by Tobias Roote
Vargo wasn’t their leader without good reason. He was sharp as an Exodorian night-hunter and as fast as razor-ferret. He had single-handedly fought the corporation assassins on the night before their exodus to their secret planet. The corporations had sent two-hundred assassins to remove the quorum’s members, but unbeknown to their enemies, the elders had already moved to their awaiting ships before the attack on their homes and bases. Strangely, only Vargo and his sons were still on-hand to deal with the small group of mercenaries that invaded his fortress villa on Terristorius. While his sons were handling an attack at the front of the villa, ten assassins had been airlifted in over the walls and had dropped into Vargo’s personal garden.
The attack was repelled and when his sons had returned, Vargo was standing bleeding from many wounds, with his head bowed and a bloodied ceremonial swafa, a long sword with barbed edges in one hand and a burned left arm from over-exerting his electric defences. The assassins, all of them, were dead, and scorched or decapitated.
He’d spent two days slumped in the presence of the ship’s generators before his strength had returned. The depletion of electricity from his system had left his usual dark skin almost transparent. Even now, when he was angered, the smell of burning flesh was the first thing that people noticed and it was always taken as a warning. Without ever needing to kill again, Vargo had established a reputation that nobody would ever test, not even Simas who dearly wanted to be in control, but had to play second fiddle to the great warrior.
Elder Shallon rose from her seat. “Will you two stop sparring ? You would think that after all this time your boyhood charm would have worked itself out of your systems.” She seated herself and looked around at the others.
None of them would come between these two fiery leaders, but all of them had at one time or another been on the receiving end of old Simas and some even hinted at a calling out by Vargo to settle the bad feeling once and for all. It wouldn’t happen though, as much as these two men fought against each other constantly, it did provoke vigilance within the elder quorum and some even believed it was a façade to keep the adrenalin going and maintain a productive group. None would ever believe it was due to anything other than rivalry, but they would be wrong.
Vargo secretly harboured doubts about Simas, who was the only one who knew Vargo would be at the villa through the period of the resettlement. He and his eldest son, Dalt, alone knew that at the time of the attempt on his life, Simas was entertaining three corporation heads and promising a change in policy shortly that would give them a clear run at the Empire.
Both of them knew the extent of Simas’ duplicity and the time would come when they would settle the score, but that wasn’t today and Vargo sighed and smiled at Shallon. The woman always stepped between them, unafraid of either and prepared to take them both on if need be. He loved her like a sister, but would never let her know it because that would place her in danger.
Vargo leaned back and placed his hands outstretched on the table. He wanted to appear reasonable and the first step was to give an outward impression of being confident and relaxed. Inside he was seething and trying to hold onto his electrical charge’s desire to seep. In another time or place he would blast Simos, but his ability to maintain his outward neutral appearance meant he would hold it until the moment came when he didn’t need to any more.
Simas smiled inwardly, he knew he’d scored a blow. He could see the tells on Vargo’s cheek, teeth grinding. He had intended to do more, but he absolutely had to appear just edgy, if the quorum thought for a second he was trying to undermine their authority they would have him removed and spaced in a matter of seconds. Not one of the twelve had risen to their position by being liberal and weak-minded. They had all fought hard to get here and fought even harder to belong. He would lose in a moment if he didn’t handle things just right. He gathered himself, but instead of attacking he used the focus to dampen his ardour for power.
“Vargo, I understand your desire to move forward. I’m just saying that in my view there is time to put long-term plans into place before we make our move. We already know the Empire is keen to avoid a confrontation. They have no stomach for war. We just need to be certain the corporations are in no position to fight back. My sources tell me there is much going on in their ranks at the present and they are spoiling for a confrontation with the Alliance of Worlds. We can’t afford to be dragged into that battle without being fully prepared.”
Elder Shallon leaned forward to get a better view of Simas, “Are you saying the AWA is going to be attacked ? They are our allies. Why would you not want to support them in any military action ?”
Vargo interceded, “We know there is something going on and it has to do with what they have uncovered in the Archon sector. We are trying to get more information on that as we meet here today. I have forwarded a request for one of our undercover agents to be reassigned to Archon to investigate.” He eyed everyone at the table in an effort to sound reasonable. Something in what Simas had said sent alarm bells ringing and he needed to get to the bottom of that quickly.
Trent, the quiet elder who rarely spoke up, but had a good thinking head on him decided to speak. It was normal for each to say their piece uninterrupted and Trent just coughed politely until he had the floor. “I believe that both Vargo and Simas are close to the matter. Evidently there is something happening and if the Core are preparing for a confrontation with our allies we should know exactly why. We need to send out a bulletin to all sleepers and get some valid data on the situation. At the very least we must warn the directors at AW Command of a potential problem.” He leaned back.
Simas jumped in a little too quickly. “I can get word to the directors of AW Command at close of this meeting,” he responded trying to sound casual, but failing, probably forgetting that they had centuries of working together so knew each other’s mannerisms.
Vargo’s eyebrow raised at this snippet, and Shallon wasn’t slow to notice it either, but said nothing. She would work out what was going on, but not here, not under the eyes of the others. Shallon was a digger and she had plenty of tools to help her. Something wasn’t right about this meeting. There were undercurrents that weren’t normally so near the surface. She wondered why. If Simas knew the threat was there why hadn’t he warned them beforehand. She glanced across at him and was surprised to see him looking at her. Inwardly she paled, it didn’t pay to be in his focus when there were unknowns floating around. She would have to be extra vigilant.
Vargo decided that he needed to quietly press ahead with his own agenda before it was overtaken by other events. He moved the meeting onto the other elders all of whom had reports to add to the current state of play in the Empire. He noted the mood of the others as subdued. All had picked up on Simas and Vargo’s exchange and were troubled. Vargo caught the eye of Frenton, an ally in most instances. The raised eyebrows and cool look told Vargo there was concern there too.
They might have been working together for centuries, but being human, were always subject to different agendas and had views that altered over the years. Most had no desire to see anything change and that included within the movement. The Dispersalistas were a very rich organisation, they had their own planets, properties and ranches, mineral rights and industries that fed both the corporations and the Empire. If nothing happened they would continue to live a very comfortable existence. Some like Simas felt that they should expand their operations, but a few still held to the old ways and with longevity being what it is, they weren’t inclined to change without good cause. They were allies of Vargo, but were also subject to their own pressures and weaknesses. He would have to watch his step over the next few months.
He felt the change in the air and shivered as he left the security of the corridor and made his way to his shuttle. Change was in the air, but seeing as the air in here was sterile and manufactured by machines in the depth of the station Vargo realised deep down that what he was feeling was more of a premonition.
&
nbsp; Private Shuttle, Exodus Station
As he entered his private shuttle Frey, his secretary was waiting inside and pulled him into the secure area so that he could speak with him without fear of being overheard.
“Sir, there is a problem in the Archon sector, we believe there might be an attempt to obliterate a possible ‘mutant event’ by the corporations.”
“Which corporation owns that sector ?”
“ENCIO, sir.”
“Grell ! That’s the worst of the lot,” Vargo growled angrily.
“Pilot, take us home,” he called through the shuttle corridor. He was impatient to get away from here where Simas’ proximity aggravated his desire for vengeance. He felt the pressure as the outer airlock closed and the atmosphere replaced with ship air.
“Who do we have available that we can we send in ?” he asked his secretary while holding onto the railing as the shuttle accelerated smoothly away from the station.
“They’re going to be expecting us to try, sir. If we send someone it should be one of the undercover agents,” Frey informed him quietly.
“So, who do we have ?” Vargo asked impatiently.
“I believe there is only one capable and within actionable distance of Archon,” he dissembled, then seeing Vargo’s look of anger building quickly he added, “Philus Grady, sir he’s the only one we can use right now, but we’d have to pipe it through his superiors at the AWA. If we go direct we’d have to prove we didn’t set the whole thing up, whereas the AWA could investigate under the auspices of a mutant colony discovery,” the secretary finished.
Vargo thought about that for a moment. Grady was one of their best. He’d seen plenty of action in the last few years. He would be the ideal agent, thoroughly experienced and the advanced training had put him ahead of many of the others. He silently agreed that his secretary’s choice was a good one. He still looked nervous though, and Vargo caught it wondering what was still bothering him.
“What’s the matter ?” he growled more upset at his secretary than he intended to be.
“We’ve also been advised that the Corporation might be making a move on the AWA. We believe they are trying to ensure no investigation of Archon will occur. It might just be a diversion, but one of our agents in Core says that a battle fleet is being sent to Fording Station in a pre-emptive move,” the secretary took a breath. “There’s more, sir,” he added quickly.
“Go on, Frey. Spit it out, man,” Vargo said, already concerned at the bombshells dropped so far and needing the rest of the news so he could decide on what needed doing.
“Sir, it may be nothing, but when I did a search on Grady’s current whereabouts on the database, other communications were highlighted. It seems that he’s coming off a mission and has been diverted to Simos Station by the AWA. There’s no representation there as far as we know so we’re wondering why there. There’s also another inter-ship conversation we intercepted where Grady’s name came up along with his current destination,” Frey breathed out as he delivered the final bit of news.
“Hmmh ! Good work, Frey, pass my congratulations back to the team,” He patted his secretary on the back as they moved to the seating area where they could strap in for planetary landfall.
“Why were the ships discussing Grady ?” he wondered out loud.
“I think they were hunters, sir. They might have been friends of Grady, but I didn’t get that impression from the little we intercepted. More likely they were planning something else,” his secretary added as if an afterthought.
Vargo was impressed with his secretary, “Frey, you could be right, and I don’t like the sound of any of it. What are the chances of all this being connected.”
“I would say most definitely, sir,” Frey nodded after a short pause.
Vargo nodded approvingly as he clicked on his encrypted communications link and began to send out instructions to his teams.
Chapter Four
Fording Station, Gamma Quadrant
The asset negotiated the building’s outer ledge where the modular construction of the apartment floor was welded to the ceiling of the level beneath. He turned slightly and looked down from a height of over four hundred and fifty feet, noting his heartbeat rise slightly as he imagined falling off and flying through the air to create a smudge on the pavement below. It should have been nerve-wracking, but it wasn’t exactly a dangerous activity with the slightly lower gravity, the lack of wind as well as the magnetic boot attachments. Plus, here on the outskirts of the station’s perimeter there was little in the way of air-car traffic to distract him.
There were no other buildings of the same height as the executive penthouse he was traversing so it was easy to reach his entry point without being seen. If he was discovered the security would laser him to a cooked state from a distance, so there was no margin for error, and the guards were ordered to adhere to a strict STK policy. So ‘Shoot To Kill’ was what they did. However, he had it on very good authority that the planners of this little mission had ensured that no traffic or patrols would be by here in the next ten minutes. He wouldn’t need that long to gain entry.
He leaned his head back to look at the sky-shield oblivious to the risk of missing his footing. The shield that retained the station’s atmosphere was especially adapted to provide the impression of night and day, but without sunshine. He had never actually seen sunshine so didn’t miss its absence. He did observe the presence of maintenance crawlers, tiny specks in the distant sky, that spent their short mechanical lives polishing and repairing the shields. He also noted the larger hovering automated systems carrying transparent panes of material that would converge on any large holes created by space debris. Designed to provide instant plugs that would eventually be invisibly repaired, the system worked. In his eight hundred and thirty five days here there had been hundreds of strikes, but never a serious loss of atmospheric pressure. There were laser systems orbiting the station to vaporise most inbound threats, but their effectiveness was not 100%, hence the bots.
He looked back down at the ledge he was standing on. He’d been mentally idling, so checked the time. He was a few minutes early, but that was accounted for and shouldn’t affect the plan at all. They’d allowed for the target’s movements down to the second, and he was a creature of habit. He knew the truth of that because he was cut from identical cloth.
A few more minutes of shuffling brought him to a tall window frame set into the wall, its recess gave him more room to manoeuvre. Bending his knees while keeping his back to the wall, he hunkered down and his fingers found and tested the latch. Finding it open, as planned, he pulled outward gently.
The frame moved silently up on its smooth hinge providing him with sufficient space to enter the building through the gap. Slipping quietly within, he pulled the window closed behind him, then removed the magnetic over-shoes which were no longer required, pushing them discreetly behind a furniture item that had been conveniently placed close to the window.
A ticking noise sounded. He’d been expecting it, the AI was giving a coded alarm to the inhabitant advising there was a possible intrusion. Under different circumstances the AI would take more positive action, but as anticipated it was confused by his presence.
The asset spoke in a low voice ; strong enough for the AI to hear, but low enough not to carry beyond the room.
“Set aside protocol ‘internal-sec-four’ : substitute ‘open-sec-two’ for ninety seconds : authorisation code neg-four-four-three-nine,” he ordered. The ticking noise ceased as the AI silently complied. It would now ignore his presence and everything that occurred within the apartment for the next ninety seconds. Thereafter, it would reset and accept the new status quo.
Removing the small pack that fitted flush to his back, he peeled it open and pulled out a thin-beamed laser. The silver-coated exo-plasmic weapon would be transparent to security systems. It was a ‘fit in the hand’ weapon designed for close-up work, but this one had been modified to use a special elect
ronic signal interrupt which fired the laser at irregular intervals of up to a tenth of a second. This ensured that the AI sensors placed throughout the apartment would be unable to recognise it as a weapon signature when discharged.
He reminded himself of the internal layout through the apartment. Then, when his breathing slowed and his eyesight had adjusted to the dimmer interior of the apartment, he made his way through the back study where he had entered and down the short corridor to the bathroom. He knew exactly where his routine-conscious target would be – in the shower. Highly unusual for space, this particular apartment had the luxury of real running water, not ultrasound or vapour-wave, but Real. Hot. Water.
Pushing open the swing door he stepped quietly into the room facing a cubicle at the end twelve feet from the door. His target’s presence was confirmed by the steam rising and the moving shadow behind the modesty screen. He waited patiently. It had to be a perfect shot and it would be possible for the target to see his shadow through the screen and react if he moved closer. He needed the screen open and a clear line of sight.
As the silent pumps began sucking the last of the water and vapour away, a hot air blower kicked in drying the wet body and hair. Sixty seconds later the screen swung aside to reveal a naked and well-built middle-aged male with a shock of brown hair still fluffed up from the driers, preparing to step out onto the dry floor.
The shock of seeing someone in his bathroom aiming a gun at him kept him immobile long enough for the asset to ascertain this was his target. ‘No mess’ was the stipulation, so laser was preferred with the smallest wound possible. The target smiled uncertainly as though recognising something ironic, but it was already too late as a tiny hole appeared in the middle of his forehead.
The asset released the trigger quickly, not wanting the laser to penetrate through to the other side of the target’s head. It was over in less than a second. As the target slumped to the floor of the shower, the asset walked closer to ascertain the man was indeed deceased. There was to be no room for doubt ; absolute certainty was paramount.