a bullet in your face.”

  “If you’re not too old to remember how to fire a gun.”

  The rest of the runners laughed as the daily banter took over the office. Hugo appeared in the doorway. He glared at Harlan and then Alex, the latter still fuming even as he sat back down at his desk.

  Harlan smiled and left the office, heading down the corridor to the exit that would take him out on level five. As he approached, he saw something was wrong.

  Very wrong.

  Lying by the exit was the cell guard. His head lay half a meter away from his body, the wound a charred, cauterized mess. No blood.

  Harlan dashed back to the cells.

  Three other runners lay decapitated and cauterized in the short hallway.

  Leanne’s cell was empty.

  12

  Harlan stared at the empty cell in a stunned silence. His body remained still as his mind cycled through a thousand and one potential explanations.

  One thing that stood out during his analysis was the complete lack of any damage to the cell, the doors, or even the cameras. The small pupil-like lenses embedded into the ceiling remained intact. A quick scan with his interface indicated that the runners’ internal network was still running perfectly fine, the traffic within normal boundaries.

  On the other side of the glass screen, the cell remained exactly as he had last seen it. Although, curiously, it seemed as if Leanne had made the bed before she had made her escape. Every instinct within him wanted to open the cell doors and investigate, but he thought about the poor young guard and his colleagues lying dead on the floor.

  And then there were the wounds.

  What could cauterize a wound in such a way? It would have to be extremely quiet, quick, and of a design Harlan had never come across before.

  Before he left the cell, he noticed his leather jacket was still on the bench. He grabbed it, put it on and re-entered the main offices. The other runners were still busy at their work, still bantering and throwing insults amongst each other.

  The older agent, Alex, raised his head, and the two locked eyes. The old man squinted, scrutinizing Harlan’s face. It was clear from the other man’s expression that Harlan didn’t look right.

  “What happened?” Alex said.

  At first, Harlan didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t normal. These were his friends and colleagues, not just regular citizens. It meant more. Hell, he knew the deceased.

  The rest of the runners must have realized what was going on. A hush descended upon the office, and once more Harlan became the center of attention. He cleared his throat and said, “There’s been an accident, of sorts. Leanne has escaped, and it appears either she had help, or someone from inside is involved. Young Diego and the rest of the guards are… dead. Someone get Hugo out here right away.”

  The next five minutes were a blur. The silicon runners’ office exploded with activity. A dozen or more agents swarmed the scene, taking photographs, recording video, sweeping the networks for activity.

  In amongst them all was Hugo, his bulky frame trembling with rage and injustice.

  The head of the silicon runners grabbed Harlan by the lapels. “You better not have anything to do with this, Harlan,” he said. “If I find out you are involved with this, or complicit in any way, your career is finished. Hell, your life is finished. How can four of our own men and women be brutally murdered right under our noses?”

  “You can check the video,” Harlan said. “I had nothing to do with this. How could I? I was with you and the governor all this time. You saw Leanne in the cell when you came to get me. The video feed from earlier shows that I had nothing to do with this. And frankly, I’m getting fed up with your threats, accusations, and lack of trust. Damn it, Hugo, I’m one of the most experienced runners you have; it’s about time you respected that.”

  Harlan pushed Hugo off him, breaking the hold of his jacket, and as he did so, he felt something stick into his ribs from the jacket’s inside pocket.

  Hugo opened his mouth and jabbed a finger at Harlan. He shook his head, the words not coming as all around him agents were questioning him about what to do next, which part of the inquiry he wanted to prioritize. He whirled and bellowed orders to his agents, and then stomped off to his office, presumably to plan the next stage of the inquiry.

  While all the agents were busy, Harlan took a seat within his cubicle and checked his inside pocket. Inside was a small black data stick that he had never seen before and knew for certain wasn’t in his pocket before.

  Leanne must have put it in there during her escape, or perhaps whoever helped her had hidden it for him. But was it for him, or was it meant to implicate him? He held the data stick in his hand, weighing up whether he should use the terminals at the office.

  Before he had a chance, Hugo burst from his office and yelled again at Harlan. “I won’t tell you again, Harlan,” he bellowed. “Get the hell out of this office and get on with your caseload; we have enough resources here to deal with this situation. And if she contacts you—you let me know ASAP.”

  Hugo’s face was red. Sweat shone on his forehead. He had removed his suit jacket and loosened his tie. His face was a grimacing mixture of pain, confusion, and the weariness that came from such a position of responsibility. He would have to explain this to the Sol-Fed authorities and the Messenger representative of Atlas Station: Victoria Selles.

  Selles was not the most pleasant human being to deal with. Harlan had learned that the hard way over the years. And now the issue with her daughter, Irena, and the situation on Earth… she wasn’t going to be easy to communicate with.

  “Please, just follow my orders for once,” Hugo said, his voice softer and almost pleading.

  “Fine.”

  Harlan kept the data stick hidden within his hand, stood up, and left the office, not wanting to add to Hugo’s stress. If Harlan thought the governor from Asimovia had given him a rough time, the Messenger representative was bound to be ten times worse.

  And besides,
Harlan wanted to get back to his apartment, where he could check out the data stick. A part of him wanted to stay and investigate this case, but Hugo was on the edge, and Harlan couldn’t afford to be stripped of his work privileges. At least not yet, not with so much going on.

  Going rogue ultimately was an option, but without doubt the last one.

  In a daze, Harlan walked through level five to the elevator. He issued the command to take him up to level six where he kept a modest home amongst the more extravagant edge properties with their views out to space.

  Sirens blared throughout the level, and the SMF armed enforcement squads were fast approaching in their matte black shuttles. It didn’t take a genius to know where they were headed. It also meant that Victoria Selles had bypassed Hugo almost immediately and dispatched her own goon squad.

  Not that Harlan could blame her. With approval ratings dropping, she was desperate to be seen doing a good job here on Atlas. Another three percentage points lower and a re-election would automatically be triggered.

  She was fighting for a future career just as much as Hugo was.

  And so it trickled down: From the Messengers, to Hugo, to Harlan.

  Although there was one more level to go down the chain if he needed to. It all depended on whether he was going to find Leanne himself or be a good worker bee and follow Hugo’s orders.

  As he travelled up the elevator tube, he pondered on the pros and cons of each choice. Neither represented a great outcome for him, so it came down to the greater good: where would his time be better spent? Finding a missing abbot, or finding Leanne?

  Once inside his compact apartment, Harlan grabbed a cup of coffee from his dispenser, downed it in one long gulp, and refilled it immediately.

  He took the now-filled cup over to the only two pieces of furniture in the living area—an old-fashioned wooden desk and a naval captain’s chair. He’d procured these from Bella and her crew during one of their contraband runs to an old British seaport.

  It was approaching 1900 standard hours, and he would need the caffeine for the long evening ahead. The last few days of traveling and chasing down Leanne on Luna had drained him of energy, and he hadn’t slept well last night, either.