by J. N. Chaney
Burner rose from his crouch and tried to work the feeling back into his legs, which had been cold and cramped for several hours. He could feel needles in the tips of his toes as proper circulation returned. His knees felt like they wanted to lock up.
That he was struggling with such minor discomfort did not sit well with him. Burner was used to not being comfortable. The things the Union put you through when training to be a soldier were far worse than being crouched and cold. Maybe he was losing his edge?
He remembered, with a mix of nostalgia and trauma, the last months of the part of training known as physical conditioning. After weeks of workouts to build muscle that left every part of his body sore, the final phase had been endurance training. And that involved running. And more running. Running until you couldn’t feel your legs anymore. Running until the feeling returned just to plead with you to stop. Running until all you could feel below your waist was a burning agony that you thought might stick with you the rest of your life. And he had to do it all again the next day.
Compared to that, a little stiffness in the legs was nothing, but he still found himself walking with the awkward strides of a toddler. He just hoped his suspect didn’t turn around before his legs loosened up, otherwise they might wonder why some stranger was zombie-walking after him.
Two blocks down the street, Burner watched as his suspect slipped into a vehicle and took off. In the short time before the vehicle disappeared from sight, Burner had picked the lock on one of the parked vehicles, disabled the alarm with the false identity program on his pad, and manipulated the engines to power on. He took off into the night, after his suspected Mr. Two-Pizzas.
UNKNOWN LOCATION, MADALEV CITY OUTSKIRTS, DEMETER
Burner followed his suspect out of the city, off the country road that led to the villages, and toward the middle of nowhere. He ran through his memory of what the region looked like from the perspective of the ship as it flew over and what could be off this way. There wasn’t much in this direction, just the occasional standalone farmhouse, and a clearing here and there where villages might have once been. To remain connected to the rest of the planet’s inhabitants they would have moved into the region connected by the country road. The only types who lived out here now did so with the intention of being left alone by the rest of civilization.
They were going deep into the sticks now.
Out here, he and his target were probably piloting the only two vehicles for kilometers, so Burner kept way back and left his lights off. It was risky, driving at night without light, but if he turned them on he might as well be announcing to the world that he was there. Fortunately, the sky was clear and full of stars, giving Burner just enough light to avoid obstacles that crossed his path.
Obstacles such as the two metal rods that sprung up as he crested a hill too fast in an attempt to not lose sight of his target. A quick yank of the wheel and he was able to pilot between them. He glanced at them as he went by and noticed they were network hubs, large transmitters that took signals from a distant network, such as one being broadcast by satellite, and amplified that signal over a wide range. This particular pair must not be functioning properly, considering he still couldn’t get any service on his comms.
The further they got away from the city, the more positive he was that his first instinct regarding this guy was correct. It didn’t matter that he was a family man, was well liked at the local pizza place, or that this was his home planet. He was heading someplace far from civilization, and the only things he could be planning to do out there were not good.
More than an hour after they departed the city, they finally came upon a path. Not a true road, more like a beaten trail that ran into dark woodlands and was soon flanked by a thick canopy of trees that blocked out the starlight that Burner had been relying on to navigate.
He slowed the vehicle to a stop and considered his options. It was pitch black ahead of him, and turning on his lights was still not an option. But if he tried to drive through this and the path curved even slightly, he’d slam right into a tree. There was only one real choice left, and that was to proceed on foot.
There was no way to tell for sure how long this path went on for. He was too far away from the region he had scanned from the ship to recognize this particular forest, but when looking at the planet from orbit, some of the woodlands on it could be pretty massive.
But the path here was beaten, man-made. The most probable scenario was that it wouldn’t continue too much further. Burner had to admit to himself that he was taking a gamble. But when did that ever stop him?
Backing up the vehicle, he used a small penlight to scout a place he’d seen on the way in, a place he could pull the car off into and hide it. Once that was done, he stepped out of his stolen vehicle and began making his way down the path on foot. Clouds had rolled in, blocking out the light from the night’s stars. His eyes fully adjusted to the darkness, but he could barely see his hand in front of his face. He relied on his other senses to guide him down the path.
Burner had a flashback of his wilderness survival training his first year in the Union. He and a dozen other young cadets had been dumped in the wilds of some nowhere planet and instructed to survive for two weeks. But their first task had been to find the camp where all the supplies they were being provided with would be left. They had wandered blindly in the dark for hours. Some, Burner included, hadn’t found the camp until the morning light made navigation easier. By the end of that experience, Burner had become more competent at navigating through the dark, but it had also taught him another lesson: he hated the woods.
All those years had not made him any fonder of the forest. But at least he still had his honed sense of direction. Step by step he made his way down the path.
He had been right about the path not being much longer. Had it been daytime, he might have jogged the distance he had walked in five minutes, but because of his stumbling through the darkness, it took him more than twenty.
At the end of the path, he found Two-Pizza’s vehicle parked outside what looked like a farmhouse. The farmhouse itself was dark, but there were lights coming from the barn next door.
Treading softly, Burner approached. As he did, he noticed the smell of wood chips wafting from the big door, which had been left ajar.
Ensuring he was making no noise, not even from his breathing, Burner crept toward the door.
21
Unknown Location, Madalev City Outskirts, Demeter
The smell of sawdust assaulted Sara’s nose and threatened to make her sneeze. That would be bad, considering she was currently hiding in a room filled with what she was reasonably sure were violent terrorists.
She had successfully followed her target away from the city, taking an hour’s drive to the middle of nowhere, and eventually to this farmhouse. The only light had been coming from the barn, and when she peeked inside it seemed to be empty, so she thought she’d look around while the guy she followed meticulously parked his rental car. Unfortunately, it turned out he wasn’t the only one there, and as several men filed into the barn, she was forced to retreat to the back and take cover. Now she was hiding behind a stack of rusted old farm equipment that she hoped no one bothered to check behind while the group of dangerous individuals congregated just a few meters from her.
Now would have been a good time to call in Burner for support, if her comm had been working at all. Despite being brand new, the thing hadn’t received a signal since the moment she unpacked it. It was hard to tell if that was the fault of her device or the local networks, but it was easier to take her frustration out on the device.
Sara heard one more person enter from the big door across the way and dared to sneak a glimpse. She recognized the man Burner had described as an office geek come striding in. It seemed they had both been right after all. And here she was, ready to rub her superior profiling skills in his face.
Almost immediately upon entering, the new guy was assaulted by questions from the others present. He held up his h
ands defensively as he tried to field their queries one at a time. Sara tried to make out all the words of the conversation. It didn’t help that they were all trying to talk over each other.
Here and there, she picked up a few details. Her mark, the man with the frizzy hair, seemed frantic. “Is there any way he can trace it back to us, Cade? You heard him, didn’t you? I don’t know about you, but I like my teeth!”
Another man with a face that reminded Sara of a rat was wearing a snide grin. “What did I say? I told you this was a bad idea and look what happened. How do we know this isn’t your fault? You designed that bug.”
A tall, heavily chiseled man with a military-like demeanor stepped in. “Everyone calm the fuck down. We don’t know yet if his threat was legitimate or if he was just trying to throw us off. Well, Cade, what about the bug?”
The office geek finally managed to get a word in. “Look, there’s no way it can be traced back to us, alright? The signal was one-way only and was passed through so many encryptions that even if he could figure out a way to pull the data’s destination from it, he’d spend months trying to unravel all the layers of protection on it.”
It seemed Burner had hit the mark dead center when it came to how they would react. They seemed to be one more promise of dental torture away from scattering for their lives. More importantly, it confirmed without a doubt that these were the terrorists they had been looking for.
While being careful not to venture out too far, she took a more thorough look at those gathered in the barn.
There were six of them, two more than she and Burner had picked up on. As they had expected, several of them possessed military bearings. All of them were heavily armed, which would make this a tough fight even if she and Burner were together. For now, her best bet was to sit tight and listen, gathering as much intel as she could.
And perhaps she could put some faces to the profiles she and Burner had worked up.
Burner’s target, the one everyone was surrounding and questioning about the bug, had a notable red stain on the collar of his shirt, something that had not been there when he got off the ship. Not the right consistency for blood. Sauce maybe? It seemed Mr. Two-Pizza had stopped for his favorite meal along the way. She wondered what had happened to Burner. He didn’t seem likely to lose a target.
The chiseled one was trying to calm down the frizzy-haired young man. “Reginald, relax. Take a deep breath. He’s just one man. If he does come for us, we’ll be ready for him.”
The one called Reginald nodded but didn’t seem convinced. He began to pace with a nervous energy. She knew his kind. He was action oriented and didn’t like sitting still. For someone who grew up on the streets, sitting still was a death sentence. You always needed to be moving, ready to either grapple your problem or run from it.
It’s the kind of personality that would cause you to send many messages to confirm plan details and ask if there’s anything more he could be doing. It had to be Blabbermouth.
Another man with a thick build had been standing off to the side of the rest of the group. The smell of rotten eggs drifted from him and blended with the sawdust so it was not surprising he was kept at an arm’s distance from the rest of them. He didn’t talk much, but he did respond once when someone called out “Eggie.” It was a cliché, but those who are secluded from others the most tend to be the ones who most miss the intimacy of company. And sometimes they seek other ways to fill that gap, such as through adult entertainment. The Horndog.
That just left Clock, who was almost certainly the big guy. His whole demeanor couldn’t scream Military any more if he was in full uniform and saluting a Union flag. Someone who chooses to maintain their military looks and bearing even though their service has ended is certain to still be concerned with the other little things the military drilled into them, such as a strict adherence to schedules.
That left just the rat-faced man, who didn’t match up with any of the profiles they had created. He was either a new figure or someone they had kept out of texts.
And…
“That’s enough!” A powerful, commanding voice silenced everyone in the room at once. All eyes turned to the speaker, an older man with a bald head, white beard, and sharply pressed suit. “Did I organize a resistance or a bunch of frightened school children!”
There was command there, but also anger, a barely contained fury. He looked ready to jump on the next man to voice any concern and beat him with his bare fists.
This was a man who thrived on control. He needed control. He was someone who thought through strategy with meticulous detail and did not respond well when things did not go exactly as he laid them out. He was the leader of this group and the final profile Burner had put together.
The Planner.
BARN, TRION CITY OUTSKIRTS, DEMETER
Terrorists came in many varieties, from your garden variety lone attention seeker to fanatical religious cults that had cells of hundreds scattered throughout the galaxy. Some planned attacks with nothing more than a jerry-rigged bomb and a boatload of courage. Others had inexhaustible credit accounts and the kind of logistical planning that you would expect from the galaxy’s greatest military minds.
When it came to Union policy, however, there were only two categorizations for terrorists. The first was what were considered “outside instigators.” Most terrorists fell into this category, and was the responsibility of agencies that protected the Union from outside threats. These were the criminals who were born and bred in the Deadlands, or who had grown up in a poorer part of the Union. They often had grown tired of whatever bureaucratic mess they had found themselves in and snapped.
The other category was the one that Burner had been responsible for dealing with while he was with Intelligence: the “conspirator class” terrorists. These were the deserters, the traitors, the retired Union personnel who chose to use their experience and knowledge to strike the very system they once served. And most dangerous of all: those who still held positions with access in the Union while simultaneously plotting attacks against it.
It was that experience that allowed Burner to immediately identify the mole in the group of terrorists gathered in the barn.
There were several targets who looked like they had Union experience. The most obvious was the tall, muscular man whose bearing was unmistakably military. He was in some position of authority among the gathered terrorists, who were looking to him for answers and listened when he spoke. Not active service, though, given the creases in his outfit and the slight slack in his stance. He’d been out of the service long enough that some of the smaller habits had started to decay.
The other was a smaller, squirrely man. His appearance was less military and more functionary—an aide, maybe, or someone serving in one of the Union’s many bureaucratic roles. It was his posture that gave him away. He stood close to military attention, but too sloppily for it to have been drilled into him through training. It was something absorbed through constant interaction with soldiers, tempered with a slouch to make him appear smaller, a giveaway that he worked among many of his same rank and hoped to avoid being called upon. Most likely an aide, then, someone who works for a military officer of considerable rank. Probably.
But what gave him away as a mole wasn’t anything he did. It was how the others looked at him. A mix of barely disguised distrust and antipathy was directed at him from every side. It was, in Burner’s opinion, hypocritical for a group of terrorists to judge one of their own for playing both sides. But Burner had infiltrated enough of these cabals to understand why the “insider” was always the lowest rung of the ladder. It was the “us versus them” mentality that made their message so tempting and bonded them in acts of hatred. The mole was one of them, the hated others who they worked so hard to destroy. The enemy. That made him a useful tool but not someone to be trusted.
Identifying the mole sent Burner’s mind racing to solve mysteries he had been working on since the very beginning. High level access, the kind t
hat an aide to a ranking officer might have, could potentially dig up Burner’s service record. It would also give him access to the aspects of it that had been classified. That would explain how they had unraveled his aliases and knew enough about how he worked to plan a way to manipulate him. They might even have been able to use Union resources to identify which part of the Deadlands Burner had been active in.
More importantly, it explained how the terrorists had been so certain about Admiral Thiel’s schedule. In fact, Burner would wager that the mole worked somewhere close to Thiel, maybe even serving directly as one of Thiel’s aides. That would not only give him access to the admiral’s schedule, but the ability to modify it. His aides would book his flights, reserve his hotel rooms, and be part of the process of scheduling what time he would show up for a briefing. It was possible even that the terrorists had scheduled the assassination weeks before and used the mole to ensure that the admiral was going to be in the right place at the right time.
This also presented a new problem to be thrown into their already overflowing pot: if they had access to Union intel from a direct source, they could monitor the military’s attempts to locate their bombs and know if they were getting close, adjusting their plans accordingly. The Union would be playing a game where their opponent was peeking at their hands.
The one that Burner had picked out as the leader of the group spoke up, instantly quieting the bickering that had dominated the conversation.
His subordinates shifted uncomfortably, their attention now on him. The soldier, who Burner picked as the second-in-command of this organization, apologized on behalf of the group. “My fault, Cypher. I had a few concerns of my own about the current condition of our mission, and they picked up on it. I should have stomped that out earlier. It won’t happen again.”