by O. J. Lowe
“Do you seek revenge or justice,” Anne inquired mildly. “Wiping out the Suns will not solve the problem here. It will cause more problems than it solves, if anything. They do keep some semblance of order in Vazara. Without them, it’d be war in the streets of every major city.”
“That’s true,” Lysa said. “I recently spent some time there. It’s not uncommon to see a couple of Sun units in every city. They’re probably the biggest employer in the kingdom. Going to war with them would be a messy affair. If we got rid of them, Nwakili would struggle to keep the same semblance of order on his lonesome.”
“What we do,” Derenko said. “Is a messy business. Sometimes it isn’t but always remember, we are required to make hard decisions.”
“And sometimes,” Leclerc added. “We have to make the smart ones. I agree with Anne on this. I don’t think it’s a fight we can win. And the negative publicity would be a nightmare. Especially in Vazara.”
“And we’d be in trouble if we tied up a lot of resources dealing with them,” Aldiss said. “I’d recommend caution. Maybe negotiate with them. See if we can make a deal with them to give up whoever paid them for the attack.”
“Because they’re so likely to be openly honest and welcoming with that information?” Noorland asked sarcastically.
“You can ask nicely, you know,” Anne said. “At least do that before immediately going for Plan B. They might cooperate.”
“With the greatest of respect, Anne,” Derenko said. “Sometimes I think you don’t have the stomach for this job.”
Anne said nothing, just smiled at him, a tight little smile that started at and finished with her mouth. “Isn’t it funny,” Lysa said. “Whenever someone uses the words with the greatest respect, they’re about to show you as little as possible.” It was Derenko’s turn to display a smile that lacked for any emotion.
“Vassily,” Anne said. “I don’t need a stomach for my job, I prefer to use my brain. It makes things so much easier, I suggest you try it sometimes.”
Lysa smirked at that. Noorland and Leclerc joined her in her amusement, both chuckling under their breath.
“For the very least, I think we should try negotiation first,” Leclerc said. “I mean, not all our HAX’s went down.”
Aldiss blinked at that. “Excuse me?”
“He’s right,” Noorland said. “We got the satellite imagery for that entire area during the engagement, we have radar readouts, thermal imagery and the telemetrics from those that did go down. Captain Wolfmeyer did manage to transmit before he was shot down. We’ve even considered sending an investigative team out to study the wreckages, but it’s over a fifty-mile patch of ocean and it might be a while before we get them all found. But the long and short of the matter is, there’s two HAX’s unaccounted for. Ross Navarro and Alexandra Nkolou. They weren’t shot down, they just vanished into thin air.”
“There were reports of a rider with a vos lak entering the field of play,” Leclerc added. “Any of you know anything about those?”
“They’re rare,” Lysa said. “I’ve not seen one for a long time.”
“They’re extinct, aren’t they?” Noorland asked. “That was my impression. It’s not really my field of expertise.”
“I suppose,” Anne offered. “You’d probably be better asking Wade about that.”
“Shame he’s in a medical coma,” Derenko said. “Or we would.”
“I knew a guy who had one,” Aldiss said. “But I doubt it’s him. He has kinda a solid alibi for it.”
“Yeah?” Noorland asked, sounding more than a little offhand about it. “You sure? Because that’d make things easier if it were him.”
“Not unless he’s gone massively off the rails. Plus, he used to be one of us.”
“Am I the only one not missing the point here?” Anne asked. “These two HAX’s… How’d they even vanish anyway? Our ships aren’t fitted with cloaking devices, right?”
“Some are,” Leclerc said. “But none of these were. Doesn’t mean something else wasn’t though.”
“That’d be my guess,” Noorland said. “We have fourteen odd enemy ships, six HAX’s on screen and one vos lak which shows up as a large unidentified object. Nothing else. Not on our radar, not on our thermals, nothing else.”
“So, if something grabbed them, it was something we couldn’t see,” Derenko said.
“An old interceptor?” Aldiss asked. “Do they even still make those?”
“Not wholesale,” Lysa said. “I wonder if the Suns have one.”
“It’s more a pirate thing than a mercenary thing,” Noorland replied. “But’s it’s not impossible.”
“It’d definitely be something worth checking out though, I think,” Anne said. “There you go, Vassily, something for you to bring to the director.” She picked up her cup and drained the contents. It tasted lukewarm and sweet against her taste buds. “Looks like you might get your action against the Suns after all.”
“I don’t want this,” Derenko said. “But I think it is necessary. We can’t let this action stand. We’re supposed to have a truce with the Suns.”
That was news to Lysa. “What?!”
“Yeah. They don’t go after us; we don’t go after them unless they dip their hands in the dirt. Then they’re asking for it.”
“Didn’t Nick and Dave kill some Suns not long back?” Noorland asked. “Maybe it’s a revenge killing.”
Derenko didn’t look convinced. “Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, there’s only one way we’re about to find out, I think.”
Unbelievable.
He had an in after all the wondering about how best to interrogate Darren Maddley. The trick was getting information from someone without them realising they were giving you the information you wanted. Of course, if he showed up and started assuming small talk then they’d work out something was up, unless the witness was a congenital idiot. And they tended not to make the best people to ask.
In this instance, he had Sharon to thank for the excuse. She’d told him about the message apologising and Nick had jumped on it. It was only polite, he’d said, to go over there and thank him in person. She’d taken a bit of bringing around but that was then and this was now. They’d found themselves outside his room and mentally he was congratulating himself on his ingenuity as he rapped on the door, grinning at Sharon.
“Still don’t see why you’re making such a big deal about this,” she said, a little sulkier than he found attractive.
“Hey, it’s only polite,” Nick said. “You’d appreciate it as well, wouldn’t you?”
“I wouldn’t have started an argument with someone if they beat me on the battlefield.”
“That’s because you’re unbeatable,” he quipped. She blushed a little at that and punched him lightly on the arm. He could have caught her blow before it met him but there was no need for it.
“I’m not though, am I?” she said. “Stop spreading that rumour about me… Hey you hear about Wade?”
“Course I heard about Wade,” Nick said. I was there when he got injured. “I went to see him earlier. Still in a medical coma. They were sorting out his burns when I went up.”
“Poor bastard,” she said, just as the door opened and Darren Maddley peered out through a crack between rim and door. He didn’t look a well man, Nick had to admit. Small wonder. Last time he’d seen him, he looked like he’d been about to piss himself with fear.
“Who is it?” he asked. He didn’t sound well either.
“Darren, it’s Sharon Arventino,” Sharon said. Nick hid a snort. Not like he doesn’t recognise you, love, given the argument you had earlier. “Can we come in?”
The door slammed shut, only for a moment. He caught the sound of chains being removed and that puzzled him. Apparently, this hotel was more security-conscious than his own. Eventually it opened all the way and Maddley stood there, eyes a little red and bloodshot. His hair looked wild and he smelled like he hadn’t taken a shower for a while. Sweat and fear, as
well as the odour of something probably suitable overpriced from the minibar in the room.
“What do you two want?” he asked, his voice thick and slurred.
“Just wanted to…” Sharon started to say, before halting, running an eye over him. A manicured brow furrowed as if she was trying to work something out. Nick had already known what to expect. Maddley’s part in the whole thing was thankfully being downplayed by the media. Their priority had been the destruction of the ICCC building, the ineptitude of Unisco agents and the injury of Wade Wallerington. Darren Maddley had been mentioned only once briefly towards the end of the article. No surprise Sharon had missed it. He might have, had he not been looking for it. “What happened to you?”
“Don’t want to talk about it,” he said. “What do you want?!” This time it came out bluntly and Nick wondered if maybe he’d overreached with his cunning genius. He’d gotten them in, it wouldn’t be any good if Darren refused to talk to them. That would insert a dent for sure.
“I wanted to thank you for the apology,” Sharon said. “It takes a man to realise when they’re in the wrong and say sorry. Truly. I want to look you in the eyes and offer you my respect. Sometimes it’s not enough to be a great spirit caller. Sometimes it’s better to be a good person as well. Your father would be proud of you.”
For a moment, he thought Darren was going to slam the door in their faces again. Yet Nick was to be surprised again, it would seem.
“It’s no problem,” he said. “I was out of order. I didn’t want my family legacy to be like that. I’m the last of the Maddley’s. I nearly died the other day. It got me thinking.”
Nick seized his chance. “You nearly died? Do tell.”
He nodded. “Some crazy woman on a… Think it was called a taccaridon, I’ve only seen pictures of them…
“They’re extinct, aren’t they?” Sharon interrupted. Nick cursed silently, although he had to agree he had heard the same thing. Darren glared at her.
“Apparently not.” He couldn’t hide the sarcasm. Nick couldn’t blame him. He’d seen the spirit in question and it did look like a taccaridon. “But yeah, this woman, she was insane. She wanted to recruit me for some quest. Some babble about a new world and how she was going to rule over it. Wanted me to be part of her chosen people or something.”
“Takes all sorts, don’t it?” Sharon smiled. “What did you say?”
“Given she attacked me,” Darren said. “What do you think? Told her where to shove it, didn’t I? I know when I’m being manipulated. She was taking advantage of my moods to get me to go over. I don’t play for anyone’s tune.”
“She didn’t give you her name, did she?” Nick asked. That’d just be too much to hope for.
“Nah, but she looked a bit important. I got the impression she was wealthy. But the same time, I think she was quite disdainful about all this island and what was going on. It was weird.”
At the very least, he had some stuff to report. They’d stuck around for another fifteen minutes, Darren had invited them into a room that had probably been nice until very recently. For the moment, it looked like housekeeping hadn’t been let in for a while. They’d made small talk, Darren had mainly asked Sharon what she could remember about the famous bout she’d waged against his father and she’d been diplomatic over it. He’d tried to prise more out of him about his attacker but other than a vague description of long brown hair, about mid-forties and expensive clothes, which was marginally more than he’d managed to pass on himself, he’d been disappointed.
Still as they left, he couldn’t help but feel that he might have done more. They were further than they were at the start, but still something was going on here that immensely worried him. He didn’t have all the pieces. But when they came together, he got the feeling it wasn’t going to be good news.
Fortunately, it soon wouldn’t be his problem for the time being. He put an arm around Sharon’s shoulder and grinned. Off the clock for the next few weeks at least. So why did he feel so unsettled?
Chapter Thirty-Four. Secrets.
“If you have a price, then you’re willing to do a deal. Simple business economics. I find that you always, however, should make sure that the price and the product match up. Otherwise you’re going to end up with a very unhappy consumer. And an unhappy consumer is one who won’t come back. If they don’t come back, can’t take their credits from them. That is the simplest truth of them all.”
Christian Coppinger in his book, Credits! Truth and Myths.
The eighth day of Summerpeak.
Having medical webbing wrapped around your arm, Scott could attest to, was not a pleasant experience. The stuff, administered by a sour faced medic in a sweat soaked white uniform, clung tight at the cuts across his arms. Already it was closing them shut, sealing them up with its regenerative qualities and he knew the discomfort would last only a few minutes longer. It wasn’t the first time he’d been patched up with the stuff. Likely it wouldn’t be the last. Unfortunately, it was the best stuff going for treating injuries.
He couldn’t abide the smell in the medical room either, a horribly potent mix of the chemical and the biological. Despite the cooling air wafting through, the Vazaran medic had managed to sweat profusely, the smell getting to him. He tried to smile it out, make out it wasn’t bothering him and he could ignore the constriction in his arm but it was a losing battle. Slowly his grin faded and was replaced with the grimace of pain. The adrenaline of his victory was slowly trickling away out of his system leaving the remnants behind. Remnants that were painful and confusing.
As much as he relished the moments of the final round of his bout, he had the questions that he wasn’t sure how he could answer. If he approached it logically, then he’d been able to see things before they’d happened. Every movement Irrow had thrown against Palawi, he’d seen it and countered it without so much as breaking a sweat. Before Palawi had been swallowed, they had gotten through the round without taking a hit. Even after being swallowed whole, the most the pooch had suffered was being drenched in what passed for cavern crusher blood. Somehow, he doubted that was a pleasant experience but at the same time, it was better than being beaten, crushed, stomped, eaten, any of the above really that could have happened.
He glanced around, closed his eyes to try and cut out any sort of distractions. The medic wasn’t paying him any sort of attention now, thankfully, he had the chance for some scant privacy. In the heat of the moment, it had come to him, beyond his control and now he had no idea how to do it again. For several moments, he sat there, his mind wandering. About the only thing that came to him were thoughts about who he might face in the next round. He tried to blot them out. What had he been doing when they’d come to him before?
Okay, he’d been involved in the bout. He’d been heavily focused on victory… Maybe it was a connection with one of his spirits. Maybe Palawi had developed pre-cognition and he’d been getting a loopback from the dog. Maybe. It was, in theory, likely. A lot of things were possible in theory. At the same time, reality often didn’t match the possibility. It sounded absurd but there was a miniscule chance it might be the case. Or maybe, more likely, it was he that had done it.
But how? It felt like the most important question he might ever ask and even thinking it inside the confines of his head was enough to send echoes rippling through to the corners of his mind.
How. A small word but behind it, there was more than enough mystery to be getting on with. If he could do something like that then why had he never done it before? There’d been plenty of times when it would have benefited him…
Except he had. He remembered that dream all too well. That had turned out to be sort of true, an omen that he hadn’t ignored and thus been rewarded for. At the same time though, that had been a vague dream. These had been crystal clear images that had benefited the situation at hand. Every attack Irrow had thrown at Palawi he’d been able to foresee and react beforehand.
Wasn’t that cheating? That question
hung in his mind and he hesitated. Whether it was or not, he didn’t think it was. It wasn’t something he’d planned to do; he wasn’t even sure he could do it again if the situation required it. Therefore, not cheating. It felt a little hollow as he repeated that in his head.
One final effort to recreate it, one final failure and he got to his feet, tottered on the spot for a moment and then bent over double and spewed up the contents of his stomach.
Pete felt lousy.
Or at least he should have. He didn’t feel it physically, his body felt pretty good all things considered. Weary, taut from the actions that had preceded but still he felt satisfied physically. Mentally was quite another matter. Seeing Jess’s arm draped across his chest as she rested her head on the crook of his arm wasn’t something he ever thought he’d get used to. Maybe he wouldn’t have to. On the other hand, now he’d shot several loads into her and the clarity was returning to his mind, he had questions. Only the thought that he might not like the answers had stopped him from voicing them aloud. He wasn’t even sure if she was awake or not. He could see her back gently rising and falling as she breathed, her eyes weren’t open. Did she just not like to talk post sex or…
Scott would have known…
Oh Scott… Somehow, he had a feeling his friend might be… Well if not okay with it, he might not make a big thing about it. After all, he and Jess had broken up. It had been a pretty messy thing the way he’d gotten the read of it. Really messy. The sort of mess that meant he didn’t want to be suddenly in the firing line of it.
Yet at the same time, she knew what she was doing between the sheets. It was undoubtedly the best he’d had for a while, perhaps in his top five of all time. Seeing her like this was an experience, he’d never seen her look so at peace with herself. With her eyes closed and her gentle breathing, she looked so small and innocent.