“And you figure that makes you ready to begin gathering real power?”
“Don’t you?”
He leaned back in his chair. His gaze riveted on Juno’s determined features, he said, “Angeli, you’ve done your job well. Now give us the room, please.”
Wordlessly she got up and left. As the door slid closed behind her, Forrand continued, “The answer to your question is, it depends on how much you’re willing to give up.”
“I’ve already walked away from my name, my past, and my family. What else is there for me to lose?”
“Your privacy, for one thing. Anyone who begins climbing the ladder of power comes under close scrutiny from every direction. Those above you will be watching your progress, alert to anything that might threaten their own position. Those below you will be waiting patiently for you to misstep so they can pull you down. And your peers will be constantly looking for ways to latch onto your coattails. Think back to our first conversation about this. I told you that power comes at a price, and that it will always be higher than you expect. I also told you that killing off Olivia Townsend would be the easy part of the payment. Consider carefully, Juno, because once I put you on that ladder there will be no turning back. You’ll have no privacy, no real friends, and very little personal life. And you can forget about having children.”
“You mean I can forget about acknowledging them,” she cut in tartly.
“Angeli told you?” he said, scowling for effect.
“She didn’t have to. I’m Eligible, remember? I figured it out.”
“My point is, any emotional relationships that you form must remain secret, and that’s a lot harder to achieve than you think. I know this from experience, Juno. The safest thing is to avoid them completely.”
“Is that why you failed to bring down the Relocation Authority? Someone found out about one of your emotional attachments and used it against you?”
“No, it’s something else I learned the hard way,” he said with a sigh. “Political power comes with its own restrictions. The higher you go, the more hemmed in you are by constitutional law, and the more closely your actions are monitored to ensure you stay within bounds. I’m at the top of the political hierarchy in Americas right now, with everyone and their brother-in-law gunning for my job. I chair the Regional High Council, hold a seat on the Earth High Council, and am on the executive board of the Earth Relocation Authority.” He paused to let this last part sink in, nodding affirmation when her eyes widened with astonishment. “You heard right, angel. When I was younger, I honestly believed that the way to change something as large as a government agency was to get inside it and pull some strings. So, I set my sights on a seat on the board and worked my way up the ladder. Now here I am, trapped in the big machine, with less power to act than I had years ago when I was the Chief Adjudicator for New Chicago.”
“But you can still pull strings.”
“Yes, as long as I’m careful not to pull too hard, or on too many at once.”
Remembering what Angeli had said about Veggieville, Juno added thoughtfully, “You can give preferential treatment to people as long as you don’t get caught. If you do, your ability to help them is cut off, leaving them worse off than they were before you got involved. That’s why you had to let Drew lose his Eligibility when he broke the law. You couldn’t risk drawing attention to everything else you were doing for us. And that’s why you’re looking for a protégée, isn’t it? You need somebody on the outside, pulling strings that you can’t touch without giving yourself away.” She inhaled sharply as the realization hit her. “Because you’re still determined to dismantle the Relocation Authority!”
“Smart girl. Now you have an important decision to make, Juno.”
“I’ve made it. I’m in,” she declared.
“This kind of change doesn’t happen overnight,” he warned her. “You’ve got years of study and preparation ahead of you. You’ll have to claw your way up that ladder — and stop, before you fall into the same trap as I’m in. You’ll have to stay focused on the goal at all times without letting anyone find out what it is. You can’t let yourself be distracted from it by emotional issues, either. So, no dating. Are you absolutely certain you want to do this?”
She rose from her chair and leaned across his desk. “Do you want my help or not? I’m only asking because you seem bent on talking me out of it.”
He gave her a smile. “I do. Welcome to the shooting gallery. Before we get down to business, do you have any questions?”
“I’m sure you’ve taken care of all the details, Mister Supreme Adjudicator. But I do have one request. I want to be kept up to date about my parents and my brother. You’ve said I can’t contact them,” she continued, “and I won’t. But I know you’ve been tracking them. Now I want to track them too.”
“Tell me, is this the deal-breaker?”
She shrugged. “Not really. Eventually I would find a way to access the information on my own. But it would make our working relationship much smoother if you agreed to share it with me now.”
“All right, then. We have a deal. Do you trust me, Juno?”
“As much as I need to.”
“Very wise. How much do you know about your namesake, Adam Vargas?”
“I know that the Reorganization was his idea. He redrew the political map of the Earth, beginning around 2180 C.E.”
“He did much more than that,” said Forrand. “In the ‘dark age’ following the pandemic of 2172, Adam Vargas came out of nowhere and gained control of the Earth High Council. He was able to cut through the chaos, carving the planet into political unions and dividing each political union into its various districts. Then he funneled every available resource into finding and colonizing other planets. At the same time, he expanded the powers of the Relocation Authority, giving it a mandate to screen and classify the entire Human population into two categories: space-going and planet-bound.”
“Eligible and Ineligible.”
“Exactly. Adam Vargas didn’t create the Relocation Authority. It was already there. He just turned it into a very large, very cruel machine. And you and I are going to lead the movement that will force the dismantling of that machine. We’ll need to keep a certain amount of distance between us in case someone gets lucky and hits the target on my back. If the Reformation hasn’t begun before I die, I’ll make sure you have what you require to continue working toward it, that’s a promise. And, quite appropriately, a second Vargas will bring down what the first Vargas put in place nearly two hundred years ago.”
PART II
THE BETRAYALS OF BARRY NOVAK
EARTH, 2399 C.E.
Barry Novak (b. 2355 – d. unknown) was one of the leaders of the Reformation Movement that seized power on Earth following the Battle of Daisy Hub in 2402 C.E. Little is known of his early life, although available records indicate that he played an active role in the establishment and running of the black ops organization known as the Earth Intelligence Service. He was a registered passenger on the arrow-class vessel, Liberty, captained by Gael Dedrick, that disappeared while en route to Earth’s meeting with the Galactic High Council in 2417 C.E.
— Sic Transit Terra, An Unauthorized Planetary History
(2673 C.E.)
CHAPTER 7
“So, Townsend pulled it off?” Barry Novak commented, easing himself into the chair closest to Melville Ridout’s desk. The Chief of Security for New Chicago had put on some weight since their last face-to-face meeting, Novak couldn’t help noticing. District Council officials obviously ate well.
Ridout pulled an ice-packed wine bottle and four stemmed glasses from a drawer, then arranged them carefully in the middle of his antique desk blotter. “Don’t sound so surprised,” he chided his visitor. “We chose the right man and trained him well. I’ve already sent the gatecast confirming his appointment to the post of station manager on Dais
y Hub. The Space Installation Authority isn’t happy about it, but it’s a done deal.”
“What about the murder investigation he was supposed to be conducting?”
“Closed, and the records have been sealed indefinitely. Officially, the death has been ruled accidental.”
A shame, mused Novak. Townsend’s predecessor had been a good station manager. It wouldn’t have taken much to turn him into an asset. But Madame Vargas had ignored their advice — as she usually did — and ordered the hit anyway.
“Are you making any progress in the Patel matter?” Ridout asked.
“We know who didn’t kill him, and that’s something, I guess,” Novak replied carefully. “But it’s going to take a lot more digging to get to the bottom of this.”
“Well, I have complete confidence in you and your team — which, if I may remind you, we also chose and trained well.”
Novak smiled thinly in response. As Chief Operations Officer of the Earth Intelligence Service, he commanded every agent in the field; but his team had always been — would always be — the original Warrior Kings crew, and “we” hadn’t even existed when he’d become their leader.
He looked up as a third person strolled through the Chief of Security’s doorway.
“You’re right on time, Doctor,” Ridout greeted him. “We’re celebrating.”
Nayo Naguchi, officially reborn fifteen years earlier as Doctor Randall Chin but happily answering to both names, settled himself into the indicated guest chair. The scientist was whip-thin, with ancient eyes set in an ageless face. (“Make me look inscrutable,” he’d reportedly instructed the plastic surgeon while picking his new identity.)
“So I hear,” Naguchi remarked. “I also hear that my old nemesis Nestor Quan has resurfaced.”
“On Riviera Hub,” said Novak. Meeting and holding Ridout’s gaze, he added, “I’ve issued standing orders to all operatives to terminate him on sight. He won’t be a problem much longer.”
Ridout raised both eyebrows, then dropped them into a scowl and shook his head. Novak nodded his own in reply. She’d told them she wanted Quan captured and interrogated. Too bad.
Ignoring the byplay, Naguchi smiled faintly and said, “Good. It took Marion a long time to accept my death. I’d hate to have to rise from my grave to deal with this.”
“Speaking of rising from graves, how is the erstwhile Captain Bonelli doing?” Ridout inquired. He probably thought he was diverting the conversation; but for Barry Novak it always ended up in the same place.
Bonelli and Novak had grown up together on the streets of New Chicago. Street justice was simple — pay it back with interest. Quan had attempted to murder Bonelli. In fact, as far as the population database was concerned, he’d succeeded. Therefore, Quan had to die. Dennis Forrand had known and accepted Novak’s priorities when recruiting him, and the two men had worked well together, building a secret organization that had operated smoothly for more than twenty Earth years. True, things had begun sliding sideways lately. But that would be corrected soon.
“Bonelli is recovering nicely,” said Naguchi. “Marion did an exemplary job of putting him back together. Of course, I expected no less from my star student.”
A rustling sound in the anteroom drew everyone’s attention to the doorway, and a moment later the fourth and final member of their group stepped into Ridout’s office.
The other three sprang to their feet.
“Madame Chief Adjudicator, we’re honored that you could join us,” said Ridout.
Juno Vargas gave them a regal nod of acknowledgment before taking the seat that Novak had vacated for her. “I’m always glad to help celebrate the successful conclusion of a long-term project like Daisy Hub,” she responded. “How soon before they can be activated?”
“Based on the reports, we estimate one Earth year before we can begin giving them level one assignments,” Novak told her. “They’ll need another year after that to properly consolidate their own defense systems.”
“So,” she said thoughtfully, “in another two years we can begin setting things in motion here on Earth. The Reformation is right on schedule, gentlemen. That is something to drink to.”
At her signal, Ridout busied himself uncorking the wine.
Novak’s wristcomm buzzed. He had remained standing in anticipation of this call. Now he moved toward the door, waving off Ridout’s offer of a glass of rosé. Feeling the pressure of Madame Vargas’s cool gray stare, Novak pinned a disarming smile on his face and said with a shrug, “Some of us do have businesses to run, and mine doesn’t close up at six. My apologies, but this could be a client emergency.” He almost added a reminder that his clientele included every member of the New Chicago Security Council, but thought better of it.
Novak stepped into the anteroom. He waited for the conversation to resume behind him, then turned on his earpiece. “Go ahead.”
The taut, tremulous voice on the other side of the connection belonged to the evening receptionist at SecuriTech’s storefront office. “There’s a man here who says you’re expecting him. He says his name is Trager.”
“Give him a java and ask him to sit. Then page DeWitt. He’ll know what to do. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Weighing his options, Novak decided to return and have the glass of wine. DeWitt had been instructed earlier about this particular visitor. Trager would be safe in the clean room with him for the extra fifteen minutes, and there was no point in raising Madame Vargas’s hackles — or her suspicions — any higher than they already were.
Novak harbored no illusions on that score. They’d been butting heads ever since Forrand had made her the EIS’s Chief Intelligence Officer, so she’d come to expect a certain amount of pushback from him. However, the woman was not a fool. Forrand had purposely put Novak and Vargas in positions of equal power, trusting that the balance of yin and yang working together would be enough to keep the organization on course once its founder was gone. He obviously hadn’t considered the possibility that Juno Vargas might have an agenda of her own. From the moment she had unveiled her grand plan, she had to know that Novak would be preparing countermeasures. The best he could hope for was to keep her guessing about their specifics.
— «» —
The streets were dark and the receptionist had already gone home by the time Novak strode past her desk at SecuriTech Systems Inc. He pushed through a set of glass doors and marched briskly along a wainscoted corridor decorated to look like part of the old hotel that had once occupied this site: diamond-patterned carpeting on the floor, walnut boards and white stucco sharing the walls, and round-domed light bulbs in sconces mounted two meters apart all up and down the hall.
The antique appearance was just for show. In fact, SecuriTech dealt in cutting-edge surveillance and encryption technology, installed first and foremost on its own premises. Every door locked and unlocked using a combination of voice and thumbprint recognition. Every room was outfitted with concealed securecams recording everything that happened within it.
Every room but one — the clean room.
Novak stepped through the door marked “Maintenance” and into a closet lined with open metal shelving stocked with tools and janitorial supplies. The shelf unit against the back wall was a holographic projection. He thrust his arm into it up to the elbow, found and pressed a concealed contact plate, then heard the subdued hum of a sliding panel. Seconds later he was in a place that only the original twelve Warrior Kings and a trusted handful of their associates even knew about.
The clean room at SecuriTech was a medium-sized office suite with some very special features. In addition to having a hidden entrance, it did not appear on any official building plans. It also contained no monitoring or surveillance devices of any kind, was equipped with state of the art “rogue technology” independent of the planet-wide InfoComm network, and was one of the three safest places in New
Chicago to hold a clandestine meeting. This was where Novak found Zane “Man Mountain” DeWitt standing over the individual who had earlier introduced himself to the receptionist as Trager.
Novak froze and stared in disbelief. Their visitor was sitting upright in one of the swivel chairs, his big hands clamped tightly over the ends of its arms as though bracing to launch him out of it. He was also covered with blood — his own. Trager looked as though someone had been using his head for knife-throwing practice. His face was etched with cuts, some of them deep and still oozing. His pale blond hair was spiked and matted with darkly drying blood from at least half a dozen scalp wounds. And someone with gory fingers had slapped an improvised patch over his right eye. Just imagining what it might be covering was enough to pull the taste of bile up the back of Novak’s throat. He gazed an accusing question at DeWitt.
“It wasn’t me, boss,” the other man replied. “He walked in looking like that. Nearly gave Ellie a heart attack. We’ve already disposed of his transportation and Sam is doctoring the surveillance vids. I was just about to get the first aid kit and fix him up.”
Disconcertingly, Trager smiled and leaned back in his seat. “This looks worse than it is. I had to sever my connections to the intellinet before attempting to contact you,” he explained in a matter-of-fact voice. “It’s a precaution in case we’re captured, so the enemy can’t backtrace the link to our headquarters. I’m afraid I frightened your receptionist. My apologies. But if I hadn’t disengaged from the net, they would have tracked me down and terminated me before I could give you this.”
He reached into his pocket, then turned his fist over and opened his bloodied fingers. Still trying to process the fact that all of Trager’s wounds — including the missing eye — were self-inflicted, Novak stared for a moment at the datawafer sitting in the palm of the other man’s hand.
“What is this?” he inquired.
“It’s what Bruni Patel was trying to bring you when they caught up to him. What I promised him I would deliver if he couldn’t.”
The Relativity Bomb Page 7