The Scorpion Jar

by Jason M. Hardy

  By five after five, he was searching through files again.

  The clock kept moving. He wanted to be out by six, to disappear before the building got any more populated, but this was his only shot at this. If he left with nothing, he’d end up walking into tomorrow’s election with nothing.

  Six o’clock came. Sunrise was about two hours away, but even here, buried deep in the Senate building, Jonah could feel the change. The city was starting to wake up, and a significant percentage of its citizens were going to make their way here fairly rapidly.

  At best he had an hour. He pushed himself, flying through records, scanning through tens of thousands of words, looking for one of the key words he needed to see. It started to come. Pieces of the puzzle broke through the fog, and he grabbed a few more files.

  At six-thirty he realized it was too big. He couldn’t get to the bottom of what was happening just in this one opportunity. But he’d get enough. He might not know the final destination when he left, but he would have a hell of a lot of road signs.

  At six forty-five he had had enough. He shut down the computer, unplugged it from his generator, and wiped down the keyboard, chair and the plug ends. He’d been careful to make sure those were the only things he’d touched.

  Six-fifty. Ten minutes to spare. He walked out of the Senator’s office, shut and secured the door, wiped her key-pad, and strode to the main entrance to the suite.

  A voice ahead of him spoke. “Rebirth.” The lock clicked. The door slid open.

  Jonah darted left, into a small supply closet. It was small, had a few shelves secured to the walls, and no door. Anyone in the reception area wouldn’t see him, but if they ventured down the hallway, he had no place to hide.

  He listened. A single set of footsteps padded around the reception area. A few switches clicked. The first staffer of the day was in, getting the office ready. He or she was alone, but wouldn’t be for long.

  Jonah’s mind raced, trying to anticipate the staffer’s routine. He’d walked through the office quickly on his way in, but the layout of it was imprinted on his mind as a three-dimensional model that he pushed and probed, searching for a way to leave unseen.

  Then it came to him. Windows.

  He knew the staffer was going to walk right past him in a matter of minutes. If the staffer looked to his right, Jonah was finished. If he just looked where he was going—watching the window ahead of him—Jonah had a chance.

  The staffer sorted some things on his desk, whistled a brief tune, then, true to Jonah’s expectation, started walking down the hallway. At the end of it, next to the door to the Senator’s office, was a tightly shuttered window—with manual controls, of all things. Soon it would be letting in the first traces of daylight.

  The staffer’s footsteps padded closer. Jonah stood by the door closest to the suite’s exit, partially, but not completely, concealed by the lip of the closet’s doorway.

  He saw the staffer, a young man with a sharp nose and pointed chin. The man whistled again. He looked to his left. His head turned.

  And he was past. He might be looking to his right now, but he was past the closet.

  Jonah slipped to the doorway, carefully poking his head out, watching the staffer as he walked up to the metal shutters over the window.

  As soon as his hands touched the shutter, Jonah moved. His feet touched the carpet as lightly as wind on grass, far quieter than the shutter’s clatter. He was at the exit in a flash, then willed himself to slow down, pulling it open gently and quietly. Immediately he was lightning again, disappearing through the door.

  The door clicked quietly shut as the staffer finished opening the metal shutters.

  Jonah stood in the still-empty hallway, wiped a few beads of sweat from his forehead, and willed the red to drain from his face. His training served him well, and in a few seconds he walked down the hallway as the model of decorum. He took one set of stairs down to the twenty-first floor, and a second set to the seventeenth. Then he took the elevator.

  He walked to the main entrance of the building. The guards sitting wearily behind their desk nodded as he passed. He nodded. And left.

  49

  Hotel Duquesne, Geneva

  Terra, Prefecture X

  19 December 3134

  After he rolled the trash can containing Jonah toward the Senate Building and escaped the guards, Gareth had considered doubling back and keeping an eye on the place, waiting for Jonah to emerge. There was no telling, though, how long Jonah would be, the night was cold and Gareth didn’t want to risk being seen by the guards. Jonah had told him to go back to the hotel, so he did.

  There was no possible way he could sleep, but he had little to do until Jonah came out. He spent most of his time wondering when he should set his lunch appointment.

  Would a call first thing in the morning seem too urgent, like he was pouncing on the phone? If he waited too long, would he lose a chance to make an appointment?

  In the end, he decided to call first thing. The appearance of urgency would bolster his credibility.

  He waited until seven, then called the Senator at home. Unsurprisingly, the Senator was more than happy to make an appointment with a Paladin on the eve of the election.

  Levin walked into his room right after he finished the call.

  “Take a look at this,” he said.

  The Senator had agreed to meet Gareth at the hotel after Gareth insisted, saying he needed to repay the Senator for all the hospitality he had shown over the years.

  “Repay?” the Senator had said. “My boy, you don’t have to repay gifts.”

  “I know,” Gareth had responded. “And I never could fully pay back your generosity. But I’d like to do at least this. Please.”

  So the Senator came. It was early for lunch, and the vast dining room was less than half full. The faux candlelight and the isolated corner table Gareth had suggested should provide enough privacy.

  “Paladin Sinclair,” Mallowes said warmly as he sat down at Gareth’s table. “Are you growing accustomed to the sound of that yet?”

  Gareth shook his head rapidly, his eyes darting, and he responded as if his mind were elsewhere. “Ah, no. No, I suppose I haven’t.”

  Mallowes’ eyes narrowed. “Is there something wrong? You seem distracted.”

  Gareth leaned forward, started to speak, then leaned back as the waiter arrived.

  Mallowes took charge. “I believe we’ll both have the special today. The faster you can bring it to us, the better. Thank you.”

  The waiter was gone.

  “I’m in trouble,” Gareth said in a voice barely above a whisper.

  “Trouble? Of what sort?”

  “Levin. Jonah Levin. He’s investigating the death of Victor Steiner-Davion.”

  “So I have heard. He spoke to me about his investigation, albeit briefly. What on earth does that have to do with you?”

  “He thinks I had something to do with Steiner-Davion’s death.”

  Mallowes barked, a noise that sounded more like a forceful sneeze than the laugh it was supposed to be. “How did he come to such a ludicrous conclusion?”

  “He thinks he has evidence. There’s a man, someone you once referred to me. Henrik Morten. He was involved somehow, and he’s been lying to Levin about me.”

  “Morten? I hope you’re no longer involved with that character.”

  “No! Not for years! But that’s not what Morten’s saying. He’s acting like we’re old pals.”

  The waiter returned, bringing bourbon for the Senator and a tall glass of water for Gareth. The Senator took a leisurely sip before speaking.

  “Is that all Paladin Levin has? The word of a scoundrel? I should think that is not nearly enough to form any sort of substantial case.”

  “No. He has more.”

  Mallowes frowned and ran a finger around the lip of his glass. “Please pardon me for this next question, but I’m afraid it must be asked at this point in the conversation. You did not, in fact,
have anything to do with Paladin Steiner-Davion’s death, did you?”

  Gareth recoiled as if hit. “No!” he said, loud enough to draw the attention of the few nearby diners. He dropped his voice again. “Of course not! How could you ask?”

  Mallowes patrician manner did not alter in the least. “Please, my boy, remain calm. I only ask so that I may have your word. Now that you have given it, I have utmost confidence in your innocence. What may I do to assist you?”

  “Do you know what will happen if Jonah decides to bring charges? Or even if he just decides to air his suspicions? I’m a new Paladin; most of The Republic knows nothing about me. Their first impression of me will be that I had something to do with Victor’s death! It’ll ruin me before I get anything done!”

  “We can’t have that.”

  “But I don’t know what to do about it. I’ve spoken with Levin, more than once, and he is intractable. He hasn’t believed a word I’ve said. With the election coming up, I think he’d only be too happy to bring me down in the eyes of the other Paladins.”

  “You mean to say Jonah Levin is actually playing politics?” Mallowes chuckled. “It’s about time. Most people don’t live in government as long as Levin has without being pulled into the game.”

  The Senator took another sip at his drink, then stared off past Gareth’s shoulder as if he were pondering the matter. Gareth was fairly certain, though, that the Senator already knew exactly what he was going to say next.

  “I may be able to help you,” Mallowes said finally. “I have a certain relationship with Paladin Levin—did you know I was involved in his appointment?”

  Gareth stifled a laugh. Mallowes was present when Jonah was made a Knight, but other than that he had nothing to do with the occasion. “Yes. I believe I have heard something like that.”

  “Our history runs back many years. Not as deep as yours and mine, of course, but substantial nonetheless. I may be able to persuade him to focus his investigation on a more likely suspect.”

  “You could do that?”

  “I’d consider it my duty. Paladin Levin should pursue the actual assassins, rather than waste his time on an innocent man like you.”

  “If you could do that . . . I don’t know how I could thank you enough.”

  “Thanks are not necessary. I hope you don’t mind my saying, but I have invested a substantial amount in your career and its success. I don’t wish to see you stymied at this juncture. Especially with the election coming up.”

  Now we get to the heart of it, Gareth thought.

  “Have you given more thought to the election?” Mallowes asked.

  “I’ve tried. Levin has made it difficult.”

  “At least he has probably helped make clear one person for whom you should not vote,” Mallowes said with a wolfish grin.

  Gareth managed a weak chuckle. “Yes. At least there’s that.”

  “Would you be willing to listen to my advice?”

  “After what you’ve offered to do for me? I’d be ungrateful not to.”

  “Quite so. I do not, at this point in time, wish to offer any specific names for your consideration. All I ask is that, when you vote, you remember the role of the Republican Senate.

  “Some of your fellow Paladins, unfortunately, seem to believe the Senate is a mere advisory body, one easily ignored. That is far from what Stone intended. Our families have ruled worlds far longer than Devlin Stone or anyone else, and our experience must be valued. We are to share power equally, even to the point of having a strong voice in military matters, a voice the Paladins have denied us.”

  I’m not sure that was truly what Stone intended, Gareth thought, but said nothing.

  “We must be given heed. One way or another, the Paladins will pay attention to the Senate. Either this election will put an Exarch in place who will be responsive to our needs, or, after the election, the Senate will pursue other avenues to ensure our place is maintained. Do you understand what I am saying?”

  “Yes. I believe I do.”

  “And can I count on your support in this?”

  “After all you’ve done for me, especially if you can change the course of Paladin Levin’s investigation, I’m certain you can count on my support in this and many other matters.”

  Mallowes leaned back in his chair, a man overly comfortable in his own skin. “I had hoped that would be the case. I knew my investment in you was well made.”

  “Thank you, Senator,” Gareth said, though the words almost stuck in his throat. It was difficult to express gratitude to a man who believed he had purchased your loyalty. “I’ll do all I can. I’m just . . . I can’t be certain it will be enough.”

  “My dear boy, I’m sure any effort you contribute to our cause will be more than sufficient.”

  “But I’m only one Paladin, one out of seventeen voting members of the council. I can’t make the council more responsive to the Senate by myself.”

  The Senator sat still, moving only a finger as he rubbed his glass. The waiter finally brought them their lunch (Gareth had learned that telling them to hurry made them much slower) and retreated after the steaming plates were laid to rest. Mallowes still seemed to be weighing something in his mind.

  Finally he came to a decision.

  “You will not be alone.”

  “I won’t?”

  “No.”

  “How can you know?”

  Mallowes allowed himself two bites of his lamb before he spoke. “I am not the only one in the Senate concerned about the current state of affairs. I am not the only one who has taken action to help us reclaim what is ours. Some of us became aware of the danger we were in a long time before The Republic got its rude awakening in the recent troubles. We’ve been involved with finding a solution to the leadership crisis for over a decade now.”

  “Doing what?”

  “We’ve tried various approaches,” Mallowes said. “The one that appears to be most successful involves working closely with military academies and MechWarrior training centers to develop appropriate educational programs and sponsor promising candidates for advancement. It’s slow work, nothing flashy, but as the overall quality of the pool of potential Knights gradually improves, so will the quality—eventually—of the Paladins and even of the Exarch.”

  Gareth willed himself not to become distracted by speculation on what Mallowes’ other, less successful operations might have been. He kept his voice steady, and even managed to inject a note of admiration into it as he said, “That’s . . . ambitious.”

  Mallowes looked modest. “It’s not a sudden, overnight change, but we believe it will be effective. We’ve planted seeds throughout The Republic, growing minds that understand the way the Sphere is supposed to be governed.”

  “The academy on Skye.”

  “One of our earliest efforts. And, despite the fact that you are an exemplary graduate, not our most successful. We sacrificed some control over the curriculum, and as a result it was not focused entirely correctly. Still, it is a good program and has generated several promising prospects—though none, of course, as promising as yourself.”

  Numbers flew through Gareth’s head. Numbers connected to names, some of which he knew, some of which he had never heard. But now he knew how all of them were connected. The money was the investment. The names were the candidates. The list Victor Steiner-Davion had created, the list that had gotten him killed, was a list of the people Mallowes and his associates intended to use to seize power in The Republic. And Gareth had been the first, and highest-placed, name on that list.

  He suddenly felt ill.

  When he spoke, he hoped his voice did not betray his disgust.

  “It seems like a risky plan. How can simply providing an education guarantee loyalty?”

  “As I said, we have learned much since we opened the academy on Skye,” Mallowes said. “Then, we thought gratitude would be enough. We were, unfortunately, naive. Our program is better run now. Those we have groomed fully understand
the extent of their debt, and have the proper education so they properly support our cause.”

  “Proper education” sounded, in this sense, like “brain-washing” to Gareth. He couldn’t imagine what kind of schools Mallowes was funding now.

  “There are dozens, even hundreds, of candidates out there now, rising through the ranks. We have a newly elected Senator. We have several Knights of the Sphere. And now, thanks to your exemplary loyalty, we have a Paladin. Our strength can no longer be denied.”

  Gareth shook his head in honest amazement. “I had no idea.”

  “The Republic has grown too soft. We have had it too easy. The era of Devlin Stone was like a dream, and we all must now wake up and face reality. It’s time people remembered the families who governed them for so long. It’s time we were given our due.” A raspy note entered Mallowes’ voice as his tone became more strident. “Many of your associates are not prepared to do that. Victor Steiner-Davion was not. I am. You are. This will be our time.”

  “Not if Jonah Levin has his way. Not if he keeps coming after me.”

  “He will not. One way or another, Jonah Levin will not have any effect on you, or on tomorrow’s election.” Mallowes stood, leaving a mostly unfinished lunch. “I will see to that myself.”

  50

  Office of Paladin Jonah Levin, Geneva

  Terra, Prefecture X

  19 December 3134

  Jonah Levin became more comfortable with his upcoming performance when he remembered that, in many battles, a lot of the key work involved theatrics. Making a show of strength to convince your opponents you had greater numbers than you actually possessed, feinting one way then moving your entire force another, sending a damaged unit out alone as bait then ambushing anyone who tried to take advantage of it—all of these involved misdirection, even showmanship. Those tactics weren’t really that different from what he was about to attempt.

  Only he had to use words, not ’Mechs, and they weren’t his weapon of choice.

  Senator Mallowes had been in Jonah’s reception area for six and a half minutes, and Jonah, using a small camera, had watched him every second. Mallowes had sat for six minutes, the model of statesmanlike decorum. His impatience, though, eventually got the best of him, and he had stood, made a quick circuit around the small room, then sat still once again. Jonah could almost see Mallowes’ knuckles whiten as he held his knees tightly.