by S. J. Higbee
“It’s good to see you,” I said, as a sea of memories, both mine and Jessica’s, sluiced through me, leaving me weak-kneed.
Her slit-eyed hostility didn’t waver. “Wish I could say the same. I suppose blood will out, but I never thought you’d end up heading up a pack of hired thugs.”
So that’s how this is going to play out, is it? Sonja’s gonna be the saint she always wanted to be, while you’re painted as the cred-hugging gun-whore. She always was a two-faced piece of work! Under her fierce words, Jessica’s hurt betrayal flared through my head.
I’m guessing she planned this confrontation, hoping to wrong-foot me. Which wasn’t going to happen. The last five years had been fine training to lock looks with a former friend as if she was nothing more than another bleeding-heart nuisance. “Indeed. While you are wringing your hands over rapists and murderers, the true victims are still bleeding and dying.” I raised my eyebrows. “Is this your idea of justice?”
“Don’t you talk to me of justice!” her voice went shrill as her face reddened. “Since when did anyone in Basement Level ever get justice?” She put her hand on the Dregger’s shoulder. “Tell her what happened, Jax! Then she won’t have any excuse to say she didn’t know!”
He looked up at her, dumbly adoring. Before turning back to me with a more familiar scowl creasing his face, while the words dropped out of his mouth, “’Fore it all went down, we was talked at an’ told how we was treated like we was so much dross. Which ain’ so far from the truth, neither! Them’s that wouldn’t line up ʼlongside the rest’ve us was spaced. Didn’t take more’n a couple to bring all the rest round. An’ then we was drugged up on one’ve Norb’s special mixes…” the Dregger’s voice trailed away. “Can’t remember half’ve what went down, an’ that’s the truth. When we woke up. Properlike. Feelin’ sicker than a rabid rat. Norb an’ his new bes’ friend was long gone. An’ we was holed up back in Basemen’ – this time with hardly no food an’ water. An’ no way outta there. Just lef’ with the message. An’ a vid that told us wot to do next…” He flung himself back in the chair with a metallic rattle. “But you lot. You’ll line us up inna line stone-cold sober an’ blast us to bloody pieces. An’ tell yerselves you done a good job.”
“And that’s your justice! Those boys down there never had a chance. Not once your brother started stirring things up. Think about that when you order their deaths!” Sonja’s voice quivered with self-righteousness.
“I hope you didn’t have the faintest notion this riot was going to happen, Sonja. Because if you did, you’re implicated in this disgusting vileness. And if you’re all set to get angry and upset, why not spare a thought for the handful of survivors left with nothing? And the dead, who died begging and screaming for mercy that never came?” I stood up. This pair were wasting my time. I flicked off the screen, distantly disgusted that my hand was shaking.
*
Sitting on the platform, with the P’s insignia blazing out from all the walls, I was forcibly reminded why I hated these occasions so much. A cloud of auto-cams hovered around my head, their gnat-like whines setting my teeth on edge, along with the knowledge that they’d be streaming countless images of me gurning inanely. Meanwhile, the herd of journos seated in the gloom behind the bright lights searing my retinas were firing questions at me.
“What were your feelings when you realised what had happened on S.S. Hawking?”
“I was shocked and revolted. The savagery of the attack was terrible. Which is why we attempted to prevent it.”
“How long will the Peace and Prosperity Corps stay on the station and assist in the clean-up?”
“We have rounded up all the remaining culprits and taken them into custody. We are also in the process of providing emergency first aid and a feeding station for the victims. But as soon as our investigation is over, we have to withdraw.” I slowed my voice, hoping this particular part of the conference would be broadcast. After all, it was what I’d been pleading, persuading and cajoling with all the main planets, multi-planet mining corporations, maintenance and space stations in Sector Two to agree to… “Whether anyone likes it or not, we are the nearest thing to law and order Sector Two has. And in order to keep going, we need a regular income.”
“Are you seriously asking us to regard your mercenary outfit as a respectable force for law and order?”
I raised my hands. “Look around you. Who else is there since Earthcorp scuttled back to Homespace?”
“Your outfit no longer demanding protection money with menaces, then?”
I controlled my spike of anger at the journo’s sneering tone. “I’m afraid your information is seriously out of date. It’s years since that was part of our policy. Yes, we do ask for donations, because arms, shields and uniforms cost creds. Training people to withstand attack and cope in difficult situations costs creds. But threatening folks who don’t want to pay? No. We don’t behave like that.” I took a breath. “It would be ideal if organisations who want law and order could guarantee to pay a regular amount. In exchange, we could then provide a constant armed police force that would enforce their local laws.” I could repeat this stuff in my sleep. Why won’t these people see that’s the way to go?
Abruptly the questioning switched.
“Have you any leads as to where the ringleaders of this atrocity have fled to? And will you be hunting them down?”
“Of course. As much as we can.”
“How does it feel to know that your own brother is responsible for all this devastation?”
“Horrible. Of course. Is it a surprise? No. He was always the broken one.” The one who battered a kitten to death with a brick when he was only four… the one who systematically tortured his six-year-old brother and recorded it for his pleasure…
“He claims that you were the savage one. That you nearly killed him when he was a mere toddler. Is this true?”
I resisted the temptation to shred a nosewipe in my pocket. “He’d say anything to divert attention away from what he’s been doing. All I’ll say is, look at our actions. Since he took over Erato, he’s only left death and misery in his wake. Since I took over, I’ve devoted myself to making the Peace and Prosperity Corps a force to help those who cannot help themselves.”
“What’ll happen to the suspects you’ve discovered barricaded in Basement Level?” This from the sneering journo. “Will you be subjecting them to your merc outfit’s brand of justice?”
Your lot’ll blast me to the outer edges’ve the galaxy with no more thought than if I were a rat. The words of the Dregger zipped through my head – along with his trapped expression of helpless fury.
I took a breath. “We’ve been collecting evidence from station footage and the dead victims. This is taking a lot of time and effort. In the meantime, none of these people will be harmed in any way.”
Blayse Farmer gasped as the room erupted with a sudden babble of follow-up questions. But I’d come to the end of my airline. Muttering some excuse, I stood up and blundered out of the room, hoping that I hadn’t just run the P’s into a black hole.
CHAPTER SIX
“What were you thinking?” George wasn’t yelling, though it was close.
I, on the other hand, was yelling. Loudly. “If my views about how we dispense justice come as a big shock, then maybe it’s time you listened more to what I have to say!”
Don’t let him jab you into losing your temper.
I took a breath, trying to follow Jessica’s advice.
“Have you considered the cost of transporting nearly a hundred and fifty felons to Restormel? Keeping them apart, yet secure? How many creds it’s going to take to feed, clothe and care for them?” Diana’s soft voice was sorrowful, as if she was disappointed at my stupid wastefulness. Her reproach hit me with the force of a cargo-sled. She now ran Procurement, but back before I was Chief we were a tight team, working together to keep the department going after the previous director abruptly left in dire circumstances.
; “I don’t think we’ll need to bring them back here, at all,” I addressed my comments directly to her, hoping to win her over. Because if I can’t convince Diana then I’m out of the airlock. “I’ve been notified that Ceres, Hope and the maintenance stations Cornucopia and Pitstop are discussing contributing towards a unified justice system—ˮ
“Like that’ll happen!” snapped George. “We’ll be waiting for Mercury to reform before they shift themselves to do anything more than have discussions about discussions.”
Chairman Beck leaned forward, frowning. “Point of order, Councilman George Nova, please don’t interrupt the Chief again. At best, it’s rude. At worst, you are in violation of The Council’s rules. And given this Emergency Meeting was called at your behest, we need to follow procedure right down to the last comma.”
Logan Beck’s speaking up for me – I must be going star-crazed.
Don’t get too comfy, Lizzy. He’s just as desperate to be rid of you as George, but wants to ensure it’s done by the book. Jessica’s explanation certainly made more sense than the notion that Shadow Captain Logan Beck had become one of my supporters.
Once my declaration hit the journo-waves that we’d be bringing the prisoners back to Restormel, George all but went into meltdown, demanding this Council Emergency Meeting to declare a motion of No Confidence in my leadership of the Peace and Prosperity Corps. So I was immediately hauled back to Restormel on a fast cruiser to account for my actions and defend my position as Chief.
Why am I bothering to fight for the job? I hate it. Didn’t want it in the first place.
Get a grip, girl! You want out of the P’s – fine. Don’t let George get his sticky paws on the job, though. Because if he does, you won’t leave Restormel intact – you’ve got too much dirt on the scumbag.
And that had been the problem. I would have gladly walked away from the job years ago – but for the fact that I knew exactly what George would do the minute I stepped down. Murder me. What had prevented him from killing me so far was the fact that the P’s Enforcers would look very closely at his actions – and they were far more rigorous and interested in getting at the truth than in the days when General Norman ran the organisation. It was very bad PR for the leader of a mercenary band to be offed, because if they couldn’t keep their own Chief safe, what chance did they have of protecting anyone else? Which was why George and I had managed to successfully murder General Norman without getting caught – it was far too inconvenient for his apparent heart attack to be found to be a rare poison, after all. So no one enquired too deeply as to the cause when everything on the night looked like his augs had finally given out.
But an ex-leader of a mercenary band tended to have a very short life expectancy – I couldn’t think of anyone who had survived more than a few weeks. So it really, really mattered that I didn’t lose this vote…
Though, talking of heart attacks – George looked as if he was headed for one.
We can’t possibly be that lucky – though, something’s got him royally stirred up.
Number Two prided himself on always appearing composed, however right now his face was flushed and he was struggling to keep his voice level. I’d initially assumed it to be a shoddy act to highlight the seriousness of this issue, but having seen George in all sorts of situations over the years, I realised this was no performance. He was really upset.
Can I take advantage of his tantrum?
I took a breath and continued, “The P’s have been in the spotlight ever since things kicked off at Hawking and we simply can’t be seen to toss these Dreggers out’ve the nearest handy airlock. It sends the wrong message as to who we are, these days.”
As soon as I sat down, Number Two bounced back to his feet. “Ever since you took over, you’ve had this wrongheaded notion that we should be something else. Something other than a straightforward mercenary band. A band started a lifetime ago before you were even thought of!” George swallowed, evidently trying to get himself under control. “Some of us have devoted our whole lives to this organisation. And then you skip in and decide it should be changed!”
I stared at him. What’s going on?
“Trouble with you – it’s all about feelings, isn’t it? I suppose you got all sentimental over the way Tomas met his end. Vowed to yourself that the bilgetrash on Hawking responsible for wrecking a priceless piece of real estate and murdering hundreds of people should have the justice denied your man. Never mind that his geneless caper reflects badly on you. Never mind how it caused the Hawking Atrocity…”
“Tomas? Met his end? How’d you mean? Surely, he’s under arrest?”
Number Two leaned across his desk. “Under arrest? And you call yourself Chief! How could he possibly be under arrest after what he did? He’s gone! Something you should have realised was inevitable!”
Gone. Tomas’s dead… The wood-panelled walls, the marble floor tilted.
Don’t you keel over! Where’s your pride? This scumsac has taunted you about killing your man. Don’t you give him the satisfaction of fainting or weeping. You hear me?
I pulled myself upright. Mother Earth would turn red before I’d give George the satisfaction of seeing how badly I was hurting, so I addressed my reply to Chairman Beck, “For the record, I think Number Two will discover, once he gets a chance to look at the evidence we’ve amassed on Space Station Hawking, that it was Eddy Wright and his accomplices who were responsible for the vile crimes that took place…” Tomas is dead. I took a breath, suddenly at the end of my airline.
“I move that we adjourn for a lunch break, Chairman,” Diana’s voice crashed across the pent silence draping the Council Chamber. “We won’t be able to deal with these vital matters if we’re all trancing off because we’re starving.”
Or because the man in my life is dead. I kept quiet, knowing if I buckled Jessica would have far too much to say about it.
Chairman Beck rapped his gavel. The sharp noise seemed to rebound around the room. Around my head. “We’ll resume this Emergency Meeting in an hour and a half.”
I nodded to the Council members, thought about attempting a smile. And discarded the notion. Don’t think I’ll ever smile again.
As I marched up the never-ending aisle leading to the grand double doors, I heard Diana’s voice ring around the Chamber, “I’ve always suspected it, George Nova…” Her chair scraped across the hard surface. “Now it’s official. You really are a worthless piece of shit!” Her footsteps rapped out a staccato beat of fury as she stormed out of the Council Chamber behind me.
I wasn’t up to coping with Diana’s sympathy. Or anyone else’s. I accelerated, my escort falling in around me. Teresa took my arm, I think. They steered me back to my apartment, opened the door and ushered me through it.
I stumbled into the bedroom. The room that Tomas and I had shared. I paced up and down, trying to sort out my thoughts. I’d been mourning the loss of Tomas ever since I walked away from him in the interrogation suite that morning, a lifetime ago. I knew there was no way he and I could still be together after what he’d done. Apart from anything else, I couldn’t trust him. Not after he’d been caught rootling through my files and P’s passcodings.
But this! It never occurred to me that he’d not survive this episode. In retrospect, a naive oversight, given George’s track record for tidying away General Norman’s indiscretions. With a sick jolt, I realised this was probably the reason why The Council had agreed to let me accompany the P’s to Hawking. They wanted me out of the way so they could void Tomas without any fuss.
Wonder if Norman ever woke up to find one of his bedwarmers had been disposed of without his yaysay by his ever-faithful Number Two? Although Tomas meant far more to me than merely warming my bed…
No. Don’t go there, Lizzy. Not yet. Now isn’t the time for grieving. Now is the time to ensure that when you walk away from the P’s, Number Two is not in charge. Now is the time for revenge. Jessica had never trusted George, even back when we were allies in tryin
g to prevent the P’s from being ripped apart. She always maintained that his major skill was offing his victim in a sneak attack – both figuratively and literally.
You’ll probably have me down as some stone-hearted witchbitch for not weeping for Tomas that day. Or for a long time after. Looking back, I think most of my grief was eaten up by anger. Not just directed at George, but against myself. Every single person who became close to me ended up dead or damaged in some way and the list was depressingly long… Jessica, Wynn, Luke, Romeo, Fina, Rick, Norman. Alisha, my former best friend, had recently been widowed – and now Tomas. What had possessed me to allow him into my life in the first place?
We don’t have time for this particular miserypit. Besides, there’s only one person on that list you actually killed. And there’s a whole bunch of folks dotted around Restormel who count themselves as your friend, who are all upright and breathing without any grief sullying their airspace. Your trouble is that you tend to take all the world’s woes on your shoulders. Apart from anything else, there’s a lot of Chief stuff stacking up that you need to attend to. When was the last time you opened up your coms? Right now you need to keep up with what’s happening. And a cup of that muck you insist on drinking wouldn’t come amiss, either.
I hated it when Jessica went all bracing on me. However, I sat at my workdesk and opened up the journofeed, intending to scan it quickly before sending David a private message about the mess unfolding here. Until I started reading.
What! No… they never have! Surely this journo has been tripping on some kind’ve mind-chem…With shaking fingers, I fumbled at the feed and flicked through all the other journoflashes and articles. Sure enough, they were all running with the same lead, apart from the sport channels giving the updates on the latest placings in the Zipper Champion League. I stared at the headlines…
NEW JUSTICE ALLIANCE IN SECTOR TWO ANNOUNCED
ENOUGH IS ENOUGH – WAR ON PIRATES!