by Cary Caffrey
"Morning. Sleep well?" said a smiling nurse.
Naked and wide-eyed, Sigrid stood there panting, staring back at her.
"Hungry?" the nurse asked. "I hear they're serving eggs this morning. Not real, of course, in case you were wondering."
Glancing around, it was slowly coming back to her. She was in the emergency ward of the Consortium's medical building. They'd transferred her here last night. Feeling the fool, Sigrid climbed back into the bed and pulled the sheet up to her chin, doing her best to ignore the toppled equipment.
"Shall I fetch you some?" the nurse asked. "Breakfast, that is?"
Sigrid placed her hand on her stomach; she was indeed hungry. Of course, she was always hungry. "Yes, please."
"Excellent. I'll have the orderlies put through your order."
Glancing under the sheet, she saw that her abdomen and chest were bound with white sterile bandages lightly stained with blood. An internal scan showed that the last of the shotgun pellets had been removed during the night. No vital organs had been damaged. At least nothing permanently.
"Ah, Ms. Rodriguez," an elderly doctor said upon entering. "Good. You're awake. And looking no worse for wear, I see."
Sigrid sat up and leaned on her elbows. The doctor was only half-looking at her in that way that doctors do—probably already thinking of his next patient or more likely what the cafeteria was serving for brunch. Though as he flipped through the data in her chart, his doctorly disinterest vanished in an instant and his eyes widened substantially.
"Why, Ms. Rodriguez, your capacity to heal, it's…well, it's simply uncanny! You must tell me your secret."
"My mother made me eat all my vegetables."
Sigrid tossed the sheet aside. Her stolen riding leathers were folded and sitting on a chair beside her. Not surprisingly, her weapons were gone. She reached for her trousers. "Then you won't mind if I leave?"
"I'm afraid I can't advise that. You were shot, Ms. Rodriguez. Forty-eight hours for observation is the minimum I could allow—"
"I've never known a hospital that didn't suffer from bed shortages, Doctor. I'm sure you can find someone more in need of your care than me."
"Ms. Rodriguez! Please!"
The doctor and nurse tried to help her sit back down, but Sigrid pushed them away—gently, if not purposefully.
"That girl you brought in with me," Sigrid said, pulling the plastic tank top over her head. "How is she?"
"Girl? Oh! You must mean Lady Van de Berg. No, I'm afraid she's gone. Some men came for her in the night. They took her—"
Took her?
Sigrid was on her feet in an instant. Grabbing the doctor by the collar of his smock, she lifted him from the ground, rattling his old bones like some anatomical skeletal model.
"Where? Where did they take her?"
Dammit! She knew she couldn't trust them! And blast herself for letting herself get shot in the first place! Now the girl was gone, and who knew what had happened to the others. Probably sold to any number of private interests. They were probably experimenting on them right—
"Ms. Rodriguez!" the nurse squealed. "Please! She wasn't taken! She's in a private facility! Her injuries were more serious! She'll receive only the best of care, I assure you. She's quite safe. I promise!"
The nurse was frantic, clutching to Sigrid's arm and trying to pull the doctor free, but she was also earnest. She was telling the truth.
"Safe?"
"Very!" the nurse said.
The poor doctor—who was still in Sigrid's grasp with his feet dangling off the floor—was staring at her with bulging eyes. Slowly, she eased him back down. The nurse breathed a deep sigh of relief. "Oh, thank goodness."
"I need to see her," Sigrid said. "It's important."
"I'm afraid that's not possible," the nurse said. "She's in protective care and under full guard. The magistrate was most specific: she is to be seen by no one."
"I'm sure we can make an exception in Ms. Rodriguez's case," a voice said from the doorway, with a familiar trill of the R in Rodriguez. "She is the hero who saved the day, after all."
Sigrid turned to see Franco Alvarez, the port master, standing in the doorway. He had that same Cheshire grin plastered on his face, but there was something extra behind it today, and there was something about the way he said the word hero that sent off all her alarms.
Perhaps even more curious, he was holding her missing weapons holster and pistol. He tossed them to her now.
"You'll be wanting those, I would imagine."
Eyeing him carefully, Sigrid fastened the weapons belt about her hips. "Always. Will you take me to her?"
"But of course, Ms. Rodriguez! Straight away. Almost. In a moment. Soon."
Sigrid folded her arms across her chest, waiting.
"As soon as we take care of a small matter of business."
"Business?" Sigrid said.
"It's the magistrate," the port master said. "She wishes to meet with you. Personally."
The instant the port master said the word magistrate, two armed guards appeared in the door at his side. They wore full body armor and held their rifles at the ready.
Sigrid stared hard at the two men. Their intentions were clear enough. They wanted her to go with them.
Yet the port master had just handed back her weapons. Sigrid scanned them. They were loaded and fully powered, and she detected no sign of tampering or sabotage.
"This isn't a trick, Ms. Rodriguez," the port master said, as if reading her mind. "You are not a prisoner. These men are only here to serve as escorts."
Protectors? Hardly?
"And if I don't desire an escort? If I'd prefer to walk out that door?"
"Then they will not stop you. Though, to refuse an audience with the magistrate, it would be, how shall I say? Frowned upon. If you will follow me?"
~ - ~
Sigrid wasn't stupid. The two mercenaries escorting her weren't there for protection. Their presence was a not-so-thinly veiled threat. She was to come with them, or else. They walked behind her, careful to keep their distance—not that it would do them any good. She was confident she could disarm them in an instant, but now wasn't the time for violence. Whatever game Franco was playing at, her best bet was to play along. For now.
With Franco at her side, they rode in an open-top car. Like the previous night, the narrow streets of the Crossroads remained largely deserted. The flashing lights of their armored escorts cleared the rest of the rabble out of the way.
The magistrate was quartered in a small villa in the heart of the Crossroads. Armored gates opened at their approach, admitting them into a modest courtyard. Here, she saw the first and only touches of greenery in the trading post, as several potted evergreens lined the drive leading to the main house.
A platoon of Dalair mercenaries stood guard here, and her trigger finger bristled at their sight. She had to remind herself: while they might have been enemies once, that was over another contract long ago, and mercenaries bore no grudge.
With Franco and their armed escort following close behind, Sigrid climbed the stone steps. Tall wooden doors opened for her. A woman in a tailored suit greeted her inside. With a polite smile and a sweep of her hand, she directed Sigrid up another flight of steps. An open door at the end of a long hall beckoned.
Sigrid hesitated. If this was a trap, she was about to find out—the hard way. But she hadn't come this far to turn back now. That girl—the magistrate's daughter—needed her help.
Sigrid stepped through the door.
Inside she found a wide parlor, high-ceilinged and sparsely furnished. Four overstuffed chairs, empty, sat facing a tall picture window overlooking the freight terminal to the south. Unlike the day before, the mammoth lifting cranes sat silent, their shoulders drooping like slumbering giants. News of the war, so close in the north, would ensure they remained that way for some time.
Silhouetted before the window was a woman. She was quite tall and slim. Her light blond hair, pulled
neatly back and pinned smartly behind her head, showed the first streaks of gray. Her suit was simple, but precisely tailored. Sigrid knew without a doubt this woman was Lady Godelieve Van de Berg, magistrate of the Crossroads and seigneur of the Free Southern Territories.
She wasn't alone. Beside her stood a man. He wore the uniform of a colonel from the clan Chagatai, a very old and respected clan of mercenary soldiers. Sigrid never dreamed she might actually meet one in person, and seeing one standing so close, it was easy to forget herself. They were famous for their professionalism, but more than that, their lethality and unflinching resolve. His eyes never left her, and neither did the hand that rested on the hilt of his curved talwar sword. He was sizing her up, gauging exactly what kind of opponent he was facing.
"Madame Magistrate," Franco said, "may I present Ms. Camila Valentina—"
"Sigrid," Sigrid said; it was obvious everyone in the room knew exactly who she was. "My name is Sigrid Novak. You know who I am, Magistrate."
Slowly the magistrate turned to face her.
"Yes, Ms. Novak. I know. Just as I also know what you are."
Strangely, or perhaps surprisingly, Sigrid detected no threat or boast in the declaration. It was a simple statement of fact.
"I had the pleasure of meeting Lady Kimura once," the magistrate said. "A most remarkable woman. I am pleased to see that she finally succeeded in her endeavors. Her accomplishments have become legendary—as have yours, Ms. Novak, if I may say so."
Sigrid wasn't sure about the whole "legendary" part. But whatever. "If you know who I am, then perhaps you won't mind telling me why I'm still alive, Madam Magistrate? Killing me was the smart play."
"Killing you? Ah, of course. You're referring to the bounty on your head: 'Dead or Alive,' I believe. And for one-point-eight-five billion in adjusted Federated dollars? A tidy sum, to be sure."
"I should warn you, Magistrate, I didn't come here just so you could turn me in to the CTF. Others have tried."
"Then it's a good thing I have little interest in turning you in, isn't it? One does not arrive in my position without understanding the true value of things. I have come to realize, Ms. Novak, that you are worth far more than any simple prize purse. The CTF wouldn't place a death mark on you if they didn't fear you."
"And what about you, Madam Magistrate?" Sigrid asked. "Do you fear me?"
"Curious that you should ask that, Ms. Novak. The colonel here thinks I should. He believes you've come to the Crossroads to assassinate me. He believes I should order your termination."
Sigrid flashed a look to the tall warrior at her side. He was more statue than man. If it weren't for her sensors, she wouldn't know he was breathing at all. "You haven't answered my question, Magistrate."
"I believe I just did. After all, Ms. Novak, if you were here to murder me, wouldn't I already be dead?"
Sigrid considered the question, wondering at the hidden meanings behind it—and yes, there were many, though what those were she couldn't yet tell. "Yes, Magistrate, you would."
The magistrate spread her arms wide. "Then neither of us has anything to fear."
As if the matter was closed, the magistrate took a seat in one of the empty chairs, then gestured for Sigrid to do the same.
Sigrid sat and crossed her legs at the knees; the fact that the action allowed her hand to slip down to the recoilless at her side was purely coincidence.
"I hope you can forgive the colonel," the magistrate said. "Though, you must admit, it was an easy assumption to make—you coming here to kill me. After all, wherever you go, Ms. Novak, death does seem to follow. Certainly my brethren in the Council for Trade and Finance have not been so fortunate where you are concerned."
Sigrid bristled at the mention of the Council and the not-so-thinly veiled accusation. "Magistrate, if you're suggesting I had anything to do with that—"
"I'm not suggesting anything, Ms. Novak. The records speak for themselves."
Records? "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't you? Then I shall refresh your memory."
With a snap of her fingers the magistrate signaled Franco to her side. The port master stepped over and laid a thin pad on the table between them. With a swipe of a finger, the screen illuminated. The magistrate turned it toward her and Sigrid's eyes widened.
"What is this?" Sigrid reached for the pad, grasping it in her hands, holding it so hard it was a miracle it didn't snap in half. "Where did you get this? Who gave this to you?"
"Does it matter? Or does it only matter that I have it? I told you, Ms. Novak. I know who you are. I have been following your career for some time. I know what it is that you've been up to."
Indeed, it appeared that she did. For displayed on the pad's screen was a dossier—a highly detailed dossier—and it was a dossier on Sigrid. More than classified, it was deeply personal. Whoever had compiled the history had been incredibly thorough in their gathering of information. This wasn't just a dossier—this was her life! They knew everything about her. Her childhood in Geneva. The Academy. Her treatments. Her training. Nothing was spared. Not even the most intimate of details. They even knew about Suko.
And while her own fractured memories might end at Bellatrix, the dossier continued. Case files, stolen right from the Naval Intelligence branches of the CTF. Arrest warrants. Death warrants. All of them added within the last six years.
It wasn't a secret that she was a wanted woman. The CTF blamed her for a great many things, everything from the destruction of the Panama lift complex, to the naval forces wiped out at Scorpii. They were lies, of course, more trumped-up charges to justify her planet-sized bounty. But what she was seeing here—a laundry list of violence that spread from the Earth to Cor Caroli—this time they'd gone too far.
"The charges against you are lengthy, Ms. Novak," the magistrate said. "You stand accused of assassinating the Council for Trade and Finance. Eighteen corporate enclaves annihilated; their factories, all their inhabitants blown from existence. I find the report on Procyon of particular interest. Annihilating a military complex of that size? You must tell me how you pulled that off."
"I would be happy to," Sigrid said. "Except I didn't do it. Not any of it."
The magistrate sat back, regarding her for a moment through steepled fingers. "You surprise me, Ms. Novak. I didn't think you'd deny—"
"I am not denying anything. I'm telling you. This—" Sigrid threw the pad back down onto the table, where it skidded across its surface "—this is all bloody bullshit. I didn't do these things. Someone has been lying to you, Magistrate."
"Perhaps," the magistrate said at last. "And perhaps not. But I am neither your judge nor jury. Honestly, Ms. Novak, I would be disappointed if these charges weren't true. You have become legend in these parts. The Federation might call you a terrorist, but to the people of Earth you are a hero."
"I'm no hero."
"Aren't you? You've smashed the Council's hold on the corporatocracy and fractured the Federation. It's only because of your actions that people are discovering there may be an alternative to compliance. They don't have to be slaves any more. I'm sorry, Ms. Novak, but without you there wouldn't be a rebellion."
"I would never do those things—"
"Wouldn't you? I know how the Council plotted against your mistress, Ms. Novak. They conspired against her, stripped her of her own corporation—chased you halfway across the galaxy for your troubles. And then they tried to cover it up." She flipped absently, scrolling through the data on the pad. "And did a poor job of it too. Frankly, I'm surprised Lady Hitomi didn't order their annihilation sooner."
"Lady Hitomi Kimura has never asked me to…"
Sigrid's voice faltered.
It was perhaps strange to realize then that not once had her mistress ordered her to kill. Sigrid was a trained assassin, wasn't she? That was why she'd been created. Yet not once had Hitomi ever asked her to terminate anyone. Certainly, Sigrid had killed for her. And if Hitomi asked her to kill the enti
re Council, wasn't that exactly the kind of thing she would do?
Probably.
Then why couldn't she remember?
A pitcher of water sat on the table between them. The magistrate filled a glass, then nudged it across the table toward her. Sigrid sat staring at the glass while the magistrate regarded her passively.
"Earth's ruling elite have not fared well where you are concerned, Ms. Novak."
"I am not a murderer, Magistrate."
The magistrate's eyes widened. "For your sake, I sincerely hope that you are. You are a soldier, an assassin. Death, Ms. Novak, is your stock-in-trade."
"I didn't come here to kill you."
"No. I don't believe that you did. I think the fact that you saved my daughter is proof of that. For that, I am in your debt."
"Why have you brought me here?"
The magistrate rose, straightening the hem of her suit jacket. "The CTF's days are numbered. I have worked too hard to be swallowed in the ashes of a burning empire. I don't know if this denial of yours is part of some misguided act, and frankly, I don't care. Lady Hitomi saw the future, Ms. Novak, and that future is you. You, and women like you. Women like…my daughter."
Sigrid looked up sharply. "You know what she is?"
"I have suspected for some time. After the events of last night, I became certain of it. Those men, the ones who tried to take her, they were hunters, weren't they?"
"They were."
"Agreed. Someone knows what my daughter is, Ms. Novak. The only question remaining is who. Fortunately, you left one of them alive. He was most eager to tell me who hired them—once the colonel here was done with him. Are you curious?"
Not waiting for an answer, the magistrate leaned over and tapped the pad on the table between them. The image of a young man appeared, hovering above the screen.
"His name is Lars Koenig. He is the marquis di Valparaíso. You won't have heard of him. He was a minor operator. Harmless. Mostly. Just another glory-roader running narcotics for the Cabal. All that changed six months ago. When the CTF pulled out of Santiago, he moved in—declared himself marquis. More curious, the Cabal decided to back him."
