“I’m still not sure about this,” confessed Darracott. “But if you’re going to do it, do it well, my friend,”
“I will.” Maxon smiled and kissed her on the cheek. “And when I return home, I will bring you an empire.”
Thirty minutes later, the First Consul’s motorcade traveled along the streets of the capital on its return to Koenig Manor. Darracott stared numbly out the window as a voice came over Colonel Flood’s communicator. “Stopping at the next intersection, ma’am. Emergency vehicle coming through in front of us.”
“Copy that,” acknowledged Flood.
The limousine halted in front of the Ministry of Trade building. In a square in front of the main entrance was a freestanding e-board. It displayed a montage of images of the First Consul. Under the pictures of the Sarissan leader were the words ‘When the Union Calls, I Will Answer—Will You?’ It was a reprise of a campaign slogan she had once used. Darracott watched herself as the images looped through, playing again and again.
As the groundcar resumed movement, she continued to stare out the window. She had lost control. It was all going off the rails, and she had no idea how to stop it, or even if she should. Thousands, perhaps millions, of people’s lives were on the line, and she was clueless.
As if reading her thoughts, Ardith Flood reached over and clasped her hand.
“It will be all right, ma’am, you’ll see,” said Flood in a soft voice. “When this is all over, you will be known as the greatest leader in Union history.” Darracott forced a smile and squeezed Flood’s hand tightly.
Or the last leader in Union history…
11: Cardea
Narvan Freighter Pyramus
Hyperspace
As a collector and connoisseur of antiques, Frank Carr should have loved the Pyramus. The freighter was certainly old and most likely one of a kind, since most ships of this class had been scrapped years ago. It served the purpose however. The chore was to get to Cardea, and they were only three days out now. Once there, they would meet up with the rental contact under temporary employment of the OMI and grab a starliner to Gerrha.
As for Sanchez, she wasn’t any more impressed with the vessel than Carr was. Even she admitted they were traveling on the one ship in the universe she might not be able to fly. Sanchez most likely wasn’t going to get the opportunity to try, considering she had been confined to her cabin for the rest of the voyage.
“I think ‘confined’ is such an ugly word,” she said, taking the soy sandwich and cup of coffee Carr had just delivered. “Let’s say it was the skipper’s ‘request’ that I remain in my, eh, suite.” The cabin was all of maybe six square meters and not for the claustrophobic.
Carr sat down on the cot next to her. “That’s what you get for assaulting a crewman.”
“I didn’t assault him,” she insisted. “I gave him a choice—he could remove his hand from my butt or have it broken.”
“Maybe he didn’t hear you.”
“He heard,” she said sipping what was supposed to be coffee.
Carr smiled as he relaxed against the bulkhead, eyes closed. “I suppose I should count myself fortunate that all of my bones are intact.”
With his eyes closed, he didn’t see her reaction, but immediately wished he hadn’t made the jest. It recalled the days when their relationship was something more than friendship, and he didn’t want her to think that he was hinting at anything.
“Well, it’s not like staying in this cabin is worse than being anyplace else on this rust bucket,” she said, oblivious to his reference—or purposely ignoring it. There was silence as she ate, and after a couple of bites, she tossed the remainder of the sandwich aside. The cuisine on the Pyramus, like so many other things about the ship, was not a strong selling point for traveling among stars on merchant vessels.
Carr opened his eyes. “Etta, help me with something,” he said crossing his arms in a contemplative look. “When we free Doctor Acree—”
“If we free Doctor Acree,” she said.
“When we free him,” Carr began again, “this whole business of hauling him back to Sarissa instead of taking him straight to Earth. Anything about that strike you as—I don’t know, odd?”
Sanchez pondered a moment. “Well, it pisses me off a little, I suppose.”
“How so?”
“It seems to me the Director is implying that we can’t get him back to his own people safely. Hell, if—and it’s a big if—if we can break him away from the Gerrhans, getting him to Earth should be the easy part.”
Carr uncrossed his arms, raised his hands, interlaced his fingers and rested them on the top of his clean-shaven head. “I suppose so.”
Sanchez knew the look. Carr had something rattling around in his brain, one of his funny feelings. “Out with it,” she said.
“I have another possible answer. What if the OMI wants us to fetch Acree back to Sarissa so the Union can have a go at his secrets?”
Sanchez ran her fingers through her hair. “Wow, Frank—that’s dark, even for you. Why would we do that? It would certainly mean the end of the Earth alliance.”
“Not if the Earthers didn’t know,” he said. “They could tell Prime Minister Jones his father was dead, or that the Gerrhans still had him. As far as the ‘why,’ I’m still working on that. Maybe our people figure we’ve got all the scientific goodies from Earth that they’re willing to share. Or maybe…” Carr wiped his hands down over his face and rested them in his lap. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just being paranoid.”
He decided not to share the other matter with her: the brief but disturbing exchange between himself and Tolbert regarding what should happen to Acree if they failed to free him. That would remain with Carr alone for the time being.
“So this rental, this guy we’re meeting in Cardea,” said Sanchez in a move to change the subject, “Essua Maldonado. You ever work with him before?”
OMI rentals were often contracts taken out with organized crime groups. In their own peculiar way, there was a certain reliability to these people. Once bought, they tended to stay bought until the job was done—it was a strange sort of code of honor. In return, the OMI helped the crime lords with certain ‘projects,’ as long as they weren’t operating in Union space. Generally, it was a beneficial relationship for both parties.
“Yes, I’ve worked with him, but not for a while. By the way, nobody calls him Essua—he goes by Lucky. He’s solid.”
“It said in the briefing file that he’s with the Black Dove syndicate. He may be solid, but he’s still a criminal,” countered Sanchez.
“Yeah, but he’s our criminal, at least for the next few weeks. I think you’ll like him. He’s originally from Quijano.”
“That so,” said Sanchez lightening up a bit. “Is he a looker?”
“He’s not your type.”
“You always say that about other guys. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”
He almost blurted out what he didn’t want to admit even to himself, but stopped before saying anything. Leaning back against the bulkhead and closing his eyes again, he simply smiled. “Just telling you, he’s not your type.”
* * * *
Days later, the Pyramus translated into the Denebola system and proceeded on course for planet Cardea. The Narvan League cargo ship was a G-class vessel, which meant it was small enough to set down directly at the spaceport outside the Cardean capital. Despite being aboard for a while now, Carr still didn’t know what cargo the small freighter carried and wasn’t sure he wanted to. Like everything else related to Cardea, the payload of the Pyramus was probably shady at best.
Upon disembarking, the pair inhaled their first fresh air in over two weeks—and it reeked. There was some sort of foul odor, which they later discovered was the smell of a malfunctioning sewage treatment plant located next to the spaceport. Sanchez took a deep breath. “Welcome to Cardea—dung heap of the universe.”
“We’re only going to be here overni
ght,” Carr said. “Don’t get too attached to the place.”
From there, it only went downhill. Cardea was just as underwhelming as advertised. Carr had been here several times, but this was Sanchez’s first visit. They made their way toward customs, walking through a rundown terminal building that looked like it may have welcomed the very first settlers to the planet over three centuries ago.
They didn’t get far until they were assaulted—by beggars, who surrounded them before they got to the customs station. Most were children. Carr explained that the guards allowed them into this area as long as they split their daily take with the folks in uniform. The crush around them got so bad that Carr tossed some cash onto the floor to draw the unfortunates away so that he and Sanchez could proceed to the counter. The poor wretches fought amongst themselves for the money, much to the amusement of the security guards, who were going to get most of the cash before the day was done anyway.
“Travel docs,” said a bored customs woman at the kiosk. Corruption was so widespread in Cardea that the savvy traveler cut through the informal parleys and simply handed over a bribe along with their passport and other documentation. The woman accepted the money gracefully, but only after Carr gave her a firm look that meant she wasn’t getting any more.
“That would have gotten you both a year in a detention center back home,” said Sanchez under her breath as they walked away.
“Welcome to opposite world,” he replied, moving to fend off more beggars.
They caught a taxi to downtown Apula, the Cardean capital. Most starholds would have had modern tramways from the spaceport into the city, but construction of such things on Cardea was seen as a luxury the royal family and nobles couldn’t afford—it would cut into their graft.
On the ride to town, they saw what seemed to be endless miles of slums in all directions. Here and there amidst the squalor, Netscreens and e-boards popped up, mounted conspicuously on tall pillars. Many of them flashed the smiling faces of the King and the royal family, literally looking down on their subjects. For the impoverished citizens it was a constant and eerie reminder of who their masters were.
King Radomir and his ancestors had ruled this starhold for generations. Radomir himself was known behind his back as “King Twenty Percent,” because nothing in Cardea got the go-ahead until after His Highness took his customary cut. That money was then used to finance his outrageously lavish lifestyle and the military force which sustained it.
Arriving downtown, things were slightly more modern. There were tall buildings, trams, shops, restaurants—and soldiers with guns on every street corner. Cardeans themselves were a jumble of ethnicities just like the people of any other starhold. Browns, whites, blacks, Asians, Africans, Europeans, and others all mixed in together. When the Diaspora of Humankind took place in the twenty-third century, it was a helter-skelter exodus without regard to race or nationality. Each planet settled and every starhold established became a cocktail of humanity.
Under normal circumstances, OMI operatives might crash at the Union embassy if they were only staying for a single night, but war did not make for normal circumstances. The embassy was sure to be under the watchful eyes of Gerrhan agents. Since they wanted to keep their presence here a secret, the embassy was off-limits. So were hotels, at least here in Apula. Few Cardeans could afford a hotel room, so they were almost exclusively frequented by foreigners. A hotel stay now would attract too much unwanted attention. The irony was that when they got to Gerrha, the heart of enemy territory, it would be much safer to stay in a hotel.
Sanchez and Carr made their way to the Cafe Noroc, the designated rendezvous point for their meeting with the rental, Maldonado. The establishment was off the beaten path, and the Sarissan operatives sat in the back of the dining room to keep a low profile. The main danger during their brief Cardean layover was the local secret police. The Okhrana, as they were called, were ruthless and among the few people in this society who could not be bribed.
Enjoying their first good meal in a while, Sanchez was savoring her second cup of coffee as the two of them waited for their contact. “You know, this is a nice little place,” she said between sips.
Carr nodded. “There are a lot of nice places on Cardea, you just have to know where to look. If we had more time, I would take you to a great club over on the—”
“Frankie!” bellowed a voice from behind them. Sanchez almost spit out a mouthful of coffee in a mixture of surprise and amusement. In the time she had known Carr, she had never heard anyone call him “Frankie.”
The man approached the table and extended a hand. He was in his early-thirties with a husky form and curly black hair. Carr stood to greet him, and as they shook hands, the man gave a quick glance toward Sanchez and favored her with an affable smile.
“Lucky Maldonado, meet my friend, Etta Sanchez,” Carr said as he looked around to see if the meeting was drawing any unusual interest. Unfortunately, it was. A lean blond boy was watching intently as he loitered near the back door, the one that Lucky must have used to enter the cafe.
As the men sat down, Maldonado couldn’t take his eyes off Sanchez. “Oh, Frankie! To have such beautiful friends. The last time we worked together, it was just you and me. I think I’m going to like this assignment much better,” Lucky smiled. “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Sanchez.”
She was about to return his greeting when a surprised expression came across Maldonado’s face. “Sanchez. Your name is Sanchez?” he asked in a language Carr barely recognized. In the days before the Diaspora, it was known as Spanish.
“You wouldn’t happen to speak the Old Tongue, would you?” asked Lucky.
Sanchez concentrated to form a response. “Just a little. My grandmother taught me some when I was young, but I’ve forgotten most of it.”
“Still, your answer shows you haven’t forgotten everything,” he said with a genial expression.
Sanchez smiled widely. “And Frankie said you wouldn’t be my type,” she gushed, teasing Carr.
Her OMI colleague wasn’t smiling though. He was quietly glancing around and wearing a worried expression. “Lucky, are you sure you weren’t followed here?” he asked Maldonado. “Because we are definitely being eyed up.” Carr gave a slight head bob in the direction of the thin boy, who was still lurking near the back door.
Maldonado dismissed Carr’s concern with a wave of his hand. “A friend.”
“A friend?” asked Carr in an edgy voice.
“Yes, a very good friend.” Lucky beckoned the boy to the table, a move that prompted Carr to look at Sanchez and roll his eyes.
The young man looked to be in his early twenties. He was thin and fair-skinned with hair so unnaturally blond it surely had to have been dyed that color. His face possessed gentle, feminine features, and was noticeably tense.
“Hi, I’m Julian,” said the boy in a soft voice as he sat down.
The Sarissans nodded politely and turned to Maldonado. “He’s with me,” the smiling man said.
Carr’s eyes fixed on Lucky. “What do you mean, he’s with you?”
Maldonado reached down to grasp the young man’s hand. “He’s my boyfriend. I promised him he could come to Gerrha with us.”
“Lucky,” said Carr tautly, “this isn’t a double date.”
“Calm down, it will be all right. Couples are always less suspicious when traveling, and besides, I promised him.” Maldonado squeezed the boy’s hand. “Frankie, if you loved someone, could you honestly leave them behind on Cardea?”
Carr was steamed, but it was a fair question. This society was a cesspool he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. “Why don’t you two go over to the counter and get something to drink. Sanchez and I need to talk,” Carr said.
It took Maldonado a beat for things to sink in. “Oh, sure, sure. Julian, let’s go grab ourselves a couple of beers. Our two friends need a minute,” said Lucky, patting Carr on the back as he rose from his seat. As the two strolled over to the order counter, Carr and Sanchez
turned to each other.
“You sure know how to pick them,” she said in an amused voice.
“I didn’t pick him—Tolbert did.”
She raised a hand conceding the point. “Well, what are we going to do? This boy is going to muddle things up.”
“Maybe not,” said Carr. “Lucky’s right about the travel stuff—couples never get the scrutiny a single person gets. Also, since it’s obvious these two are lovers, we have to assume the boy knows everything. If we try to dump him, the kid could make trouble for us before we get off-world tomorrow.”
“A scorned young lover running to the authorities,” thought Sanchez aloud. “Yeah, we don’t need that.”
Lucky and Julian returned to the table with a round of Hiwassee Pales, both sporting hopeful expressions. Carr thought Maldonado looked like a child asking his parents if he could keep a puppy.
“All right,” relented Carr. Turning to Julian, he added, “But you need to do what you’re told and without question, or we dump you on the spot.” The boy smiled and eagerly nodded in agreement.
“What’s the deal for tonight?” asked Sanchez.
“Ah! You two will be staying with one of my cousins,” chirped Maldonado, clearly pleased his colleagues weren’t going to balk on Julian. “We leave at nine o’clock tomorrow morning on a Galbanese starliner. Another cousin has booked you into a nice hotel in Beresford. You’re going to be a brother and sister, art dealers from Galba on a buying trip to the big city.”
“Art dealers,” mused Carr.
Maldonado grinned. “I knew that would appeal to you.”
“And the real brother and sister?” asked Sanchez.
“Died last month in a groundcar accident,” answered Lucky. “I’m told that OMI hack teams went into the central Galbanese database to alter the pics and info. Such a pleasure doing business with professionals—you Sarissans really know how to play this game.”
The Rampant Storm Page 9