Tilted Axis

by David Ryker

  He adjusted the holster on his hip and kept moving, checking his watch as he did. It was nearly six, and Chang’s procession would be rolling through Xaraniah Square — the place where Sadler had been shot — at around midday. Still, between then and now he had a lot of ground to cover, and a lot to do.

  He walked through a decent residential district until he found what he was looking for.

  Digging into his pocket, he pulled out the hacking fob and pressed it against the starter panel of a solar cycle. It wasn’t the same model as his own, but it would do, and he didn’t have the luxury of being picky.

  The fob lit up and started hacking through the cycle’s immobilizer. In just a few seconds, it was decoded and with a single movement of his leg he kicked the stand back up and pulled off, the green lightning bolt fading from the charging post as he put distance between him and it, speeding forward into the city, toward downtown.

  He had it pretty well mapped out in his head, but he’d still be tight for time checking the roosts.

  At Betty’s he’d taken the lens out of his eye and downloaded all the footage onto her terminal. It’d all be uploading to Cootes via sat-transmission anyway, but that’s not what he was checking.

  He rolled back to the footage of their hideout at the brownstones and stopped at the topographical map marking possible shooting locations, and downloaded it onto his communicator. He’d also downloaded all the information he could find on Chang’s route. It was mostly off Chang’s own website, and was information for visitors and tourists about where they could get a good view of the procession. It was encouraging them to go to Xaraniah Square. Guess Ferlish and his anarchist buddies wanted an audience for the killing. Provisions had been made for at least thirty thousand people to gather along a one kilometer stretch of road through the center of the city. All the vantage points were overlooking that stretch.

  The one that Sadler had been shot from offered the best uninterrupted view, with the target moving away not across, shielded by buildings from the wind on both sides for most of the bullet’s flight.

  Ward didn’t think they’d be stupid enough to use the same spot. But then again, if Arza had made an effort to guarantee zero SB sentinel coverage, then it still made for the best place to shoot from.

  The other sniper’s nests were dotted around, but provided much more uncertain shots. One was facing the morning sun and was shooting directly across the path. The travel time alone would make it nearly impossible to judge as Chang moved along the route — cybernetically enhanced eyes or not.

  Another was coming in from a thirty-degree angle, and while slightly better, there were only three sections of uninterrupted sight between other buildings.

  The fourth place was from the other side, so Chang would be coming toward them. But, it was high up on a building, meaning the wind would consequently be much stronger. Plus, the angle made Chang a smaller target. And to compound that, escaping from a building that tall would be a much harder obstacle to surmount. The travel time alone from bottom to top would give any pursuers time to converge, making the net a lot trickier to slip through.

  Ward had to check them all, though, make some sort of effort to cover his ass at least, because he could only be at one of them when the thing went down, and he had a very strong feeling that calling in a threat would go absolutely nowhere. Still, he’d have to try that, just in case.

  He had no doubt that the whole route would be locked down and crawling with sentinels, and that Moozana would already be up and busy preparing for Chang’s arrival. His travel details were all classified, but if Ward’s experience told him anything, it was that arriving as close to the time of the appearance as possible was always the aim of the people paid to keep him safe. Still, they’d be operating under the assumption that the place they were arriving to would be ‘safe’. Chang could have as many guys around him as he wanted, but when a bullet came flying in from two clicks out, whether there were ten or a thousand of them, it wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference. They wouldn’t see it coming, and Chang would be dead before they could do a damn thing about it. Unless Ward could stop the shooter, that was. He cursed Chang then, for being such a for-the-people leader. His whole campaign had been based around kissing babies and shaking hands with the working class. And if Ward thought that getting in touch with the DC directly to warn them of the threat would stop Chang from arriving, he’d do it in a heartbeat. But it wouldn’t. He’d get a We’ve assessed all threats and put in place the necessary precautions, and then they’d ask who he was and how he knew, and that whole experience would take far too long and go absolutely nowhere. The time for talking had passed. Now was the time to get things done.

  He hung a right down a commuter route, a road packed with people walking to work downtown. He threaded his way around a couple of cars and pulled up next to the sidewalk, slowing down to walking pace, searching the moving crowd on his left — business people in suits with briefcases, Humans and Martians alike, all talking on their communicators or writing emails to clients, or whatever nine-to-fivers did with their morning commutes.

  Ward chose his mark, slunk a little closer to the curb, and casually reached out.

  By the time the bald guy with glasses realized that his communicator was out of his hand, Ward was already up to thirty and weaving back through traffic and down a side street. The indignant “Hey!” that rang out behind him was swallowed by the thunderous clacking of heels on sidewalks, and then it was gone altogether.

  Ward pulled up a couple of blocks away and dialed the number for the SB office.

  Behind him the sun was just starting to shred the darkness of the morning overhead, spitting shards of light between the glass towers of downtown, their curved and sharp profiles like pieces of a broken mirror stabbing at the sky. The workday started early on Mars.

  “Eudaimonia Security Bureau, how may I direct your call?” the tired voice of a night-operator said, first in Martian, then in English.

  “I’d like to report a crime,” Ward said clearly.

  The woman began typing on the other end. “Can I take your name, please, sir?”

  “Someone’s going to shoot Tremel Chang, today, in Xaraniah Square. Tell Moozana that he’s wrong. There is another shooter, and he needs to rethink his taste in friends. And tell him to stay by the goddamn phone.”

  “Sir, can you—”

  Ward pulled the communicator from his ear and snapped it in his hands, tossing it into the gutter.

  He took off at speed and cut across another few streets until he reached another commuter route, looking for another mark.

  He doubted that the calls would come to anything. But he had to try.

  At this point, trying was all he had left.

  28

  “Gods, Ward, you’re still alive?”

  “Don’t sound so shocked, Moozana,” Ward sighed, wincing. The meds were starting to wear thin.

  “But, how did you…? Is — shit, is Ferlish— ?”

  “No, I didn’t kill him,” Ward said flatly. “Yet.” He surveyed busy street visible in the cross cut of alleyway ahead for anything out of place. “But listen, what’s the status of the third shooter?”

  “Dead,” Moozana said breathlessly.

  “Confirmed?”

  “Dead as they get,” Moozana sighed. He sounded almost relieved.

  “You sure?” Ward’s hand tightened around the communicator, his eyes moving across the skyline in the distance.

  “Where are you, Ward? This is a whole goddamn mess—”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I want you to know,” he said, not listening, “that I had nothing to do with Ferlish, all right? I was backing you to Aeolus. The insurance company contacted Ferlish to tell him the ship had been taken off the dock using his access code, but that they didn’t have a record of him entering the Solar Club — he was ready to take a whole squadron through the Gate after you. I had to convince him that you were on to something, and—”
<
br />   “Gee, thanks, Moozana. Now tell me, are you sure the shooter is dead?”

  “Yes, Ward. I had my best guys confirm it while we were off-world. He’s dead. What do you want, the address of the morgue?”

  “Just tell me you used a different one to where Sadler was taken?” He half expected him to say it was the same one.

  “Of course. I’m not taking any more chances. After Ferlish disappeared with you, took you out of Bureau custody, I knew something was wrong. He’s different — changed. I’ve known him for sixty years — I knew something was up from the moment he contacted me asking about Erica. When I met up with him, I could tell right away that—”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Ward cut him off. “Save it. You screwed up. Big whoop. Now tell me, what the hell are you doing about Chang?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Chang, the goddamn prime minister. He’s due to land in the capital and I want to know what the situation is. Whether you’ve got the rooftops covered — the footage I sent — tell me you’re covering all bases here?”

  Moozana was silent for a few seconds. “You know, I was wrong about you, Ward.”

  “Christ, Moozana. Are they covered or not?”

  “Yes. The whole city is locked down. All the possible vantage points are covered by guys I know I can trust. All vetted and checked personally. Epsilon Protocol.” He added the last bit to reassure Ward. Epsilon Protocol meant that only those with Epsilon level clearance were aware of the plans. Moozana must have cleaned house and started over. Hopefully, the corruption in the SB had been excised — or at least quashed. “I’ve got them checking in every twenty minutes with updates.”

  “You’ll excuse me if I don’t just go home and kick my feet up, all the same,” Ward said. “I’ll check them all myself.”

  “Ward — look, I don’t want to have to do this — but you still went off the reservation, stole a solar yacht, broke into a construction site, fled the scene of a crime, assaulted officers in the Aeolus system, destroyed millions of credits’ worth of OCA property, not to mention the fact that I assume you’re talking on a stolen communicator right now — are you?”

  “What’s your point?” Moozana hadn’t mentioned that Ward was an AIA mole, but he figured that treason was also included in that list of crimes, even if it wasn’t stated outright. No doubt Erica had told them everything by now.

  Ward rubbed his eye, the lens itching. But he couldn’t take it out. It was his ace in the hole, the only thing that was creating an account of events from his perspective. He could feel the minute hum of electricity irritating his eyeball. It didn’t have a battery, but drew power from the electrical impulses firing through his body. They weren’t designed to be worn for this length of time. The little thing was probably overloaded from sending and receiving so much data for so long. It was still live transmitting to Cootes using the city’s network, but even nanocircuitry heated up when it was pushed to its limits.

  “My point is that despite what you’ve done and what you’ve uncovered,” Moozana went on, “forcing Ferlish to show his hand, taking down the second shooter, finding the hideout — it’s all inconsequential, and there’s still a warrant out for your arrest. If they see you, they are to apprehend you on sight.”

  Ward set his jaw. “They can damn well try,” he growled. “I’ll be in the city until I know Chang is safe, and then… And then you’ll never see me again. But I’ll be checking, so make sure you nail Ferlish Arza to the goddamn wall, all right?” He sighed. “I’ll have this communicator on me until I’m sure Chang is safe, and then I’m gone. I’d say it’s been a pleasure, Moozana, but honestly, you’ve been kind of a dick.”

  Ward hung up before he could reply and stuffed the communicator in his pocket, ripping back on the throttle and taking off into the crowded streets. It didn’t really matter at this point how much noise he made, and he knew no matter how many sentinels they put on the perimeter of the city he would still be able to slip out — and it wasn’t like the Bureau could spare them on the outskirts for his sake. Not today.

  Once he was through, then, it was just a case of heading out to one of the safehouses in the plains and sending out an SOS. From there, all he’d have to do was wait. A day, two, a week, a month. It didn’t matter. He’d be out, and it’d be over, and that was it.

  Twenty minutes later he spoofed his way into an ornithology store and bought a pair of telescopic binoculars. He was surprised to find that his credit chip worked. He was standing against the counter, his fingertips resting on the butt of the SIG Sauer P226 under the hem of his jacket. He’d assumed that his account would have been frozen and he’d have needed to pull the SIG on the shopkeeper, make him hand over the binoculars by force.

  Instead, he just paid for them and walked out.

  It was after nine by the time he got to the first vantage point, the one from which Sadler had been shot.

  He stared down at it from an adjacent building.

  Two sentinels in masks were doing laps around the edge, rifles pulled tight to their shoulders. The door had been chained from the outside to stop anyone else coming onto the roof. Ward watched for twelve minutes before the twenty-minute check-in happened. The sentinels stopped, in turn, and put their fingers against their helmets, looking around while they spoke to whoever was contacting them.

  Ward watched as they nodded, turned to face each other, and then went on with their circuit.

  On the streets below, the Bureau was cordoning off a route with barriers. City workers were setting them and linking them together as armed sentinels patrolled, holding their hands up to tell people they couldn’t cross, and would have to walk around.

  They looked like ants from where Ward was standing.

  By the time he got down to the ground, the back streets were bursting with people indignant that they couldn’t move freely through the city, and those giddy with anticipation — already drinking and cheering, waving banners and flags with Chang’s smiling face on them.

  Ward couldn’t understand how people didn’t find days like this anything except stressful. But then again, these people were celebrating, and all their worries were dispelled by one thought — It’s being taken care of by someone else.

  They could relax and enjoy while others worried about two-kilometer rifles and Axis-wide conspiracies.

  Ward shouldered his way through, stopping only to stick another cocktail of painkillers and anti-inflammatories into his leg.

  He pulled a little pot of repair-gel from his pocket — a substance made with enriched collagen and macrophages, as well as an analgesic, anti-inflammatory, and everything else you could need to help your broken face heal quicker.

  Ward smeared some across his lips and cheek and kept going, ignoring the itch on his skin.

  With each passing minute, more and more people came out onto the streets.

  By the time he’d made it up to the third roost, it was nearly eleven and progress had slowed due to the sheer volume of bodies he had to get past.

  Chang would be arriving in just under an hour. The prime minister’s ship had probably already touched down on the surface. The man himself was probably briefed on the route as Ward was thinking about it.

  He looked down at one of the sniper’s vantage points and saw more sentinels circling.

  He leaned against the ledge of the building and folded his arms, biting into and chewing slowly on a sandwich he’d picked up from a bodega on the way. Even if he was arrest-on-sight, the sentinels were being spread thin as it was. He’d passed a few on the street, and they’d paid him no mind.

  His bike was outside the immediate crowds of people. There was a pedestrian-only section of the city now cordoned off and big flashing signs on the roads were directing people away from downtown.

  Even from twenty stories up, where Ward was, he could hear the chatter of the streets filtering up. People were singing and being merry. It was sickening almost. He wondered then if he was a total cynic, or just having
a bad day. He thought a little of both.

  He checked his watch compulsively, knowing he only had one spot left, and that Moozana probably had it all in hand, anyway. Judging by how things looked so far, he’d managed to get a lid on the leaks and things were progressing well. And yet the tension in his muscles wouldn’t abate.

  Ward looked down the route, seeing an empty stretch of road already lined by thousands of people. Chang would come down it soon enough. Two bikes in the lead, then a sentinel cruiser. Then, behind that would be the prime minister. He always walked the routes and made nice with everyone at the barriers — his humanity was what people loved about him the most.

  Walking behind the cruisers would be a bunch of DC guys. Defense Committee Rangers clad in combat gear. Basically the OCA equivalent of Earth’s Secret Service. There’d be eight of them. Two on each flank, two facing forward, and two facing back, covering all angles.

  Behind Chang would be the same in reverse. Eight Rangers protecting him from anyone in the crowd who might be tempted to try something.

  Of course, it was possible that anyone in the DC could have been turned, too. But for Chang’s private detail, the background checks would be far more stringent. You’d never get to someone in his detail, no matter who you were. The guys there lived and breathed for the OCA, and would die for it too. They’d take a bullet for Chang in a heartbeat if they knew one was coming. That’s what they were there for.

  A leak could come from anywhere, but Ward bet that the number of guys on Arza’s payroll was small. Corruption of that kind had to be very small, or all consuming. Anything in the middle and it would get noticed.

  Ward pushed the last piece of crust into his mouth, hit the ledge gently with the heel of his hand, and turned back toward the door.

  One left to check. That was all.

  He was starting to feel okay. Like things were going to work out.