Colonyside

by Michael Mammay

  “She did seem very sure of her information,” said Fader. “I asked the same question you did. How he got here. Bottom line, it was EPV. Not officially, of course, but they got him hired using their connections with a company that builds solar power plants.”

  “A company that makes its money by developing colonized planets hired a member of EPV? I guess they didn’t do much of a background check.”

  “Probably not, sir. Apparently, they hired him for his official skill set. He’s a demolition expert. I guess when you’ve got an in-demand skill and you’re willing to travel to the end of the galaxy, people might overlook some things.”

  She had a point, but I couldn’t dismiss more sinister possibilities. “Or EPV has someone inside the company that they either control or can bribe.”

  “We can look into that, sir, if you want.”

  “Let me think for a moment.” Obviously Hubic was a suspect. Almost too good of a suspect—a flashing red light on his forehead, open-and-shut lock of a suspect. There were three possibilities. “I’m going to talk this out to you, Captain Fader. I want your honest opinion after I do, but mostly it’s an exercise in making myself think. Here are my three thoughts. One: the obvious solution. Hubic is a radical EPV agent with a skill for explosives. He helped or directed whoever planted the bomb, or he planted it himself. Two: the obvious counter solution. Farric needed to give me a name, saw Hubic as an obvious suspect, and fed me his name to get me off his case, and then someone found out and killed him. And three: the conspiracy theory. Someone else fed Farric the name so that he’d give it to me, then killed Farric to confuse the trail.”

  Fader didn’t answer immediately, thinking. “What’s Farric’s motivation in number two, sir? He gets you off his back, but if you investigate Hubic and find that there’s nothing there, you go back to Farric. You didn’t believe Farric was part of the plot, so he’s not on the hook. Unless he intended for you to find enough on Hubic to get him out of here. But if that’s the case, it seems more likely that Farric’s motive might have been to eliminate a problem. That doesn’t mean Hubic helped the bomber. But it doesn’t exonerate him either.”

  “Good point.” I appreciated Fader’s consideration of the problem. Having someone to talk things out with helped me process information. I needed that. “What are your thoughts on the other? Is number three too farfetched?”

  “That would be a significant conspiracy.” She said it softly, almost drifting off. “Although . . . it wouldn’t take much to get there. If I was the bomber, or involved in any way, I’d want you looking anywhere but at me. If I knew Hubic’s record, all I’d need was a way to feed it to you. Farric is the obvious choice, if I knew he’d met with you.”

  “We met in a public place,” I said. “Anyone following either of us would have seen that.”

  “Yes, sir. That could be the connection. Or . . . it could have fallen into the bomber’s lap. Ganos said that Farric was making calls. Maybe he called the bomber, or maybe he called someone who told them. Maybe he asked them to give him someone else to throw under the truck. And so they did. But then, if I’m the bomber, I see Farric as a liability. If he’s willing to give up a name, maybe it’s only a matter of time until he gives up mine.”

  “Huh. I posed it as a conspiracy, but when you put it like that, it sounds plausible.” I considered it for a minute. “There’s a lot of conjecture there though. Right? I mean, that’s a lot of things that would have to be true. Though if we simplify: Farric wants a scapegoat because I promised to take the focus off of EPV if I could. He asks around, he gets a name of someone to frame from someone who works with the bomber. They kill Farric to erase the trail.”

  “They could have planted the stuff Ganos found,” said Fader. “It might not be real.”

  “I trust Ganos to catch that sort of thing, but we can ask her.”

  “Occam’s razor still says it’s number one though, right, sir? Hubic being the bomber is the simplest solution.”

  “It is. But if, as you suggested, we rule out option two, there’s an easy test to see if it’s straightforward or conspiracy.”

  “What’s that, sir?”

  “If Hubic is alive, then it’s not a conspiracy. Because if I’m framing him, the last thing I want is for an investigator to talk to him.”

  “So if we find him alive, he’s probably guilty. Farric probably told the truth and got killed for it.”

  “You want to take bets?”

  “That’s a bit morbid, sir.”

  It was. And earlier, I felt like shit for getting Farric killed. The difference here, though, was that I didn’t cause Hubic’s death if it had happened. Maybe tangentially, but even my guilt-ridden conscience didn’t dig that deep. If Hubic was dead, someone else killed him. Maybe my being here caused that, but even then, I didn’t send myself here. I had a weird sense of justice. “Probably. But I’m going to bet that he’s dead.”

  “Betting on conspiracy, sir?”

  “That’s just how my life works.”

  If I’d been hoping for an immediate answer, I would have been disappointed. I had Ganos run a search for Hubic the way she had for Karlsson, checking expenditures or other evidence of his location, and nothing came up. She even used a picture she found on the net and searched all the cameras she could access to try to find him that way.

  Still nothing.

  He was either dead or hiding, but we had no way to know which. I considered turning over the name to the military as part of their investigation into Farric’s death, but that thought got interrupted by an invitation from Martha Stroud to have lunch the next day at their corporate dining facility in the executive room. She didn’t specify who would be there, but it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. I decided to skip the governor’s reception. I had questions for Zentas, and I wanted to ask them one-on-one instead of having the governor around.

  I did send Mac and Fader out to observe the reception from the outside. I wanted to know if there was a protest, which there was, though it was smaller than the one that had welcomed me. Oddly, I got a little ego boost from that. I really needed to get back to my therapist. Ganos had disappeared, working on her own things, which left me alone and with time on my hands. Never a great combination, so I logged on to my machine securely, with the stuff that Ganos had put on it since she didn’t trust what came with the room, to send a message to Serata, but I had a message waiting from Flak Jacket Timmons.

  Good to hear from you, Butler.

  The opening made me smile. He couldn’t call me sir, since he’d made colonel, but he didn’t feel comfortable enough to call me Carl because of our history, where I’d outranked him.

  Sorry it took me so long to get back to you, but your requests took some work. Bad news first: I couldn’t find Schultz. And I tried. I put some good people on it, but the guy’s a ghost. There’s no record of him landing anywhere.

  That gave me a chill. I could think of a place he could have ended up. There was a lot of jungle on Eccasis.

  Bergman was a little more interesting. When I looked at it, something felt off. The lawyers were retained by an anonymous benefactor and there was no record beyond that in the court. So I started digging. Turns out, the benefactor was a company, but that company didn’t exist. I put a data specialist on it, and she tracked it back through three shell companies to Recort Systems, which is a sister company to Caliber.

  So that’s weird.

  Weird didn’t begin to describe my thoughts on it. Caliber’s sister company paid for the lawyers for an EPV bomber. Stroud had mentioned wanting things over and back to normal, and I suppose this could have been part of that. But I doubted it. Either way, it certainly put a different spin on the Zentas visit.

  Unfortunately, I can’t do anything about it. The man has a right to lawyers and someone else hiring them isn’t a crime. Maybe you can do something on your end with the investigation.

  Speaking of that, you might want to wrap it up. I was directly told NOT to
give you an order to end it, but trust me, there’s talk about it, and that’s definitely what the brass wants. I get the feeling that they only sent you to pacify Zentas, and the boss figures you’ve done that. Again, I’m not telling you what to do. I just want you to have all the information.

  Let me know if you need anything else.

  Jack

  I appreciated the information and the straight talk. I’d have to sit on it for a bit to parse out what it meant. The brass being anxious for me to finish helped me understand Oxendine’s position, but it didn’t change my immediate plans. I’d still meet with Zentas, so I continued on with my note to Serata.

  Sir, I know I don’t owe you an update, but I still wanted to check in and let you know what was going on with the investigation. The missing person appears to be truly dead. She and her whole team are gone, and while there are a couple of missing witnesses I’d like to talk to, it looks open and shut. There are some ancillary issues—someone tried to blow us up—and it might be related. But it might not. I’m going to hang around for a few more days until that resolves.

  An interesting VIP arrived this morning. Drake Zentas. Did you know about that? If so, what can you tell me? Regardless of the official reason for the visit, I’m sure the real reason is about his daughter. I have lunch with him tomorrow and I’m not sure how to play it. Could use your advice.

  Fader is doing well. Good call on putting her on my team. I trust that she’s keeping her superiors informed, but if you hear any rumblings that they’re not happy, let me know. The commander here—Oxendine—isn’t happy about my presence, but she’s not being an asshole about it.

  Give my best to Lizzie.

  Butler

  I held back the stuff that Timmons told me. I trusted Serata, but only so far. That was sad, but he’d burned me before.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Serata’s message was waiting when I woke up.

  Carl,

  Trust your own judgment on the mission. If you think there’s more, there probably is. If you say it’s done, it’s done. Nobody is going to push back on your findings. They’d just as soon it was over. But they won’t push you to close it, either. They can’t be seen doing that.

  I didn’t know about Zentas. I’ve never met the guy. People who know him say that he’s straightforward, no bullshit. He’s going to tell you what he thinks and won’t give a shit about your feelings. Sounds like our kind of guy.

  If you need anything, don’t hesitate.

  Serata

  I didn’t know what to make of it. He said he hadn’t known that Zentas was coming, and I guess I believed him. Maybe. It did cross my mind that he’d set me up before. I should have asked who did know. Someone should have told me. But then, no matter how fast his ship was, Zentas had left to get here before I ever arrived. It was always his plan. At this point, it didn’t matter. He was here, and we were having lunch.

  Mac escorted me to lunch at the Caliber dining facility, a low, flat-roofed building right behind their headquarters. He waited outside while I entered the facility to meet Zentas. It had seating for maybe 750, but an employee ushered me past the main area to the executive dining room, which seated twenty and held exactly two. Drake Zentas stood at the head of a long polished-wood table with Martha Stroud standing at his shoulder. Both faced me, giving me the feeling I was late, even though I’d shown up five minutes early. The dimly lit room had a plush carpet, and the whole place oozed of quality, much more so than the offices I’d seen. I wondered for a second if they had redone it just for Zentas.

  Stroud spoke, looking at her boss, not me. “Mr. Zentas, this is Colonel Carl Butler. Carl, this is Mr. Zentas.” No title needed, apparently.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Zentas.”

  He gave me a big, genuine-looking smile. “Colonel Butler. So good to finally meet the man I’ve read so much about. Please. Call me Drake.”

  “And I’d appreciate it if you called me Carl.” I got the feeling he was sizing me up, like we were going to fight or something. Maybe that’s what super-rich guys did when they met someone new. Maybe that’s why they were rich. I sized him up too. I could take him. He was a bit older than me, with a tanned, lined face that said he spent time outdoors, but he had slender shoulders and soft-looking hands, which said he probably didn’t do much physical work when he was out there. We weren’t going to wrestle, of course, so it didn’t matter. But years of habit die hard.

  “Come. Take a seat.” He gestured to the chair beside him. It would have been more interesting if he sat me at the opposite end, where we’d have had to shout across ten meters of table. The thought made me smile. “Ms. Stroud was just leaving us.”

  “Before you go,” I said, “did you find anything out about those two employees I asked about? Schultz and Ortega?” It was a dick move, calling her out in front of the big boss, but I didn’t blow up the meeting from the start by asking about Bergman’s lawyers, so at least I showed some restraint. I didn’t want to get too confrontational until I had a chance to hear from Zentas.

  Stroud didn’t miss a beat. “Unfortunately, both gentlemen no longer work for our company in any capacity, and we have no way of knowing where they are. My assistant was supposed to message your captain. Did he not?” Her plastered-on smile might as well have said fuck you.

  She’d won the round, and I should have let it go. But of course I didn’t. “I’m going to need their complete records, including full name, employee number, and last known location. I’ll have them rounded up, wherever they are.” Not even a bluff. If they had the information, I thought Flak Jacket would work with me.

  “That information is—”

  “Please don’t say that it’s protected by privacy issues. If it matters, I’ll have a formal request from higher up sent to you an hour after I walk out of this lunch.” This one probably was a bluff, made better because her boss was present.

  “I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” said Zentas. “Carl is here under the highest authority, and he has our full cooperation.”

  “Yes, sir.” To Stroud’s credit, her smile didn’t waver.

  “What was that about?” Zentas asked, once the door closed behind her.

  “The company hasn’t exactly been cooperative in my investigation.” I could have said Stroud, but I thought that referring to the organization made it less personal. I wasn’t out to ruin her. I just wanted answers.

  “Ah. Unfortunate. And probably my fault.”

  “Your fault?”

  He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Yes. I asked for a favor to get you here at a very high level. That’s not something I like to publicize.” Before I could think about it and respond, he moved on. “I took the liberty of ordering for both of us.” As if on cue, a tall, pale-skinned, extremely attractive waitress entered with a tray that held two glasses of whiskey with double pours and light ice. She wore a skintight gold dress about half a size too small, but my eyes locked on to the tray. “Ferra Three. The twenty-year,” announced Zentas.

  “Excellent choice. Hard to get that kind of thing out here.” I had the fifteen-year in my quarters. The twenty-year cost about twelve times as much. It wasn’t only hard to get out here, it was hard to get anywhere.

  “I brought it with me. The food too.”

  I smiled. I didn’t know what to say. He could certainly afford it, and if nothing else, I’d eat well. It made me wonder if he’d brought the waitress with him too. Either way, I got the feeling we were done discussing his disconnect with Stroud.

  “I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

  My intel from Serata was right. No bullshit. “I assume so.”

  “It’s my daughter. The official version—the one the governor approved—it’s a front. Obviously.” He sipped his whiskey, taking time to savor it. Whatever else happened, we had that in common.

  “I’d have done the same job whether you came or not. I’m not a man who requires much oversight.”

  “Of course you’re n
ot. But I’m sure you can forgive a father in this situation. She’s my only child, and even though she’d distanced herself from the family . . . it’s hard to let go.”

  “I understand. I lost my daughter at a much too early age.”

  “The governor suggested that you might be ready to close the investigation.”

  Had he? I certainly hadn’t reported that to the governor. I’d had barely five minutes of conversation with him my entire time colonyside. I wondered how he had come to that conclusion. Wondered who told him. “I’m still considering some of the information, including the two missing people I mentioned to Ms. Stroud.”

  “What’s your gut tell you?” He met my eyes firmly, and it was oddly compelling. He was a man used to getting his way, and I could see why.

  “The facts so far suggest that it was an incursion by her team into an area inhabited by very territorial primates.”

  His eyes hardened and his lips drew into a line so thin they almost disappeared. “That’s such bullshit.”

  I didn’t speak. I didn’t understand why he would immediately question my premise, and it put me off balance.

  He continued. “We let animals dictate what we do. We put so many protections in place for them, but none for us. It’s ridiculous.”

  I still didn’t interrupt. He didn’t want to hear from me on the subject, and the man had lost a daughter. Some righteous anger was justified.

  “Colonel Butler—Carl—when you finish your investigation, you should come work for me.”

  Say what? I started to take a drink to mask my surprise, but the waitress had perfect timing and bailed me out when she entered with a tray carrying two covered plates. It took Zentas’s attention off me momentarily, allowing me to recover.

  “The steaks are Vanilorian beef. I trust you’ll find it to your liking.”