Colonyside

by Michael Mammay

  The lack of oversight was interesting, but I latched on to the fact that the military hadn’t had anything to do with the mission. Oxendine was right. If they weren’t involved, what motive could they possibly have for a cover-up? I didn’t want to bias my thinking this early, but I couldn’t help but think of it as a really good alibi. But it led to another question: “If you weren’t part of the mission, why did you get tagged with the investigation?”

  “Convenient, isn’t it?” she said. “The governor is in charge, right up until the point where something goes wrong and my boss wants answers.”

  The military hadn’t been part of the mission, but Zentas suspected a cover-up. Those two things didn’t jibe. Did he think the investigation itself was flawed? I could look into that. For now, I had the commander, and it seemed like a waste not to ask more questions. “Six people disappearing—I get that it’s dangerous, but how common is that? I assume they were armed.”

  “They were. Disappearances aren’t common, but they’re not unprecedented. Last year we had twenty-three deaths and almost three hundred significant injuries outside of domes. On a civilian mission with contract security, I can’t speak to their training or ability.” Oxendine had a cut cigar sitting on her desk, unburned, and she glanced at it, but seemed to reject the thought of picking it up, instead refocusing her gaze on me.

  I could investigate that, too. Contract security teams recruited from wherever they could, which often included military washouts or people who couldn’t even get in. It wouldn’t take much to make me believe one of them had failed on a mission. But again, I couldn’t jump to conclusions.

  “This has been helpful, Ox. I won’t take up any more of your time. I’ll route any mundane requests through your Ops center and inform you personally if I think it’s something significant. Sound good?”

  “Absolutely. If I can help going forward, don’t hesitate to bring me in.”

  “Will do.”

  “And enjoy your dinner with the governor.” She smirked.

  “Right.”

  Chapter Four

  We rode to the governor’s residence in relative style, Mac driving us in an electric cart he had procured from somewhere. I appreciated it, because it was almost a kilometer away, and my robot foot was acting up a bit. Plus, we’d probably be standing around a lot at the reception–Fader had informed me that it was heavy hors d’oeuvres, not a dinner. She expected about forty attendees, which seemed like a lot for a small colony. I didn’t mind. The guest list might provide us some insight into the pecking order on Eccasis. Mac and Fader wore their dress uniforms. I opted for my best work suit from when I was back at VPC, which was a touch loose because my time on Ridia had taken a couple kilos off me. Ganos had declined my invitation, which reminded me that I needed to talk to her, and soon.

  The governor’s residence—mansion, really—didn’t have its own dome, but it didn’t exactly share a dome with the rest of the colony either. Mac drove our cart through a short, wide tunnel that created the illusion of being part of the same community while still limiting access. From a security perspective, the tunnel could be shut down in an emergency, which would be useful to those charged with protecting the governor.

  A small crowd of maybe twenty-five or so protesters had gathered on the steps. Two uniformed soldiers with batons stood in front of them, possibly holding them back, though the group didn’t appear to be straining to get free. It looked as if the guards and the group had a prearranged deal where they’d all stand there and pretend to be in conflict without any of the actual drama. When I pulled up, someone in the crowd shouted my name. Boos followed, then a few shouts, which escalated to cursing before I made it to the steps. They started to inch forward, pushing toward me, but the two soldiers jumped into action, holding them back with only a modicum of effort. I ignored the crowd. I’d been protested by bigger and more boisterous groups. I had standards.

  Two additional guards at the top of the stairs—these ones armed—ignored the commotion and checked Fader’s and my identities with a thumb pad. Mac went to park the cart and would catch up to us inside. I didn’t need him for something like this, but if he had to attend, he might as well eat the governor’s fancy food. Fader positioned herself half a step behind me to my left as we walked through the double doors. Heads turned throughout the large entryway, though conversations continued, perhaps a little hushed. They probably didn’t get new people very often, and I’d certainly qualify as a novelty, even if people didn’t know my history. Most of them probably did. The natural flow of things carried us into a large room with a polished wood floor. If I didn’t know better, I’d have called it a ballroom. But nobody held balls on a colony like Eccasis. At least I hoped not.

  A tall, light-skinned man with dark hair and a strong chin approached us, spreading his arms slightly at his hips in a weird but welcoming gesture. “Colonel Butler! I’m Governor Patinchak. So good of you to join us tonight.”

  “Please, call me Carl.” I held out my hand for him to shake it and he took it in both hands, squeezing slightly. It surprised me a little that he was younger than me—maybe forty. I’d seen a picture, but in person it became much more apparent.

  “It’s an honor to have you here on Eccasis. I trust that everything has been acceptable so far?”

  “More than acceptable. The accommodations are first-rate. Thank you, Governor.” I didn’t think telling him that I found my quarters ridiculous would get us off to a good start.

  “Only the best for our most important guest.” From anyone else the continuous flattery would have been obsequious, but the governor sounded so sincere that somehow it worked. “I’m going to leave you for a bit so that my guests don’t feel neglected, but I’d like to make time to talk privately for a few moments later in the evening.”

  “Of course, Governor.”

  Fader caught my attention as he moved away. “Sir, a few key people you should know. The woman over there in the blue.” She gestured vaguely, not enough to where anyone could tell who she indicated. “That’s Martha Stroud, head of the Eccasis mission for Caliber, which is—”

  “The leading mining and development company in this part of the galaxy and the company for which Xyla Redstone worked,” I finished.

  “Yes, sir. And the short man in the next group to her left is Dante Farric, head of the EPV in the colony.” Eco-Protection Volunteers. A well-funded nonprofit that tried to stop human imposition onto the ecologies of new planets. Farric was, in General Oxendine’s parlance, the “head greenie.”

  “Seems like an odd mix, though General Oxendine mentioned that the governor was friendly with both sides.” As I said it, the governor slid into the group of five around Farric and gave him a big smile as he took his hand in the same two-handed grip in which he’d taken mine just a moment prior.

  “The lady in the dark green—”

  “That’s good, Captain Fader. Thanks.” She could likely name everyone who mattered at the party and probably had a paragraph’s worth of information on each of them. But I didn’t need all that now—it would just distract me. “Why don’t you give me some space? I’m going to visit the bar.” I also had no doubt that everyone in the room who mattered knew who I was, and that they’d approach me if I gave them the chance, which meant getting away from Fader and her uniform. I wish I’d thought to explain that to her before we arrived, because the look on her face said I’d hurt her feelings. “I want to see who comes to talk to me. You mingle and see what you can hear.”

  She schooled her face to neutral. “Yes, sir.”

  I weaved my way through people to a temporary bar set up in the corner. Mac caught my eye on the way. He stood with his back to a wall, surveying the crowd as if someone might jump out and attack me right there, causing people to give him a wide berth. He gave me a slight nod, which I returned as I approached a short, pale woman with broad shoulders and a ponytail tending the bar. “What sort of whiskey do you have?”

  “We have a Ferra
Three eight-year single malt,” she offered.

  “Perfect,” I said. It wasn’t the fifteen-year that I’d brought with me, but it was an excellent pour to find in an out-of-the-way colony. The governor lived well. I wound aimlessly through the room with my drink, condensation forming on the outside of the glass from the ice. The governor had moved to Stroud’s group, so I avoided that and angled toward Farric. As I approached, someone spoke a little too loudly, and I heard “ex-military asshole.” I turned away, trying to look natural. I know when I’m not welcome. I was saved the embarrassment of standing alone, because no sooner had I stopped moving than a parade of men and women came up to introduce themselves. Government officials, industry executives, a few scientists, and others where I didn’t catch their jobs or titles filed by and shook my hand. None spent more than a minute or two, and all seemed friendly. If they had agendas, they didn’t come out during that short time. It almost felt rehearsed, like they had a planned welcoming routine.

  Stroud made her way to me after the rest had cleared, and nobody queued behind her. I wondered if that timing was also planned. Up close, she had wrinkles around her eyes, and I put her age around sixty, though from the grip of her handshake, I figured she might be a match for me in the gym. “It’s good to meet you, Colonel Butler. I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Call me Carl. I wish I could say I was glad to be here.” I smiled, to make sure that she got the trite joke.

  “Alas. We all have our callings, and your misfortune is, hopefully, our gain.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  “Our operations have been slowed significantly for the past three months, since the incident.”

  The incident. Interesting terminology. “How come? I was led to believe the military conducted an investigation. Things should have gone back to normal after that, right?”

  “One would think,” she said. “But . . . other influences have used the situation to create delays based on false safety concerns, and with you on the way, the governor was convinced to wait for the additional investigation.” Other influences. That tracked with what Oxendine had told me about the capriciousness of the governor’s decisions.

  “People did disappear. That hardly seems like a false concern.”

  “They did,” she admitted. “But it’s a dangerous business. We lose an average of about two a month, which is why we pay our explorers so well. They know the risks. It’s unfortunate, of course, but it’s also inevitable on these kinds of missions. Sometimes people die.”

  I understood the sentiment. Shit, I’d lived it, making the same kinds of calculations and decisions. But it still struck me as callous. “I’ll work as quickly as I can.”

  “If there’s anything we can do to speed your work, please let us know.”

  “There is one thing you could help with. What company—or companies—have the most to gain here on Eccasis if Caliber has problems?”

  Her eyes lit up a bit at the question and her face softened, perhaps in approval, as she considered her answer. “Honestly, none. We’re either in different spaces in the market or we’re strategic partners. The restrictions on us hurt all the companies working here.”

  So much for that easy possibility. Still, it was good to rule it out. “Thanks. I’ll work as fast as I can.”

  “The first report was very conclusive,” she said, almost as if she wanted me to sign off on it right then. That seemed odd, given that Zentas himself had asked for me to come. Regardless, I couldn’t promise her an outcome—any outcome—until I knew more about the situation.

  Stroud left me, and a minute later Dante Farric took her place. He was several centimeters shorter than me and had a bushy, light brown beard that he groomed to look just a little unkempt. He held a half-full glass of red wine and didn’t offer me his hand, so I didn’t offer him mine. He carried tension in his shoulders, and his eyes darted back and forth; something about that told me we probably wouldn’t get along. “Mr. Butler,” he said, the words sounding almost like they caused him physical pain.

  “Mr. Farric.”

  “You know who I am.” Not a question.

  “And you know who I am.” I have this thing where if someone is being a dick, I naturally respond in kind. Some people would probably call that a flaw. Whatever.

  “Of course I know who you are. You’re the biggest mass murderer in the history of the galaxy.”

  That was certainly debatable, depending on which history books you read. Sadly, it takes a lot to be the biggest killer ever. But I forgave him the hyperbole. He made his point and it didn’t bother me. For whatever reason, people thought pointing out something like that would draw a reaction, but it couldn’t. I knew my own sins far better than they did. But I didn’t feel the need to share any of that with Farric.

  “Sure.” I let the silence between us linger until it became awkward.

  Farric broke first. “What brings you to this fine colony? Is there some species that needs murdering? Perhaps some fusion weapons that need firing?”

  I started to turn away, since the conversation clearly held no value, but I stopped. Maybe I was tired from the space lag, but it pissed me off more than it should have. “You know what? Fuck you.” I stared him down. I did understand his sentiment—I got it often enough—but it was the governor’s reception and Farric was out of line. He’d known full well that I’d be here. He could have stayed home.

  He stammered, as if searching for words. Just like I thought . . . his currency was snide remarks. He couldn’t deal with direct confrontation. Finally, he blew out air in an exaggerated sigh. “I’m sorry.”

  I hesitated. I hadn’t expected an apology, and I couldn’t come up with a good response. “Okay.”

  “I thought I had control of myself when I agreed to come, but then I saw you, and well . . . it hit me harder than I thought. I was out of line.”

  “It happens.” I understood, but that didn’t mean I felt the need to let him off the hook for being an asshole.

  He started to speak, stopped, and then started again two or three times. “We’re not happy that you’re here.”

  How could I respond to that? I finished the last half of my drink in one swallow. “I’m not particularly happy about it either. But here I am. I need another drink.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” He took a step with me, effectively keeping me in the conversation. “What I meant is that we’re not happy that you’re here, but the situation that brought you here . . . It’s tragic, and if there’s anything that I or EPV can do to assist in your investigation, you shouldn’t hesitate to contact me.”

  He was saying the right words, but I didn’t hold out much hope that he’d follow through. Stroud wanted the investigation done quickly so she could get back to work, so it stood to reason that EPV would want to delay it as much as possible. I decided to test him. “I’ll do that. Were those people out on the steps yours?”

  “What people?”

  I read his look of confusion as genuine. “There was a small protest on the way in.”

  He scrunched his lips up. “They might be. We’re a pretty decentralized group. Some people could have organized something without me knowing about it.”

  I’d been mistaken. He did provide something useful. He didn’t have complete control over his group, which changed the calculus a little when it came to their role in the colony. On the surface, their opposition to development corporations made them potential suspects. “Volunteers, right? What can you do?”

  “Exactly so,” he said. “It’s not always convenient.”

  “They seemed harmless. And hey, I deserve it.”

  He looked at me as if trying to judge my sincerity. I think he came to the conclusion that I meant what I said, which I did. “Your law—the Butler Law—doesn’t do anything.”

  “You know they didn’t consult me when they wrote it, right?”

  That got a half smile from him. “I guess not.”

  “But since you brought it up, why d
oesn’t it work?”

  “Enforcement. It’s inconsistent at best, and nonexistent at worst. Some of it’s a lack of resources locally, but even that’s intentional. Corporations grease politicians back at the capital to make sure nothing too effective gets out this way.”

  I got the feeling that he meant the governor, but I wasn’t saying that out loud in a room full of people, one of them being the governor. “I was told that you had people on the governor’s staff.”

  He looked at me warily, sizing me up for a second time, perhaps trying to figure out if he could get away with a lie and deciding he couldn’t. “Not directly. But sure, we have some who are friendly to our cause. We have to if we want to affect anything.”

  “Of course.” It seemed innocuous enough. I had to admit that Farric didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would order a hit on a team of scientists, even if he hated everything they stood for. But you never know. In the holos, it’s always the guy who seems like he wouldn’t hurt anybody that turns out to be a whack job. Or maybe I needed to slow down on the whiskey.

  A woman waved at Farric, and he acknowledged her. “I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

  “It was nice to meet you,” I said. Fader caught my eye and held up a fresh drink, asking if I wanted it. I waved her over.

  “That looked awkward,” she said.

  “It was. But I learned some interesting stuff.” I filled her in on what Farric said about the protest and the enforcement of the law. “Have you heard anything?”

  “Not much, sir. There’s a little angst with the government workers about a semiannual report that’s due next week, but that’s about it.”

  “Find out more about that,” I said. It sounded like nothing, but anything that gave us insight into the governor’s operation might help, since it seemed to be a source of conflict.

  I spent an hour making small talk, inserting myself into group after group while trying to steer the conversation to something useful. It felt more like four hours. I got patter about the weather, the limited entertainment options on the planet, and a few requests for stories about one mission or another I’d led but avoiding the controversial ones. Avoiding Cappa. It was as if the entire room had decided ahead of time not to speak business to me in any way. Finally, the governor rescued me and led me through double doors into a dining room that seated about thirty. It had a burgundy carpet and polished wood paneling, but the thing that caught my eye was the giant chandelier—it might have been real crystal. When he closed the door behind us, the crowd noise evaporated, and we stood alone in near silence.