by R S Penney
“Arin.”
“Yes. He's gone too.”
Jack found himself pacing; this was just too much for him to deal with. Two of the most dangerous men he had locked up in the past year released at the same time. It was like someone had grabbed his stomach and squeezed as hard as they could. Summer tried to calm him down, but it wasn't working. “What do we know?”
“Not much,” Larani admitted. “Their trail goes cold after they left the station. We don't know how they got off, but the most reasonable answer is through a SlipGate. After that they, they could have gone anywhere. Perhaps down to the planet's surface, perhaps to a ship. However, it's very likely that they'll flee to a remote star system at the earliest opportunity. Chances are we'll never see them again.”
Hissing air through his teeth, Jack nodded slowly. “You're right,” he said. “That is the most probable scenario, but it's not what Leo will do. The guy's got an itch he cannot wait to scratch.”
“And what itch is that?”
“Me,” Jack said. “Leo's coming here.”
Anyone stupid enough to become chief director of the Justice Keepers had better make friends with it exhaustion because they would be living with it for a very, very long time. Two weeks on Earth spent bolstering diplomatic relations between her people and the locals followed by three days on a starship, and now – the very instant she set foot on Leyrian soil – someone was waiting in her office.
Operative Kaz Torens was a tall and skinny man in gray pants and a black jacket, a handsome young Keeper who wore his black hair cut short and neat. “Director Tal,” he said. “We have news.”
“I would imagine as much.”
“Ma'am?”
Larani strode across the floor tiles with a heavy sigh, shaking her head. “I assume you wouldn't be here otherwise,” she snapped. Her crankiness was bordering on outright unprofessional behaviour, but she had just disembarked from a long flight. “Out with it, Kaz; I need details.”
The man tapped at his multi-tool, ordering the room's holographic projectors to create an image that floated between the two of them. An amorphous blue blob that just hung there. She could see Kaz standing behind it with a frown on his face, and that left her feeling uneasy. Larani recognized the shape.
“Leyrian Space,” she said.
The young man shut his eyes and nodded to her. “Yes, ma'am,” he said. “While you were returning from Earth, several border patrols reported back. The sensor data that they shared is quite unnerving.”
Thankfully, she didn't have to ask him to elaborate. Kaz just lifted his forearm and tapped more commands into his multi-tool. Red dots appeared on the right-most edge of the blob, labeled as Belos, Alios and Palissa respectively. The Fringe Worlds? What were the Antaurans up to?
But it wasn't the Fringe Worlds that had Kaz feeling so uneasy; she could see that as he modified the image further. Small white dots appeared beyond the left-most edge of Leyrian Space, in what would be the unoccupied region between Leyria and Earth. Most people referred to that part of the Galaxy as Dead Space, and for good reason.
“Several Keepers on missions near the border of Dead Space had detected these strange sensor blips.”
Larani felt her mouth tighten, then lowered her eyes to stare at her shoes. “Sensor blips,” she said, eyebrows rising. “And you have no idea what they are? You weren't able to identify those ships?”
“It's very difficult to identify a ship at warp, ma'am,” he said in tones that made his irritation known. “You can determine how large each ship is by its warp trail, but-”
“Yes, yes, I know,” she cut in. Damn it but she really was in a foul mood today. It wasn't Kaz's fault – and she normally prided herself on a certain level of decorum – but the poor young man had stepped into her office at the wrong time. “So, how big are they? Let's start with that.”
“Some are as large as a battle cruiser.”
“And where are they going?”
“We don't know.”
Tilting her head back, Larani closed her eyes and tried to stifle her irritation. “You don't know,” she mumbled. “Well, have you liaised with the Space Corps to determine if they've encountered these sensor blips?”
Through a transparent hologram of blue light, she saw Kaz standing there with his arms hanging limp, his eyes downcast. “No, ma'am,” he said. “We wanted your approval before we talked to anyone.”
“Why should my approval matter?”
A wave of Kaz's hand caused the hologram to wink out, and then he let out a sigh. This subject was prickly for him. “We think these are Ragnosian ships making incursions to our side of the galaxy.”
“All the more reason to share this data.”
Kaz sat down on her desk with hands gripping the edge, his head turned so that he wouldn't have to look at her. “Ma'am, you've heard the anti-Ragnosian sentiment in our media,” he said. “In light of Councilor Dusep's posturing, we thought it best to-”
Larani squinted at the man, unable to squelch the loathing she felt. “To withhold vital information from the elected representatives of this planet,” she barked. “Have you forgotten what it means to be a Keeper, Operative Torens?”
“No, ma'am, I-”
“At what point did you decide that it was within our mandate to determine whether the Leyrian people were capable of handling sensitive information. When exactly did we become the arbiters of what should be classified and what should be public knowledge.”
“Ma'am Dusep has been vilifying us for weeks and using his platform to stir up a virulent Leyrian nationalism.” The young man was fuming with every breath, obviously trying to restrain his anger. “If this data were to become public knowledge-”
“It doesn't matter,” Larani said. “We're protectors of the community, not governors. It's not our job to determine what people are ready to know. We can only share what we find and trust them to do what's right.”
“Liaise with the Space Corps,” she said. “Find out what they know, and prepare a report on your findings. I'll deliver it to Council this afternoon.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
A brass railing atop a metal wall at the edge of this open-air restaurant overlooked a five-hundred-foot drop. Down below, the dilapidated buildings of an old city stood silent, many with holes where windows should be. They all looked very much the same from up here: tall, rectangular and gray.
Of course, on the surface, things were anything but quiet. You couldn't tell from up here, but the surface was a wonderful place to visit if you wanted a brush with violence. Gangs roamed the streets; the drug trade was getting out of hand, and violent crime was on the rise. But up here, on Racada Island, everything was peaceful.
He could see another floating island maybe twenty kilometers away, hovering over the city. Saucer-shaped structures that maintained their altitude through anti-gravity tech, the islands were home to the Ragnosian upper class.
From here, he could see trees atop the one in the distance, gardens and parks and other outdoor facilities. That island was very much like the one on which he now stood: four or five stories tall, over half a kilometer in diameter and filled to bursting with idiots who insisted on troubling him with their trivial concerns.
In black pants and a long coat that fell almost to his knees, its collar buttoned over his white linen shirt, Grecken Slade stood with his hands on the railing. A gust of wind caused his long, dark hair to stream out behind him.
“I will never understand your fascination with the view.”
That outburst came from a portly man in similar attire, a handsome fellow with a graying beard that stood in sharp contrast to his dark brown skin. Reno Taleri held a glass of wine in one hand. “There's nothing of value down there, my friend.”
“As you say.”
“You disagree?”
Schooling his face to avoid betraying even a hint of emotion, Slade paused briefly to phrase his response. “I have often found,” he began, “ that those things we cons
ider to be of little value are often those things we need most.”
Mr. Taleri lifted his glass to peer into it before taking a sip. “Your philosophy never ceases to entertain,” he said. “But the slums are not a place you want to visit. No man in his right mind ever would.”
“Perhaps not.”
“But?”
Slade gestured with his hand toward the floating island in the distance and then to another one off to his right. “Look at this opulence, Renos,” he said. “Imagine the energy expenditure to keep these miniature cities afloat. And for what purpose? To remind those below that we are superior?”
A smile on the other man's face deepened faint wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. “You have a keen mind, Adan,” he said. “But it is not so much a reminder as it is a fact of nature; we are here because we are superior.”
Adan Tirasso: the name Slade had presented upon arriving here nearly six months ago. To the people of this community, he was beneficiary of a small fortune left to him by a dead uncle who had once owned a shipping company. Such things were easily arranged when you had telepaths in key positions.
So far as anyone on this planet knew. “Adan” was still the face of that company, though he had little to do with its day to day operations. He was here to make contacts with the right people in the Systems Parliament.
Turning away from the railing, Slade leaned against it with arms folded and smiled down at his feet. “Perhaps you are right, my friend,” he said. “But imagine the shock and terror if one of these islands were to fall.”
“There are secondary and tertiary anti-gravity systems in place to prevent anything like that from ever happening.”
“As you say.”
Renos Taleri lifted the wine glass to his lips and downed its contents in one long gulp. A moment later, he grunted as he let his arm drop. “I think perhaps that you are too used to life on some backwater world.”
Once again, Slade gestured to his surroundings, to the small metal tables spread out across this concrete patio, each one shielded from the sun by an umbrella. To the looming pine trees beyond that swayed in the wind. A cobblestone path ran between two of them to a park where children played. “Such opulence is not without its risks.”
Before Renos could respond, a young, bare-chested man in a thin white skirt came toward them. This boy was quite the specimen if you were the sort who preferred men: tall and lean with an impressive physique, tanned skin and the face of an Adonis. Slade had always preferred women, but he could recognize beauty when it was right in front of him. The boy carried a glass of wine on a tray, a replacement for the one that Renos had just finished. “Here you are, sir.”
Renos took the glass without a second thought, setting it down on the empty table beside him. “You worry too much, Adan.”
When the waiter turned to go, Renos stepped forward and slapped the boy hard on his ass. A slight flinch was the lad's only response. “Don't be so coy,” Renos chided. “I tip quite well.”
“Yes, sir.”
There were rules against customers treating the staff in this way, but it was unlikely the young man would complain. He needed the job too badly. In all likelihood, he lived down on the surface, and days spent attending to the needs of lascivious old men were far better than some of the other employment options this world had to offer. “Go on,” Renos said. “I no longer find you amusing.”
The boy left without another word.
Renos lifted his glass, closed his eyes and drank half of it. “A poor vintage,” he said to himself. “But honestly, Adan, there is only one topic that concerns me. These Leyrians you speak of…”
“My cargo ships have detected them on the edges of our space,” Slade said. “They are a danger.”
“You exaggerate.”
With eyes closed, Slade turned his face up to the warm afternoon sun. “I wish that were so,” he murmured. “But since you and everyone else in the Systems Parliament are so tepid on the issue, I've done a little research.”
He retrieved a Pocket Computer from his jacket, a small square-shaped device that he opened like a book. Tapping a few commands into the keypad and making a few quick gestures on the screen, he brought up the holographic imaging processors. “This speech was broadcast over the SlipGate network,” Slade lied.
A transparent image filled the air before them, camera footage of a man who stood behind a lectern. One glance was all it took to see that he was a politician.
Short for a man, and compact as well, Jeral Dusep wore a high-collared blue coat and kept his black hair slicked back. “There are reports,” he said. “Of Ragnosian ships making incursions into our territory.”
“What?” Renos spluttered.
The holographic Dusep leaned over the lectern and fixed his gaze upon members of his audience. “A move of obvious aggression,” he said. “And how does Council respond? With platitudes about peace.”
There were cheers from the crowd.
Renos Taleri stood with his chin clasped in one hand, tapping his cheek with one finger. His expression was one of cold dread. “They think we're attacking them?” he said. “Why would they think such a thing.”
“Leyrians have an absolutist moral philosophy,” Slade explained. “Our way of life conflicts with theirs, and so they must impose order upon us for the common good. They would see our relief efforts on Rathala as imperialist expansion.”
“And what is it they think they're doing when they decide to invade another world? I cannot believe they would risk a war!”
“Oh, but they will.”
Renos faced the railing, gripping the metal bar in both hands and peering at the city below. “You will forgive me if I'm skeptical, Adan,” he said. “Many of the stories you've told about the other side of the galaxy strain credulity. Mind readers and soldiers who can deflect incoming fire with a thought.”
“I assure you they're all true.”
“Nevertheless,” Renos insisted. “The Defense Sub-Committee will have to view this footage. I trust you can make it available to me.”
“Of course, my friend. Whatever you wish.”
Five minutes later, Slade was alone by the railing and watching as his “new friend” shuffled off to an elevator that would take him down to the island's interior. No doubt he planned to speak to other Members of Parliament about the threat of Leyrian aggression. And of course, none of them knew that the president had already commissioned several ships to enter Leyrian Space. Everything was proceeding according to plan.
Well…Almost everything.
If Renos didn't believe the stories about Justice Keepers, then Slade would be all too happy to disabuse him of his naivete.
On the lower-most level of the island, an arch-shaped hallway of sleek gray walls led to a metal door that was shut tight. Lightbulbs in the ceiling illuminated flecks of dust that swirled about in the stale air.
Two men in blue uniforms stood on either side of the door, each staring grimly into the distance. Guards: they all seemed to have the same demeanour, always projecting the same brand of forced stoicism.
Slade stepped into the hallway.
In black pants and a matching t-shirt, his face concealed under a ski-mask, he must have looked menacing. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he said in a cold voice. “I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to step aside.”
The guard on his left looked up to smile in a way that emphasized his double chin. “That's real cute,” he said. “And since you clearly already know this area is off limits, I don't have to waste time with a warning.”
He drew his pistol.
Slade broke into a sprint, raising one hand to craft a Bending that refracted the light in front of him. The two men were only streaks of blue in a whirlpool of gray, but he saw the bullets coming at him.
Each bullet curved in a tight turn that sent it hurtling into the wall on his right. The duroplastic cracked with every impact, and Slade heard gasps from the two guards. They had not been trained for this.
>
He let the Bending drop.
Slade jumped and flew through the air with his knees bent, closing the distance in a matter of seconds. He kicked out and drove his foot into the first guard's chest, flattening the man against the door.
The sound of ribs breaking was not so different from that of twigs being snapped in half. A breathless guard slumped downward until his butt hit the floor, head lolling as he passed out.
Slade landed.
He spun to face the other guard who was already lifting his weapon in both hands, pointing the barrel of a gun right in Slade's face. Instinct kicked in.
Leaning to his left like a reed in the wind, Slade brought his right hand up to nudge the pistol aside. The weapon went off, releasing a bullet that hit the corridor wall. But that moment of confusion gave Slade his opening.
He rose and delivered a sharp jab to the face, one that made blood leak from the other man's nose. The stunned guard lost his balance, collapsing against the wall as he tried to get his weapon up.
Slade jumped.
He spun in midair, one foot lashing out for a hook-kick that came around to strike the other man's cheek. Bones shattered as the guard's head was wrenched to the side, and then it was over.
The guard's corpse dropped to its knees, then fell flat on its face, dead on the carpet. A moment to grieve for the fallen was in order. These two were hardly what Slade would call brave, but they had done their duty.
The first guard with the broken ribs was sitting with his back to the door, his legs stretched out on the carpet. His wheezing was a dreadful thing to hear. “What…are…you? What…”
Pressing his lips together, Slade closed his eyes and bowed his head to the man. “I am your death,” he said simply. “But if it means anything, I bear you no ill will. You just had the bad luck of being in my way.”
He dropped to a crouch and retrieved one of the fallen pistols. A handsome weapon to be sure. It fired magnetically propelled rounds, though it lacked some of the advanced features he'd seen on Leyrian firearms. Still, it would do. He rose with a soft sigh. There were days when he hated his lot in life.
