Silent Order_Fire Hand

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Huh,” said Taren. She leaned back. “I suppose they saved my life.”

  “I don’t understand,” said March.

  “That family that saved you,” said Taren. “They just thought they were being kind. But they saved my life. The life of my crew. And God knows how many others you might have saved.”

  “Not as many as I wanted,” said March. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

  Taren nodded, her gray eyes steady on his face.

  “Now it’s your turn to talk about something unpleasant,” said March. “How did you know Samuel Laredo?”

  “Fair is fair,” said Taren. She took a long drink of coffee, set down the cup, and leaned forward, folding her hands the table. She had leaned forward just far enough that March could see the top of her breasts in the pink tank top. He pushed aside the observation, annoyed with himself. “I’ll tell you what you want to know. First, though. Why do you want to know about Laredo?”

  “Because he’s been an enemy of mine for a while,” said March. “He’s hurt and killed a lot of people, and he’s almost killed a lot more. I’ve stopped his plans before, but he’s gotten away every single time. If I’m ever going to kill him or bring him in, I need to understand him better.”

  “Makes sense,” said Taren. She took another sip of coffee and stared into the mug. She stared at it for so long that March wondered if she had changed her mind, but then she started talking. “I met Laredo for the first time about three months after I was married. I had dropped out to marry Duncan, but I didn’t mind very much.” She smiled. “I liked history, but if I’m honest, I had only gone to the University to find a good husband.”

  “Guess you did,” said March.

  Taren nodded. “I was working part-time at my father’s repair shop. Dad was a genius with engines and anything mechanical, but the man couldn’t balance books to save his life. But I was still part of the social scene at the University because Duncan had a job there. He had worked on the propaganda and training videos in the Royal Navy, and so he worked in the video production department at the University. That was where I met Laredo.” She tapped her fingers against the mug. “If I’m honest, I didn’t like him from the first, probably because he kept hitting on me. I mentioned that I was married twice, and God knows he could see my ring, but he kept at it. He gave off a…how to put this? A creepy vibe?”

  “The sort of man you didn’t think it was safe to be alone with,” said March.

  Taren nodded. “Yes, exactly.”

  Part of his mind pointed out that he was alone with her right now, and March made himself focus on the matter at hand.

  “Anyway, I didn’t like him, but he was a graduate student in the video production department, so I did see him a lot,” said Taren. “It seems like a petty story, I know, but at the time, that branch of the University of Calaskar had a serious problem with Machinist sympathizers. Many of the graduate students had decided that the Final Consciousness was the next step in human evolution, and they ought to work to bring the Machinists’ Revolution to Calaskar for the good of humanity.” There was some bitterness in her tone. “I suppose that sounds like stupidity to a man from Calixtus.”

  “It does,” said March.

  “There were a bunch of arrests,” said Taren, “but I didn’t pay any attention to it at the time. I was young and in love, and then I was pregnant. Nothing else seemed to matter. One day I went to the video lab to meet Duncan for lunch, and I happened to see Laredo working on something that looked like a Machinist propaganda video. He shut down his computer before I could get a good look, but I know what I saw. I would have just shrugged it off…but remember, I didn’t like him already.”

  “You started looking around,” said March.

  “I cheated,” admitted Taren. “I used Duncan’s network credentials to start looking through Laredo’s files. I found a lot of Machinist propaganda, which was bad enough, but I also found plans for bombs. Laredo wanted to join the Machinists, and he was planning to prove his worth by setting off a series of bombs around the University. I didn’t know what to do, so I went to Duncan. He said we had to go to the Ministry of Security at once.”

  March nodded. “And Laredo tried to kill you.”

  Taren sighed. “It was a trap. He realized that I didn’t like him, that I was becoming suspicious of him, so he was one step ahead. He set off his first bomb as we were leaving the parking garage. The Silent Order covered it up as an industrial accident, but twenty-six people died. Our car was wrecked, Duncan was killed, and I was badly hurt.” Some of the vitality drained from her face, and the gray eyes looked cold and dead. “I miscarried right there in the car before the emergency crews dug me out.”

  “I’m sorry,” said March. “He told me that story. I didn’t realize that it was about you.”

  Taren blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “Another mission where I went up against Lorre,” said March. “He boasted about killing a pregnant woman’s husband and her unborn child.” He grimaced. “He said he only regretted not killing the woman as well.”

  “He boasted about it?” said Taren, her voice soft and deadly.

  “Yes,” said March. “He once tried to set off a nuclear bomb in a city of ten million people to cover his escape. We stopped him in time. But that’s the kind of man he is.”

  “Yeah,” said Taren. “And he got his start with my husband and daughter.”

  They sat in silence for a time.

  “How did you come to the Silent Order?” said March.

  “I blamed myself for Duncan’s death,” said Taren. “I was young and stupid. I thought about killing myself for a while, but then Censor contacted me and recruited me into the Silent Order…and here I am. So that’s my story, Captain Jack March. That’s how I know Laredo. Or Lorre, as you call him.” She tried to smile. “I suppose it’s kind of pathetic, compared to how you were recruited into the Silent Order.”

  “No,” said March. “It’s not. I’ve seen this again and again.” He shook his head. “People who’ve had their lives destroyed because the damned Machinists think they’re the next step in human evolution. No. It’s not pathetic.” He tried to think of the right word. “It’s appalling.”

  Taren blinked a few times, and then to his surprise she sniffled and wiped at her eyes. “Thank you. I…ah, God. I hate crying in front of anyone. It’s been fifteen years. You’d think it wouldn’t hurt so much after all this time.”

  Again they lapsed into silence.

  “I’m not good with words,” said March. “I just do things. So, I think the best thing to do is to find a way to keep the quantum inducers and the Firestone away from Lorre. Let him report a failed mission to his precious masters.”

  Taren blinked again and pulled herself together. “You know, I think you’re right. The thought of the expression on his smug rat bastard face when we get the relics away from him is a satisfying one.”

  “It is,” said March. “And if we can kill him in the process, all the better.”

  He wondered how she would react to that. Moral revulsion at the thought of killing? No, she had been in the Silent Order too long. A fierce desire to avenge her slain husband and unborn child? Her eyes glittered like frost on gray steel, and she smiled. Yes, this was a woman who understood revenge just as profoundly as March did. He had been taking his revenge on the Final Consciousness with every successful mission since he had become an Alpha Operative of the Silent Order, and she had been doing the same with every cell of Machinist collaborators she had exposed and ruined.

  “I’m glad we agree on the important matters, Captain March,” said Taren.

  “Good,” said March. He rubbed his face. “First, has Lorre tried anything while I’ve been unconscious?”

  “No,” said Taren. “Nothing. There have been no attacks on the Tiger, and Bauer says nothing suspicious has happened at either the Shovel or the hotel. Bishop thinks that between the space battle and the dead Iron Hands, you might have wipe
d out most of Laredo’s local assets.”

  “Maybe,” said March. “He won’t give up, though. There’s too much at stake. He might have sent a ship to ask for reinforcements.” He grimaced at the thought. NB8876X was a long way from Machinist space, but to retrieve one Wraith device, they had sent an entire battle group to the Eschaton system.

  What would they do to get their hands on twenty quantum inducers?

  “Maybe not,” said Taren. “Like I said, Veldt has declared an embargo.”

  March blinked. “What?”

  “No ships are allowed to leave Rustbelt Station,” said Taren, “and no ships are allowed to dock.”

  “Heitz must be furious,” said March. “The station will be losing tens of thousands of credits in revenue per day. Per hour, maybe.”

  “Bishop said there’s something of a…dispute among Ronstadt Corporation employees over the embargo,” said Taren. “They’re on the edge of revolt.”

  “Lorre must be throwing money around like water,” said March.

  “You said that the Machinists would destroy entire worlds to get their hands on those damned relics,” said Taren. “Compared to that, money is nothing.”

  “Yeah.” March finished his coffee. “All right. We better talk to Bishop right away. If Lorre got a messenger out before Veldt locked down the station, we might have Machinist warships arriving from hyperspace at any minute. The sooner we have a plan, the better.”

  Taren nodded. “Do you…ah, need any help getting dressed?”

  March thought about it. “No. Though if I fall over, I’ll shout.”

  “Do that,” said Taren. She got to her feet. “What about the relics? I’ve got them in your strong room, but…”

  “We’ll leave them there for now,” said March, “and I’ll set Vigil to shoot anyone other than you, me, and Bishop who comes too close. If we take them with us to the station, we might get attacked.” They might get attacked anyway. March intended to take as many weapons as he could carry.

  “All right,” said Taren. “Let me just clean up, and I’ll be ready.”

  She turned towards the door.

  “Dr. Taren,” said March.

  She looked back at him. “Captain March?”

  “Thank you for looking after me.”

  Taren blinked and then grinned. She did have a nice smile. “You did save my life twice. It seems only fair.”

  She left, and March heard her step into one of the guest cabins, the door clicking shut behind her. The guest cabin had a sanitizer booth, and suddenly his traitorous imagination provided, with vivid clarity, an image of Taren stepping naked into that booth, his mind’s eye filling in the details of the fit body that had been concealed beneath the tank top and shorts…

  “Goddamn it,” muttered March, getting to his feet.

  A wave of dizziness went through him, and he gripped the edge of the table with his metal hand until it passed.

  Attraction was the least of his problems right now.

  March was not in good shape, and he ought to rest some more and let the healing nanobots do their work. But there was no time, and there was no one else to do what had to be done. Bishop was a good man and a reliable Sigma Operative, but he wasn’t an Alpha Operative. Taren was far more competent than he had expected, but she wasn’t an Alpha Operative.

  The final responsibility rested with March, and it was a grim responsibility.

  With their thirty-four remaining Wraith devices, the Machinists could topple governments and cause civil wars and revolutions.

  What could they do with twenty more Wraiths?

  March didn’t want to find out, and it was up to him to keep it from happening.

  He headed for his cabin, cleaned off in the sanitizer, and got dressed. His jumpsuit had been shredded, so he donned a new one. He was surprised and touched to see that Taren had cleaned his black coat. March donned it, rebuking himself. A carbon fiber mesh lined the coat to deflect knife blades, and if he had thought to close the front of the coat before the fight, he might not have been wounded so badly. On the other hand, even carbon fiber mesh would not have stopped the strength of an Iron Hand’s cybernetic arm, so perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered.

  And he had gone up against four Iron Hands and lived. He ought to be grateful he was still alive at all.

  After he had dressed, March went the armory and equipped himself. A gun belt went around his waist, and two new plasma pistols on either hip. More knives went up his sleeves and in his boots, and he tucked more ammunition clips and some grenades into the pockets of his coat.

  If Lorre made another attempt…no, when Lorre made another attempt, March intended to be ready.

  Footsteps clanged against the corridor, and Taren strolled up behind him. She had changed back to her ship crewer’s jumpsuit and brown leather coat, her hair bound in a ponytail. Her plasma pistol had come through the fight intact, and it rested in her gun belt.

  “That,” she said admiringly, “is a lot of guns.”

  “Comes in handy in my line of work,” said March.

  “I can imagine,” said Taren. “Well, my dad always said there never was such a thing as too much firepower.”

  March nodded and stepped back into the corridor. He was only a few inches from Taren, and he suddenly found himself missing her tight exercise clothes.

  “Ready?” said March, once again forcing the thought out of his head. Taren nodded. “Let’s go talk to Bishop.”

  Chapter 7: Subterfuge

  Bay 86 remained as cramped as March remembered, but at least the Tiger’s ventral point-defense laser turret could cover the doors to the cargo corridor. He left Vigil configured to guard the ship and notify him of any intruders, and then he and Taren headed for the service corridors rather than the main passages.

  “Cozy,” commented Taren once March had gotten the panel off the wall. The corridor was a narrow rectangle cut through the rock of the asteroid, its walls lined with ducts and bundles of wires.

  “Yeah,” said March. “But none of the station’s security systems reach here, so we can move around without Lorre tracking us. Don’t touch the walls. In places, they’re cold enough to cause frostbite. It will be about six and a half kilometers of corridor to Bishop’s restaurant from here.”

  “Nothing like a good cool-down walk after strength exercise,” said Taren. “Lead the way.”

  They went single-file down the corridor. March kept his plasma pistol in his right hand, eyes and ears straining to find any sign of danger. But the access corridors were otherwise deserted, and March and Taren passed through them without incident.

  It took about sixty minutes to make the trip from Bay 86 to the commercial concourse. At last, March opened another panel, and they slipped out behind a row of kiosks selling pornographic videos and into the commercial concourse.

  The concourse was crowded. Veldt had embargoed every ship on the station, which meant no one could leave Rustbelt Station. That, in turn, meant the crews of those ships would get bored and seek amusements on the station. Bishop had to be doing a good business.

  “Watch yourself,” said March. “Must be an army of pickpockets out there.”

  Taren nodded. “And if Lorre wants to get rid of me, a knife between the ribs in a crowd is a great way to do it.”

  “Not if I have anything to say about it,” said March.

  Taren grinned and threaded her arm through his. “Then lead on.”

  March hesitated, surprised by how much her touch pleased him, and then nodded. He forced his way through the crowds visiting the stores and the bars and the brothels. Taren drew a few stares, which she ignored with aloof calm, and between March’s size and his well-practiced glare, they made their way to the Emperor’s Rest.

  The restaurant was packed, with every table and booth full, and only a few spaces left at the bar. Every single one of Bishop’s waitresses and all of his serving drones were at work, gliding back and forth from the kitchen on high heels (or rolling on tre
ads) to bring out food and drink. The air smelled of sweat and food and coffee, and it was also warm, which meant the life support system was struggling to keep up. Two hard-eyed men nodded to March and Taren as they passed. Bishop must have brought extra security on board to keep his rowdier customers in line. March forced his way through the crowd and made it to the bar, trying to watch in all directions at once.

  “Captain March!”

  Anne blinked in surprise at him. She looked a bit ragged, but likely she had been pulling double shifts to meet demand. Nevertheless, her face spread into a wide smile when she saw him…and an even wider smile when she saw Taren on his arm.

  “Boy, do you look like you got chewed up and spit out again,” said Anne.

  “You should have seen the other guy,” said March.

  “Guys,” said Taren. “It was plural.”

  “Where’s Bishop?” said March.

  “Over there,” said Anne, jerking her head to the left. March saw Bishop standing at the far wall, speaking with some men in a booth, a tray tucked under his arm. Bishop was waiting tables at his own restaurant? Then again, given how crowded the place was, he likely needed every pair of hands.

  “Thanks,” said March. Anne nodded to him and turned to her next customer, and March led Taren across the dining room. Bishop spotted them halfway, said his farewells to the crewers in the booth and joined them.

  “Jack,” said Bishop, and he clapped March on the shoulder. “By God, it’s good to see you on your feet. When I got things set up on the Tiger with Dr. Taren, you looked like roadkill.” He grinned. “Of course, you still look like shit.”

  “But at least I look like ambulatory shit,” said March.

  “Exactly,” said Bishop. “I would envy your resilience, but I know the price you paid for it.” He smiled at Taren. “I don’t suppose you would be interested in moonlighting as a waitress for a few days, Dr. Taren?”