by Piers Platt
Locandez nodded. “They intervened just in time. Shep has been placed in solitary confinement for nine months.”
“That doesn’t change anything,” Falken said. “It just delays the inevitable. You’ll kick me out of the infirmary here, and in nine months, one or both of us will be back in here. Or dead.”
“Would you kill him, if you had to?” Locandez asked.
“If I was defending myself?” Falken frowned. “I suppose. But not unless he attacked me first. The problem is, I know he’ll try again, as soon as he gets out of solitary.”
“I doubt he’ll have much success,” Locandez said.
Falken sighed. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I’m not sure you’re right. He nearly killed me this time. It’s pretty easy to kill a man on Kanderi. The drones can’t be everywhere at once.”
Locandez cocked an eyebrow. “Given you’re not on Kanderi anymore, I reiterate: Shep will find it rather difficult to kill you. Look.” She pointed her chin at the viewport behind Falken.
Falken frowned, and turned, wincing as his sore head protested at the sudden movement. A blue-white orb was slowly slipping into view at the edge of the window, and for the first time, Falken noticed the distant lights of space traffic moving through the stars, their engines flaring as they maneuvered.
Earth …?
With an effort, Falken tore his gaze away from the view. When he spoke, his voice trembled. “You … you brought me back?”
“We did. And we’re releasing you.”
“I’m free again?”
“You’re free.”
Falken sighed with relief. He felt himself relax, the tension slipping out of his body.
“… but I’d like to discuss your future,” Locandez continued.
“My future,” Falken said.
Locandez nodded. “It’s my understanding that you’re currently unemployed. I’ll explain more, when you’ve had a chance to rest and recover. In the meantime, would you like to see him?”
“Who?”
“Weaver, of course,” Locandez said. “He’s been dying to see you, ever since you arrived back here.”
Falken bit his lip, and tears welled in his eyes. “Yes, I’d like to see my friend.”
Locandez stood up, and walked over to the door. She pushed it open, and beckoned, and a moment later, Falken saw Weaver step into view, leaning on a cane. He looked thinner and older, just like he had in the simulation, but he smiled when he saw Falken, and Falken could see the warmth had returned to his face, and the worries he had carried in Oz were fast melting away.
“Hi, Falken,” Weaver said.
“Hey, Weaver,” Falken said, not knowing what else to say. He wiped at his eyes, brushing away the tears.
Weaver sat in the chair, lowering himself with the cane. “Still getting used to using my real legs again,” he explained.
“I know the feeling,” Falken said, nodding.
“Everything hurts,” Weaver said.
“‘Pain is inevitable,’ ” Falken told him, cracking a wry grin.
“‘… suffering is optional.’ ” Weaver smiled back. “I realized something,” the bookkeeper said, studying Falken’s face. “Aside from that brief moment in the hallway when we first got out of Oz, we’ve never actually met, in real life.”
“I guess that’s so,” Falken agreed. He lifted a hand, holding it out over the edge of the bed. “Nice to meet you, Weaver.”
“Nice to meet you, Falken,” Weaver said, smiling and grasping Falken’s hand in his own. “I’ve missed you.”
Chapter 41
Falken stood by the shuttle hatch, waiting. The uniform felt crisp and clean against his skin – he glanced down at it self-consciously, and tugged at a stray thread hanging from the tunic. Next to him, Vina waited, too, shifting from one foot to another. Down the ship’s corridor, a hatch slid open, and Weaver appeared, walking easily, with no cane. His physical therapist followed behind him.
“Remember, keep your exercises up,” the therapist scolded him. “Every day, for the next three months. Your body’s still not back to a hundred percent.”
“I will,” Weaver said. He caught sight of Falken and Vina, and smiled.
Vina, unable to restrain herself, ran forward and hugged her father. “You look so much stronger!”
Weaver laughed. “I would hope so.” He indicated the physical therapist with a thumb. “He’s been whipping me into shape twice a day for the last month.”
“Well, you look good, Dad,” Vina said, stepping back to survey him once more.
Weaver smiled sadly. “I still can’t get over how much you’ve grown,” he said.
Vina rolled her eyes. “Next you’re going to be pinching my cheek!”
“I might,” Weaver warned her. He shook hands with the therapist, who clapped him on the back, and then disappeared back down the hallway. Then Weaver turned to Falken.
He held out a hand, and Falken took it. “I …” Weaver broke off. “‘Thank you’ doesn’t even begin to describe it. How can I ever repay you?”
Falken smiled. “Spend time with your family. Make up for lost time. Enjoy the rest of your life.”
“I certainly will,” Weaver agreed.
“And remember,” Falken said, “you saved me as much as I saved you.”
“I doubt that’s true,” Weaver said. “Besides, Vina owes you her life, too.”
“Nobody owes anybody anything here,” Falken said. “Just stay in touch.”
Weaver sighed, and then nodded. “I can do that,” he said. He turned to Vina. “Did you bring it?” he asked.
Vina nodded, and handed him a package wrapped in a thick plastic. Weaver took it, and handed it to Falken. “For you.”
Falken cocked an eyebrow, taking the package and unwrapping the plastic carefully. “What is it?” he asked. Under the protective wrap, he saw a faded leather cover. “A book?”
“It’s a first edition of ‘A Tale of Two Cities,’ by Dickens,” Weaver said.
“I don’t think I’ve read it,” Falken admitted, gently touching the cover with one hand.
“You’ll like it,” Weaver said, smiling. “It’s appropriate, given the circumstances.” He squeezed Falken on the arm. “Take care, Falken.”
They shook hands again, and then Vina leaned in and hugged Falken. “Thank you,” she whispered. She stood on tiptoes, and kissed him on the cheek. “For everything.”
She squeezed him again, and then took her father’s hand.
“Fly safe,” Falken told them, as they made their way down the docking tube.
At the end of the tube, Weaver gave Falken a final wave, and then disappeared into the shuttle. But Vina stopped, looking back at Falken. “Will you visit us? Can you?”
“No, I can’t. That would violate my parole.”
Vina’s face fell.
“… but you can come visit me any time. I’ll be right here,” Falken continued.
Vina cocked her head to one side. “How about Friday?”
“This Friday?” Falken asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “You have plans already?”
“I don’t think so,” Falken admitted.
“Good,” Vina said, flashing him a grin. “Then it’s a date.”
“A date?”
“A date,” Vina confirmed. “You just have to clear it with my father, first.”
Falken laughed aloud.
“See you Friday,” Vina said, and winked at him. The shuttle hatch slid shut behind her, and a few seconds later, the docking tube’s inner hatch closed, too. Through the nearest porthole, Falken watched the shuttle fire its maneuvering thrusters. The craft pointed its nose at the distant curve of Earth, and then the main engines lit, and it accelerated away toward the planet.
“Captain Falken?”
Falken turned to find one of the ship’s officers waiting for him. Joneis, Falken remembered.
“Yes?”
“We just received notification – the next grou
p is scheduled for arrival via shuttle tomorrow morning, sir.” Joneis checked a datapad in front of him, reading from the screen. “I have a copy of the welcome speech for you to review in advance.”
“I better get started,” Falken said.
“Yes, sir,” the officer agreed. “But we also have a graduation today – he’s just processing through medical now, coming out of Oz.”
“Take me to him,” Falken said.
They made their way through the ship’s winding corridors, until Joneis stopped at a closed hatch.
“This is it, sir.”
Falken nodded, and pressed the door panel. It slid up into the wall. Inside the small room, an inmate sat in a hibernation chair, facing a blank vidscreen. Beyond the vidscreen, Falken could see a viewport looking out over Earth. The man looked over at Falken, and his eyes were full of confusion and disbelief.
Falken stepped inside the room, and the hatch closed behind him.
“What …?” the man asked, his voice hoarse from disuse. “Where am I?”
Falken put a hand on the man’s shoulder.
“You made it out,” he said. “You’re a free man again.”
I hope you enjoyed The Falken Chronicles. That’s the end of Falken’s story (for now!), but if you’ve enjoyed my style of sci-fi thrillers, you may want to check out my Janus Group series, which starts with Rath’s Deception. Keep reading for an exclusive excerpt:
A light flickered on the edge of Rath’s peripheral vision: his internal heads-up display had an incoming message.
Rath felt a bead of sweat form at his brow. He smiled at another group of guests and offered them his tray of canapés, simultaneously advancing through screens in his heads-up display to find a photo of Sorgens in order to identify him.
Okay, got it.
“We’re all done, thanks,” one of the guests told him.
“Of course,” Rath said. “Sorry.”
Guess I lingered a little longer than a normal server would have. He stepped away from the group, spinning slowly in place as if planning which group he would approach next. There’s Sorgens – far side of the room.
Rath stopped at three other groups of party-goers, working his way around the outside of the room in a looping curve, careful to avoid heading directly for the Deputy Ambassador. As he left the third group, he rearranged the napkins on his tray, as if straightening them, and surreptitiously jabbed one of the canapés with a tiny hypodermic needle, before slipping the needle back into his sleeve. Then he turned and headed for the Deputy Ambassador, but a security guard cut in front of him. Rath changed direction smoothly and headed for a different group, but he kept Sorgens in his line of sight. The security guard was leaning in close to Sorgens, covering his mouth to whisper in his ear. Rath dialed up his audio implants.
“… credible threat. Intelligence is rated ‘High Reliability,’ so we’re taking it very seriously,” Rath heard the man say. The Deputy Ambassador blanched, his face turning nearly as white as his tuxedo shirt. “I’d like to get you out of here right now, sir.”
Sorgens turned to the other guests, and made his apologies. “I’m sorry – I’m afraid duty calls, there’s an urgent message that needs my attention.” He headed toward the room’s exit, closely followed by the guard.
Want a snack before you go? Rath thought, chagrined. He broke away from the group he was serving and walked briskly toward the kitchen, which was in the same direction Sorgens was headed.
Let’s hope the kitchen has another exit close to wherever Sorgens is headed.
Rath ducked inside – to his relief, he saw an exit at the far side of the crowded room. He dumped his tray into the first trash can he saw and elbowed through the servers and cooks, heading for the door.
“Hey, watch it, asshole!” a busboy protested, spilling several plates onto a steel countertop.
Rath ignored him and continued toward the back of the room, pushing through the swinging door. Sorgens was just disappearing through a side door halfway down the corridor, while the guard positioned himself outside the door. That looks like a restroom, Rath thought. He walked toward the guard, who was watching his approach closely, hands behind his back.
Probably got a pistol in a belt holster back there, Rath decided. So much for the frontal assault.
Instead he took a sharp right turn down a side corridor, disappearing from the guard’s view. Mechanical plates implanted within his face shifted, obeying Rath’s commands, while his hair greyed, and his skin tone lightened. In the space of three seconds, he looked exactly like his original target. He turned on his heel, and stepped back out into the main corridor, looking both ways before appearing to notice the guard.
“You,” Rath pointed at the man, “have you seen my deputy around here?”
“Sir?” the guard asked, confused. “Oh, yes, Mr. Ambassador: Deputy Ambassador Sorgens is right in here.”
“Ah, excellent,” Rath said, walking up. He was at least two inches shorter and thirty pounds lighter than the real ambassador, but people were slow to notice body type differences – if the face and hair matched, such discrepancies were usually dismissed. Rath’s voice matched the Ambassador’s as well. As ever, hearing another man’s computer-generated voice from his own lips made Rath’s skin crawl. “Let me just have a word, and then you can get him out of here,” Rath told the guard.
“Of course, sir,” the guard said, holding the door open for him.
Rath let the door close behind him, then strode over toward Sorgens, who was standing at a urinal along the wall. Sorgens looked up and saw Rath.
“You heard about the threat?” Sorgens asked.
“I did,” Rath replied. “Glad to see you’re on your way out of here.” He called up the targeting module in his heads-up display, and slipped a pen out of his pocket. The implement was known as a ballistic pen, built out of reinforced titanium for use as a close-quarters weapon, and modified by Rath to include a nerve toxin coating, for a faster kill. As Sorgens zipped himself up, Rath’s eye implant overlaid an anatomical model on his image, matching it to fit his size and body orientation relative to Rath, highlighting his bone structure and major organs. Sorgens turned away from the wall, and Rath stepped forward, putting his full body momentum behind the thrust. The pen punched between two ribs, directly into the highlighted outline of Sorgens’ heart, while Rath covered Sorgens’ mouth with his other hand, stifling his shocked gasp of pain. Rath left the pen embedded to minimize the bleeding, and, still covering Sorgens’ mouth, he grabbed him under the arm and dragged him silently across the room into one of the toilet stalls. He propped the dying man on top of the toilet, pulled the door shut behind him, and walked over to the sink, where the ambassador’s reflection stared back at him.
Need to wash this blood off my hands. But my guess is that guard is supposed to escort Sorgens out of the building, so it’ll be an easier exit if I pose as him.
“Everything okay, sir?” The security guard was pushing open the door.
Rath reacted instinctively, and bent over the sink, splashing his face with water as he shifted his hair and face to match Sorgens’. He stood up and reached blindly for the paper towels, and dabbed at his face as he completed the transformation. When he opened his eyes, the guard was eying him in the mirror.
“Ready to go, sir?” the man asked.
“Yes – let’s get going,” Rath told him. The guard glanced at the closed stall door and Rath tensed himself in readiness, but the man simply turned and walked back out into the hall, checking in both directions before motioning for Rath to follow. That was close, Rath thought, falling into step as they headed off down the hallway. He’s going to be pissed when he finds out he personally escorted the killer out of the building.
Rath's Deception is FREE for a limited time - get it here:
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On the cut-throat streets of Tarkis, orphaned teens like Rath end up jailed … or dead. So when the shadowy Janus Group offers Rath a chance to earn riches beyond his wildest dreams, he seizes it. But the Janus Group is as ruthless as the elite assassins it controls. Rath will have to survive their grueling, off-world training, and fulfill all fifty kills in his contract before a single cent comes his way. And ending so many lives comes with a price Rath can’t anticipate. It’ll certainly cost him what’s left of his innocence. It may well cost him his life.
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Text copyright 2017 by Piers Platt
All Rights Reserved
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41