by Matt Levin
Once they had briefed everyone, Isadora and the two security guards, one on either side of her, took up positions at the shuttle’s side door. It flipped open seconds later, and the shouts of the Offspring protesters turned to roars.
Isadora and her guards walked down the short pathway from the shuttle to the villa slowly, making sure to stay in step with each other. Both security guards had firm grips on their sidearms, keeping them low but ready at their waists. Isadora looked out at the sea of angry, scrunched faces greeting her. Now that she was on the ground, she estimated the crowd at over fifty, although less than a hundred. There were so many words being hurled at her that she couldn’t make any particular sentences out. But the rage that fueled them was palpable.
One of the protesters closest to her spat at her, a wad of fluid landing inches away from her feet. The security guard on her left immediately raised her gun, aiming the barrel at the closest protesters.
“It’s okay,” Isadora said frantically. “Saliva has never hurt me before.”
If some of the protesters were armed, having her security actively point their weapons at the crowd could lead to a deadly cycle of escalation. When they were this outnumbered, it was smarter to turn the other cheek. Plus, Isadora made out a handful of media drones buzzing around overhead, meaning whatever reaction her people had to the protests would be broadcast to the wider public. Even if nothing happened, pointing weapons at the protesters was a bad look. The guard lowered her weapon slowly.
They arrived at the entrance to the villa safely. She looked out over the angry faces in the crowd, almost feeling sorry for them. Sorry that their hate had consumed them to the point of giving them meaning in life. What kind of person skipped out on a weekend just to go yell at a group of people who had never done them wrong?
She input the code she had gotten when she reserved the villa into a terminal next to the entrance, and the automatic clamps unlatched. Her security detail ushered her inside immediately. Then they headed back out to escort the next staff member.
In only about ten minutes, everyone was inside the compound. Their shuttle took off and headed back toward Obrigan City.
“This isn’t exactly how I imagined our staff retreat would start off,” Isadora said, raising her voice over the thundering of the protesters’ jeers, still audible even inside the villa’s perimeter wall.
She lingered on some of her staff’s faces. Alexander seemed truly shaken, his eyes wide and transfixed on the ground. Gabby kept looking back over her shoulder, as if expecting that one of the protesters had followed her in. Katrina seemed unfazed.
Isadora looked up at the wooden patio that lined the main cabin. There were a few porch swings and deck chairs interspersed throughout the patio, heat lamps next to each one, where Isadora had looked forward to lounging before she knew about the Offspring protest. Sitting in sight of the protesters would just invite more jeering. And definitely less relaxation.
“Let’s head indoors, shall we?” Isadora suggested.
“We’ll man the perimeter,” one of the two security personnel said. “Make sure none of them are stupid enough to try anything.”
Isadora nodded. “Stay safe.”
She followed the rest of her staff into the cabin, where a nice hand-written note welcoming her to the villa was sitting out on a glass table next to a bowl of small maroon pods. “What are these?” Alexander said, his hand lingering at the edge of the bowl as though he were afraid to touch them.
“Fungal pods,” Isadora said.
“Aren’t those giant mushroom things poisonous?” Alexander asked.
“Everything except the pods,” Gabby interjected.
Alexander hesitated again, until he finally popped one in his mouth. His round face lit up almost comically. “That’s really good,” he said. Isadora urged the others to go put their belongings in their rooms, hoping that more distance from the protesters might calm down the more anxious ones.
While her staff retreated to their respective rooms, Isadora tried a fungal pod and immediately understood her chief financier’s reaction. The pod was surprisingly chewy for how small it was. The taste was a strange mix of savory and sweet, with her mind wanting to compare it to a berry but the actual flavor protesting against such easy categorization.
As her staff trickled back into the main room, Isadora left to drop her own things off, heading up to the cabin’s second floor. It was mercifully quiet inside. She finally felt free from the protesters’ chants. It was also cold—they didn’t keep the heating units running while the cabin was unoccupied, she figured—and she enjoyed the gentle creaks of the wood underneath her boots.
Isadora took the last room at the end of the corridor and threw her bag onto the bed. She sat down on the edge to take off her boots, and felt the bones in her body settle into the mattress. A feeling of warmth emanated from deep within her as the stress oozed out of her back and her hip joints. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the moment.
Once her boots were off, she fanned her toes out and felt a nice stretch in the top of her feet. Placing her hands on her thighs, she tried to sit upright on the bed and take a series of deep breaths. Which was much easier to do here than back at the embassy.
By now, her staff were probably wondering what was taking her so long. She headed back down the corridor to the staircase, her socks sliding over the smooth wooden floors.
When she returned to the cabin’s main lobby, she was happy to see that the same cordial, relaxed atmosphere she had seen during the shuttle ride had returned.
Isadora paused at the foot of the staircase and enjoyed the scene. Suddenly, there was no to-do list, no jam-packed itinerary full of meetings and hard decisions, no crushing weight of responsibility. Even the tension of the confrontation with the protesters had eased since entering the villa.
She instinctively wanted to ask Katrina, Gabby, and Alexander for progress updates, because that was just the kind of person she was. Or who she was becoming. She closed her eyes and suppressed those urges.
They would just say the same things as they had right before they left for the weekend retreat. Alexander would discuss how he was still coordinating with New Arcena to transition the colony toward spice production, thanks to the food imports from Ikkren. Gabby would explain how she had made progress in various district-level Obrigan City courts with her arguments against the legality of the settlement charter vote. Katrina would, with an unnecessary amount of resentment, recite her efforts in reaching out to various planetary governments in Union space and building sympathy for their people’s plight.
As Isadora walked over to the central table and plopped a handful of fungal pods in her mouth, she noticed an airbus landing at the helipad outside. She figured it was there to take the protesters back. It would be sunset soon, and she assumed the Offspring didn’t have the emotional fortitude for staying outside in the middle of the Obrigan winter after nightfall.
Isadora pushed the cabin door open and walked outside. A barrage of bitingly cold wind buffeted her body, but she didn’t mind. Sure enough, the Offspring protesters were filing into the airbus.
Isadora waved over the two security guards. “You can take a break,” Isadora shouted over the wind as the two approached. “I think we should be safe now. And you’ve earned a rest just as much as the rest of us.”
The two guards exchanged glances. “We should continue checking the perimeter,” one said. “It’s possible that some of the protesters may have stayed behind to cause trouble. Or even left some kind of explosive device.”
“Fair enough,” Isadora said. “But at least take shifts.”
The two considered her offer momentarily. “Okay,” the other guard said. “I’ll take first watch.”
“Sounds good,” her colleague said. “I’ll be out to relieve you in half an hour.” The guard who volunteered for first watch headed back to the outer walls, keeping her handgun at the ready.
The off-duty guard held the cabin door open for Is
adora. “Are you coming in?” he asked.
“Oh, I’ll be in after a few minutes. I want to enjoy this for just a little longer,” Isadora said.
The door closed behind the guard, and Isadora found herself appreciating a real sense of silence for the first time. The roar of the departing airbus’ engines had subsided into a quiet hum.
She wrapped her arms across her torso for warmth and surveyed the surrounding area. She hadn’t gotten a good look during their descent, since the protesters had preoccupied her attention. The cabin was situated on a low plateau leading up to an impressive mountain range, with a series of snow-capped peaks dominating the view to the west.
The snowfall had inched further and further down the mountains before cutting off just a couple hundred feet higher than the villa. The treeline, including the giant fungal growths, was well below them. The only plant life at their altitude were small flowers, which looked surprisingly dull in their shades of grey.
Isadora let the beauty and tranquility of the environment wash over her. She even let herself get excited that she could spend the whole weekend relaxing at the villa. Maybe for the first time since she had woken up aboard the Preserver, the next 48 hours of her life would be completely uneventful.
CHAPTER 30
* * *
After spending three weeks shacked up in the primary hideout of the biggest criminal organization in Natonus, Russ figured his paranoia should’ve been bothering him more. Which wasn’t to say he trusted the Syndicate. He trusted Lena Veridor only as far as he could throw her.
Still, there was something comforting about having a constant, unobtrusive level of suspicion toward the Syndicate. At least it didn’t constantly get worse, like it did with the Union.
He spent most of his days either observing weapons demonstrations and hashing out order quantities with Lena herself, or coordinating the logistics of shipping Syndicate goods to Calimor. Riley had been handling the other side of their deal: figuring out how to start up the criminal organization’s operations beyond the outer rim.
Riley had gotten the worse task, Russ felt. She had to figure out the most logical sites for the Syndicate to set up shop on Calimor—usually one of the other abandoned dome plantations well away from New Arcena—all without drawing too much attention.
Originally, actively helping the Syndicate wasn’t part of the deal. But it had slowly crept into the mission parameters as they became more deeply tied with the criminal empire. It bothered both Russ and Riley, but there was little they could do to protest. And the arms shipments could help their colonists defend themselves from the Union, which was a greater source of paranoia for Russ than the Syndicate. Keeping everything in perspective helped him avoid his distaste for their new allies.
Russ looked up from the desk next to the bunk unit where he and Riley had been staying. The Syndicate ran its main hideout like a military base, and enforcers usually had to share bed units while the other shift was on duty. Luckily, there was a small visitor’s suite that Lena had allowed them to stay in. It was a cramped room with only a single bunk bed unit, a couple of gear lockers, and a small office desk, but at least it was something. And it afforded them some welcome privacy.
Riley had taken the top bunk, where it looked like she was reviewing a holographic projection of a Calimor dome plantation on her wrister. Or trying to. She rubbed her temples and pinched her forearm, shaking herself back to a state of alertness.
“Hard time staying awake?” Russ grunted.
Riley nodded and yawned. “Problem is, everything’s gotten boring as shit. Sir.”
Russ empathized. He had been constantly at work ever since the Preserver woke him up. Riley’s time in the Natonus System had been even more frantic. Suddenly, they found themselves lounging in the Syndicate’s hideout without much to do.
What they were doing was important work, Russ knew. But sitting around for weeks on end and watching weapons demos or planning smuggling routes wasn’t exactly a soldier’s forte. Even the spartan room where they were staying was starting to feel just a little too comfortable.
And Russ knew Riley was feeling even more restless. Staying on the move had been Riley’s way of not dealing with the death of her husband and the rest of their squad. Russ had noticed that Riley had become significantly more withdrawn and taciturn. Most of their conversations, it felt like she was barely keeping a lid on some outburst of rage or sadness.
Riley hadn’t had any real alone time in weeks. When they weren’t meeting with Syndicate representatives, they usually holed up in the visitor’s suite together. Maybe she needed time to reflect, or do her religion thing, or whatever. And Russ could take his work elsewhere.
He closed the file on his wrister and headed for the door. “Why don’t you grab some shuteye?” he said to Riley on his way out. “Or just take some time to yourself. I’ll go work on this stuff somewhere else. Or hell, maybe I’ll even go speak to Lena about getting off this hellhole of a planet.”
Riley didn’t look at him, but her face registered a faint smile. “I’d really appreciate that. Thanks.” She climbed down from her bunk and started in on a set of push-ups.
Russ left the room. The door swished shut behind him. He passed by the enforcer dormitories, where an entire shift was sleeping. Instinctively, Russ tiptoed by the dormitory door even though he knew he probably wouldn’t wake the sleeping Syndicate agents inside. Still, don’t mess with another recruit’s sleep was about as cardinal of a rule that could exist in military life, and old habits had a way of dying hard.
Russ found a cushioned ottoman stool seat next to a window pane that looked out over the desert. Next to the chair, there was a potted succulent that seemed to have withered and died long ago. It didn’t surprise him that basic maintenance wasn’t high on the Syndicate’s list of priorities.
He turned his attention back to his wrister. Two holographic projections spat out: detailed schematics of two different plasma assault rifle models, the Zol-CAR and the UM-350. The Zol-CAR, short for Zoledo Carbine, was produced by Syndicate-affiliated factories planetside, whereas the UM-350 was the standard-issue rifle for Union forces.
The tests Lena had showed him were conclusive: the UM-350 was far lighter, more accurate, had superior range, and didn’t overheat as rapidly after sustained firing. But it was also far more expensive, required more maintenance, and took longer to learn how to use. Since most of the colonists on Calimor with military experience had been reservists instead of full-time soldiers, that last specification was most important to Russ.
Plus, considering that the first batch of weapons was essentially on the house, Russ could order the Zol-CARs in bulk, whereas he couldn’t requisition enough UM-350s to provide every colonist with a rifle. The cost of the UM-350s, he had learned, was high because each component part was manufactured separately by various weapons manufacturers on Obrigan, all of whom competed for contracts with the Union government.
Russ chuckled and rolled his eyes as he recalled his findings. Typical bureaucratic bullshit working its way into defense matters. It had been the same way on Earth, so why should it be any different in the Natonus System?
The Zol-CARs, meanwhile, were fully manufactured on Zoledo with the cheapest raw materials on the market. Which made them an ideal rifle for the refugees’ situation.
Russ watched another few clips of Zol-CAR firing demonstrations. Rifle rebound was high enough that it forced units to stagger out, and they had to pick their shots more carefully. But the rifles would still work well enough. Well enough, unless the Union ever decided to ignore its rules of engagements and annihilate them from orbit, at which point none of this would even matter. The rifles were easily identifiable as Syndicate-made, though, which meant anyone surveilling their colonies would know instantly that they were in bed with the Syndicate.
He closed the file and looked out at the desert expanse. The past three weeks were the first time Russ had been planetside in a long time. His work in the EDF had mos
tly been on a lunar military base, and then he spent months working aboard the Preserver upon arrival in Natonus. The last time he had been in a natural environment for any extended period of time was growing up in the Louisiana boonies.
He hadn’t appreciated how distracting natural sunlight could be. He stood up, leaned against the frame of the window, and got lost in his thoughts while surveying the desert. The gentle shifting of the sands every time there was a gust of wind was mesmerizing.
They had to get off Zoledo. Riley was halfway to stir crazy, and meanwhile he was getting distracted by the views. He figured most of the logistics work they were doing could be done remotely. And Russ wanted to finally see New Arcena. Maybe check in on how militia training was going.
He decided it was time to go see Lena.
Russ stood up and headed for the inner complex. He took the long way, walking along the compound’s outer walls to avoid the booming music from a central drinking den that had long since become annoying.
On the way, he passed by a room on the left that looked like some kind of computer control room. The door was slightly ajar, as though someone working inside had left and forgot to close it all the way. Information security’s clearly a top priority here, Russ thought, peering inside the room.
There were four computer terminals all crowded around a central workstation. It looked like any other control room he had seen in his career. If less well-guarded.
It was almost too tempting. Russ’ level of suspicion of the Syndicate had been relatively consistent, and therefore easy to ignore, but he knew there were things they were hiding from him. He wasn’t an idiot.
Plus, the EDF had taught basic hacking skills. Assuming the Syndicate didn’t use military-grade encryption on their terminals, he figured he’d at least be able to access a few files…