by Allen Stroud
Pietro chewed his lip. ‘I transported Finch for days, how come we didn’t get sick earlier?’
‘Because the virus only became active when the body thawed,’ Pasion explained. ‘After the crash, the containment system broke down, as it would, deprived of power from your ship. The bacteria need the host to be dead as well, owing to the parasitic nature of the antigen, another sign it’s artificially created.’
‘Means I’m beholden to you for the treatment,’ Pietro said, ‘which is why you told me for free. Was Renner affected?’
‘Only slightly, which is strange,’ Pasion said. ‘We’ve taken blood samples and we’re waiting on the results.’ He waved his hand at the darkened monitor. ‘We don’t have the most efficient system to work with here, as you can see.’
‘You can’t afford better?’
‘We wouldn’t want better, everything produced is data coded to send profile information to the planet’s mainframe. Touchscreens, voice systems, the whole lot, all wired to a security network controlled by the Good Doctor; Hans Walden.’
‘No offence, but being spied on is better than being tied to a bed,’ Pietro said.
‘I think you have the wrong idea about me,’ Pasion said. He leaned forward. ‘In my life, I was a slave, dragged from a family I barely remember to the auction pens on Riedquat. You’re well travelled I’d guess, and understand something of slavery in the Empire? By comparison, Riedquat’s what the old Theological Synod would call hell. A system ruled by war, with divisions all across its habitable regions. Go back two hundred years and Riedquat might have been a power in this quadrant, but it fractured and ruined itself. The advantage for its neighbours now is, if you want people to disappear you ship them there. Men, women, children, doesn’t matter who you are, or how old. They give you a gun and send you to fight in the desert or the jungle, whatever.’ Pasion rolled up his right sleeve. The arm beneath was laced with scars. ‘I know about being a slave. I’ve no intention of making you the same.’
Pietro nodded. He remembered the name Riedquat. It had been on Heldaban Kel’s file. ‘So, what happens if I walk away?’ he asked.
‘We’ll give you what medication we can and let you go.’ Pasion said.
Pietro smiled. ‘Hardly a chance, abandoned on a strange world with an uncured virus.’
‘Don’t confuse our responsibility with the way your employers left you,’ Pasion said. ‘They wanted you dead and think you are now. We offer an opportunity to be involved. When we overthrow Walden, you’ll be a big part of the next step.’
Another man appeared at the door carrying a tray with a steaming bowl. Pietro’s stomach growled at the smell. ‘For now, I’ll take the meal and we’ll see where we are,’ he said.
Pasion nodded and got up. ‘Very well,’ he said, ‘enjoy the food,’ and with that he was gone.
* * *
When Bertrum returned home, he found the transport shuttle he’d arrived in, waiting on the launch pad, along with the same personal aide, Damell Gramos.
‘Did you get a break?’ Bertrum asked as he took a seat in the passenger cabin.
‘Something urgent came up Prefect. I was ordered to return and fetch you.’
Bertrum sighed and strapped himself in. A hiss of retrojets and the launchpad began to shrink away below. Sensing his departure, the house lights gradually winked out, leaving them to ascend in darkness. He realised he was being nicer to the man out of some ridiculous notion that he wasn’t a spy. He remembered what Anna had said. You’re constantly monitored ...
His eyes flicked up to the viewscreen playing another of Walden’s speeches. An insidious surveillance culture had made information the top commodity. The buying market remained with those who wanted to learn things; the selling market with people who could get there quickest. In between both lay a precious few, trapped into powerlessness by their own positions: too cautious to be effective; too powerful to be insignificant.
The flight took three hours. It was dark outside, but Bertrum couldn’t sleep. He thought about asking Gramos what waited in Ashoria, but wondered what the answer would cost him. Instead, he pulled up his private message box, looking for clues. Nothing materialised. No report from the military officer overseeing the crashed ship retrieval and no guilty confessions from the other prefects. He did find a short missive from the Federal ambassador apologising for his inability to secure the records Bertrum had requested. Apparently they had been misplaced. Bertrum wasn’t surprised.
The shuttle began to descend and he closed down the dataslate. Ashoria’s lights illuminated the landing pad and the city below. When the engines dropped to idle he left the ship and made his way to the lift, Gramos at his side. A short elevator ride brought them back into the main office. It was dark and completely empty, which was unusual. Bertrum stopped and frowned.
‘Follow me, sir,’ Gramos said, walking towards the prefect’s rooms.
‘No better place to murder the prefect of Ashoria than his own office.’ Bertrum cursed as he heard the tremble in his voice.
Gramos stopped, turned slowly and stared at him. ‘Prefect, only you can walk through the door, no one is forcing you, if you are suspicious of the situation or of me, bear in mind, we have been alone in a shuttle compartment for plenty of time. A crash would be an easy arrangement and I am certainly a great deal more expendable than you.’
‘I don’t know what you are,’ Bertrum said, but he knew there were few options available to him. Any attempt to flee would be thwarted; the powered servos on his legs weren’t built for running. ‘If you’re so innocent, tell me what’s waiting for me in there,’ he demanded.
‘If I did, I would be dead,’ Gramos replied. ‘We are all components of the same machine and to play more than your part, demonstrates unsuitability,’ Bertrum recognised the words; they were from a LaveGov briefing guide. ‘You need to walk through the door,’ Gramos added.
‘Fine,’ servos whined and Bertrum elbowed his way past the aide to the thumbprint scanner and placed the requisite digit on the plate. The panel slid open to reveal three figures, two standing and carrying kinetic rifles, a third sitting in his chair.
‘Doctor Walden,’ Bertrum realised aloud.
Walden smiled. ‘Hello Prefect,’ he said.
* * *
‘Walden’s scientists have a lot of experience in all sorts of genetic modification, including cloning, but this ... well ...’
Seven people sat in a circle in a tent. Pietro eyed the young boy speaking. He’d been introduced as James Gibson, a child prodigy who’d been rescued from a secret execution. He stayed close to Gebrial who listened to him carefully. Occasionally the two met each other’s eye, making Pietro’s lips quirk. By the sounds of it, they’d both had hard lives.
The other people present were Pasion; Renner; a heavy built man called Harker wearing a long browncoat, ex military; and a brown haired, serious looking woman named Jallin, in a pressure suit. Another armed guard stood at the door, carrying a rifle, which looked a hundred years old. They’d given Pietro back his clothes, but the weapons he’d acquired weren’t being returned. He’d been assured he wasn’t a prisoner, but he hadn’t earned much trust.
‘Might be a defence mechanism, activated when one of the clones dies?’ Renner said. ‘Some sort of fail-safe retribution?’
‘Walden’s more calculating than that,’ Pasion said. ‘There’ll be a strategic purpose.’
‘Maybe Finch wanted out?’ Jallin suggested.
‘Then you people shouldn’t have killed him,’ Pietro muttered.
‘Kel’s mission from us wasn’t to kill Finch,’ Pasion said eyeing Renner. ‘I guess he forgot that part.’
Renner shrugged. ‘A Walden clone would never come quietly. Why would any of them want out, they got everything here just as they like.’
‘If so, why all the trade deals?’ Pietro asked. ‘What was Finch doing making an agricultural deal with Alioth?’
Renner glanced at Pasion who raised his eyebr
ows. ‘Walden always talked of a plan to restore Lave’s glory. We sent Kel after the chits which, I believe, you got your hands on?’ Pietro nodded and Renner went on. ‘Well, Kel found a pattern, all the deals were with major players at distance. Earth, Mars, Altair, Tau Ceti, Alioth, powerful systems, lot of bribes being paid out too, for fast tracks through freight security and warning off spot scans I reckon. We took months tracking down each factor. To start, we only got copies of the chits, after transactions. The one Finch had was legit and before delivery.’
‘You sent your man to kill all those merchants?’ Pietro asked. ‘They all Walden clones?’
‘Kel didn’t kill anyone until Finch,’ Renner said. ‘Likely he figured out who he was.’
Pietro nodded. ‘Yeah he took DNA, I sent the sample to my people.’
‘That’s what got you kicked out,’ Pasion said. ‘Someone in on the plan decided you’d stepped in the way.’
Pietro frowned. ‘Someone in on the plan, from the Federation?’
‘Has to be,’ Renner answered, ‘like I said, lot of money being thrown around.’
‘The virus might explain why we weren’t shot down when we made atmosphere,’ Renner said. ‘No way they’d want to risk an epidemic.’
‘They knew what we had onboard as well,’ Pietro said. ‘The team I took out, they were all in bio suits.’
‘Figures,’ said Harker.
‘Let’s backtrack a bit,’ Pietro said. ‘You sent Heldaban Kel to find out what was going on with these merchants heading out from Lave. He found these chits which you analysed and worked out were active business trades directly from the planetary government.’
‘I sent Kel, yes,’ Renner said. ‘I informed our resistance contact as soon as possible.’
‘Kel followed the money, traced the merchants and followed Atticus Finch to Darahk, where I’d been tipped off by a Fed spook he was coming.’
‘If this fits with your information, yes.’
‘I captured Kel, but not in time to save Finch. I expect the same Fed spook cut me loose when I became curious.’
‘Seems rational,’ Pasion said.
‘Means whatever your Doctor Walden is up to, it’s got high-level backing,’ Pietro said. ‘Federal Intelligence don’t turn on their own for bribes, there must be a large interest for them.’
‘Lave’s dealings with the Federation are few and far between,’ Pasion said. ‘The proximity of Imperial space makes Achenar a much more attractive ally than distant Earth and Mars.’
‘If the trades are active they’d be part of public record and available to anyone who accessed the datahub,’ Pietro said. ‘If you have the dates you can—’
‘Ah no, Agent Devander, I’m afraid we can’t.’ Pasion sighed and turned to James. ‘Explain it to him.’
‘Lave has a data access barrier on all out-system queries,’ James said apologetically. ‘Planetary devices are enabled for the planetary datanet only and that’s heavily censored. You won’t find the Federation Times, let alone the galactic stock exchange.’
‘What about my slate?’ Gebrial asked.
‘Yes, you could make an access call, which would be immediately traced,’ James said, ‘and our location here, compromised.’
‘Least we know we could do it,’ Pietro said and looked at Renner. ‘What about your off-world contacts?’
‘Communication between the Phoenix Brigade and the resistance here on the planet is carefully planned,’ Pasion said. ‘Has to be, surveillance is all pervasive.’
‘When’s your next meet?’
‘In two weeks, on Lave Station,’ Pasion said, ‘would be hard to arrange telling them.’
‘Will be old news by then anyway,’ Pietro said. ‘How do you people plan attacks and co-ordinate your strikes?’
‘We don’t do strikes, Agent Devander,’ Harker said in a deep disapproving baritone. ‘We aren’t martyrs.’
‘Then what are you?’ Pietro asked. ‘I did my time researching coups and civil wars. If you people aren’t even fighting the regime, how can you hope to cause a rebellion?’
Pasion sucked air through his teeth. ‘Do not doubt my resolve, boy. When the time comes to act, we will. Perhaps when you know the situation better, Agent Devander, you’ll be in a position to help. Kaspet, escort him out.’
The guard at the door shouldered his rifle and moved forwards with purpose. For a moment, Pietro thought about taking the rifle and beating him to the ground with the stock, but Kaspet was only obeying orders. Pietro glanced around at the others. It wouldn’t do him any favours here either.
‘Okay I’ll go take a break,’ he said, getting up. ‘Where I’m from we do things a bit differently.’
‘I’m sure,’ Pasion replied.
‘I’ll come with you,’ James said, also standing. ‘I’ve a few questions if that’s all right?’
‘Absolutely,’ Pietro said. ‘Lead the way.’
Chapter 27: The Drifter
Quator Station was a dive.
Heldaban Kel sat at a table. The only man in the only bar in the outfit. The blue neon sign displaying the word ‘Hoopys’ flickered intermittently, either from a short circuit or something very wrong in the station’s power system; or both.
It wasn’t a real ‘Hoopys’ anyway. They’d been a casino chain with a branch on Lave Station that had shut down in the 3240s, by all accounts because the family business had refused to sell up. More than a hundred years of chancers and fortune seekers had wandered through those glitzy arches and stumbled out penniless.
A thin mawkish man rubbed a glass on the bar with a filthy cloth. Despite his efforts, the glass was no cleaner than him. Further along, a sign saying ‘Real Lavian Brandy’; three parts a lie. Kel had a sample of the vintage on the table in front of him. Not real, not Lavian and certainly not brandy.
But he wasn’t sitting here for the drinks or the decor.
He’d sat for an hour before he’d noticed the dogfight holosim in the corner. Realistic flight stick and throttle with simple line graphics from the old days; it even piped out a jaunty waltz. He’d wasted a few credits, replacing ‘JFS’ with ‘KEL’ all over the high score chart.
Now, he watched two figures, walking directly from the docking zone, both showing little sign of the rolling gait spacefarers got when they’d let their body forget what gravity did. He recognised the corporate suit and the Alliance uniform of his companion, a lieutenant and a woman to boot.
Kel smiled. Today was getting better.
‘Your name Kel?’ the woman asked.
‘Your friend already told you it is,’ Kel replied. ‘Take a seat.’
The suit sat down. The woman hesitated for a moment, but did the same. ‘I’m Cassom,’ she said. ‘This is Ferris.’
‘Pleased to meet you both,’ Kel said and smiled broadly, but didn’t get one in return. ‘What’s the Alliance doing all the way out here?’
Ferris and Cassom exchanged glances. ‘Babysitting us,’ Ferris settled on finally. ‘Wreaken Construction and Mining is surveying the system.’
Kel snorted. ‘Waste of time. You folks need to get back to Tiliala and fight harder.’
Ferris shrugged. ‘We aren’t just interested in Tantalum. Quator has other assets.’
Kel got up. ‘Well sounds like you don’t need my advice,’ he said. ‘Enjoy your surveyin’.’
‘Actually we do need your talents,’ Ferris said, ‘and we’re willing to pay well.’
Kel stopped moving, but leaned forward. ‘Okay, let’s hear it.’
Ferris nodded at Cassom, who produced three printed photographs. ‘We need these ships identified,’ she said.
Kel picked up one and recognised the shape of the craft. ‘Why’d you want to know?’ he asked.
Cassom blinked but didn’t bite. ‘Can you identify the ship or not?’ she repeated.
‘It’s the Figurant, a freighter, belongs to Orange Star Enterprises, right now, it’ll be in the Lave system, waiting to head out to Dis
o any day.’
‘What about the others?’
‘The Orson and the Maximillian. First one’s another freighter, same spec as the other one. The Maximillian’s a bit different. Old Galcop escort frigate.’
‘Would you be able to give us more details on its capabilities?’ Cassom asked.
‘Sure,’ Kel said, ‘but you already got enough for free. How about we talk prices?’
‘Of course,’ Ferris said. ‘How much would you like to—’
‘I was thinking of more of a like for like deal, information for information,’ Kel ignored Ferris and concentrated on Cassom. ‘Where’s your ship?’ he asked.
The lieutenant looked surprised, but recovered quickly. ‘My ship? Why would that interest you?’
‘Because I’m curious, just like you,’ Kel said.
‘The Alliance is supporting our efforts in the Quator system,’ Ferris said.
‘Quator doesn’t have much of anything,’ Kel said, ‘yet you two strolled in here like gravity was a given thing. Means you either came from the planet or a ship with a rotational deck, which I’d guess, ain’t built for mining.’
‘Mister Kel,’ Cassom said. ‘I’m authorised to trade with you for information with a credit balance for your results. I want to establish a good business relationship.’
‘I get that,’ Kel said, ‘but your credits don’t interest me.’ He flicked one of the photographs across the table. ‘I checked these samples and gave you answers. You can go and verify them if you want, then come back again, but that’s a lot of time wasted. A better plan would be to take me back with you and go over everything you got. It’ll be quick and painless, I assure you.’
Cassom measured him with a look, brushing back a lock of hair. It made her attractive in Kel’s eyes. He kept his grin fixed and sat back in the seat. ‘How do I know I can trust you?’ she asked.
Kel nodded at Ferris. ‘Because your contact says you can. I’m no ally of either Quator faction and certainly no friend of LaveSec, the real owners of all those ships.’
‘And you’d identify all of our photo records?’
‘Sure.’