Rise of the Syndicate

by Drew Avera

  He sucked in a gulp of air and cracked his neck as he placed another Guardsman's belt around his waist. "That's the billion-dollar question, isn't it? As far as I can tell, we have two objectives: get the evidence proving Pontiff Cherum's plot to kill Marada and stopping whatever he has planned now that she's out of the way."

  His words stung as he mentioned Marada so dismissively, but I saw his point. I placed the belt around my waist and latched it into place. "I don't know if I can trust you, but if this conspiracy is true, then I want to be the one to pull the trigger."

  Doran gave the slightest hint of a smile, the face of his new identity as Castor staring wickedly in my direction. "And I want to be set free from this mess. Maybe, in the end, you can put me out of my misery too."

  19

  Tetrim

  I never walked in Inner Downtown anymore. Especially at night. But I couldn't escape the drowning sensation of anxiety as my past reared its head to haunt me. First, Cherum deciding to exercise his moral superiority over me after everything I had done for him. Second, the Agency's failure to execute their rogue agent who could be anywhere by now.

  "It's as bad as it seems," Pollux said from the shadows.

  "Is this going to blowback on me?" I asked, pulling my jacket tighter around me to cover for the fact he startled me.

  "It shouldn't. Castor has no idea you were involved."

  "Your agent isn't my only concern. As long as he's out there, we have the potential for him to get to Halem. What is the contingency when that happens?" A transport glided along the rails above us, hardly making any sound at all. Still, it was enough of a distraction to pull Pollux's eyes away from me for a moment.

  "The contingency stays as planned. If we find Castor, we kill him. If he's with Halem, we kill them both. There's no need to rewrite the plan just because you're nervous."

  His tone hit me sideways and I felt the urge to grab him by the neck and demand respect. But being this close to someone programmed to kill on demand was enough to unsettle me. "My nervousness is a direct result of inefficiency on your part, and that of the Guard. I would have more faith in the plan if it didn't appear to be shattered less than twenty-four hours after we killed Marada." I paused a moment after saying those words. It was the closest I'd come to admitting my involvement so directly. A tinge of guilt flooded my mind, but I shut it off like a valve, compartmentalizing it the same way I did the abuse of my childhood. No one would see my imperfections as a weakness if I could mask them.

  "Unforeseen circumstances," Pollux muttered.

  "Circumstances you were supposed to control. How does one agent kill three others with his bare hands and you not find out something is wrong until after the fact?" I glanced around, self-conscious of my shouting, and the fact Castor could lurk in these shadows as easily as Pollux had. "We need to go somewhere. I feel vulnerable just standing here."

  "This place is as safe as any."

  "Pardon me for not feeling at ease by that statement." I stalked towards the lit area of the sidewalk parallel to the main road. Only a few people occupied the area with us, but it was enough to not feel so isolated.

  "We have more agents tracking him down. I also have a team going to Halem's apartment. They will not engage unless Castor is seen but being proactive about the situation could help us contain the situation as you desire."

  "As I desire? If that was the case, both of them would be dead already and the ink would be drying on the contract for the artificial atmosphere project. Instead, I can't move forward on my plans until this is buttoned up. All it will take is Halem seeing things move forward when his wife was my biggest advisory on the program. His suspicions would be all but verified at that point."

  Pollux exhaled next to me. "This is growing tiresome, Councilman. I understand your concerns, but your constant lamenting about your troubles, when we exercised precaution, is leading me to believe the biggest threat to the plan is you."

  I spun on my heels and glared at him with enough conviction to convince myself I was right in this matter, despite any misgivings and self-doubt. "Don't you ever speak out of turn at me again." I paused as I watched my hands lifting and reaching towards him in a threatening gesture. His cold eyes stared back at me. Non-threatening, at least for now. But I knew what he could do if provoked. Fear of that happening softened my resolve almost immediately. My own cowardice in full display if anyone looked.

  "Or what, you'll hire one of my agents to kill me?"

  He hit the nail on the head without any sense of sarcasm. I swore under my breath as I looked away. "You have your orders, see to them," I said dismissively. When I glanced back, he was gone, and I was alone on the dimly lit sidewalk. "I hate that."

  I shoved my hands back into my pockets and walked quickly towards the World Council building. It was the only place I felt safe, but Pollux insisted on meeting in person. As inconvenient as it was, I expected he had his reasons, not that he would divulge what that reasoning was.

  I just hoped he was right and that the Agency could wrap up the situation before it got out of control. My trust in the Guard waned just as fervently. How two organizations could perform so miserably was beyond me. There was too much at stake for the foundation I built to crumble now. The future of Mars depended on my maintaining control. If humanity was to survive, and thrive, it would be my doing.

  I imagined the statues built in my honor long after my passing. In much the same way countries on Earth built temples to their leaders, I would be a household name, the savior they needed. The Martian government was at the precipice of that new future and I would lead the way.

  I allowed myself to smile as the thoughts of my legacy flooded in my mind. With each step forward, the World Council loomed overhead. The tallest building in Archea, situated near the center of the city, where the dome was at its highest. It was a symbol of power and I was at the heart of it.

  Once I was done, I would be at the heart of the entire world.

  20

  Castor

  Pain scorched through my body as my nerve receptors sprang to life, connecting my insides with my outsides like an electronic bridge sending signals to my brain. For the first time in months, I preferred the burning, sharp ice pick to the back of my eye over what I felt now.

  "So, you're going with Castor now, huh?"

  I nodded.

  "Well, Castor, take a swig of this," Halem said, handing me a small, dark bottle of liquid. I had no idea what it was, but I downed it anyway. "Not all of it," he spat, yanking the bottle from my hand, causing some of the contents to pour out onto my face.

  I glared at him with derision. "Why not?"

  "There's enough in here to put an elephant to sleep," he said, screwing the lid back onto it. "I said swig, not drink the bottle."

  "You have no idea how much pain I'm in," I replied through an exhale.

  Halem placed a hand on my bare shoulder and brought the tweezers near the wound. "I can imagine it will only get worse once I start digging."

  "Maybe downing the bottle is a good idea. If I'm asleep, I won't kill you for hurting me."

  He eyed me warily but showed no other signs of nervousness. In one part of my mind, I could tell he was uncomfortable being near me, the man who put his wife to death. Something about the way he looked at me made me think he was digging for the man he once knew, as if I might make a miraculous return as Doran, instead of the monster they created.

  "It's a risk I'm willing to take. Now, lay down and look the other way."

  "Why do I need to look the other way?" I asked as I complied with his first order.

  Without replying, he drove the sharp tweezers into the open wound and grabbed something hard. I felt a wave of nausea and fire wash over me as he pulled the round out of my shoulder. I cried out in pain, immediately biting my tongue in the process as I writhed on the makeshift gurney comprised of two desks shoved together at the back entrance of the precinct.

  Halem took a huge risk coming here with me, but
as he said, it was the only place with medical supplies he had access to. The Agency, and the Guard, would both be looking for us at the hospital. This plan would at least buy us some time, and weapons.

  The sound of the metal shrapnel falling into a bowl pulled my eyes to it. The object was larger than I expected. Of course, the ammunition was designed to expand and stop soon after striking an object. This was designed to prevent a stray round from crippling the dome and possibly destroying our habitat. It also made shooting someone a ground for unethical treatment. Here I was, three shots into my upper torso, bleeding like a sieve, but still standing.

  Relatively.

  "That's the last one," he said, yanking off the surgical gloves and dropping them in a trash receptacle. He pulled a fresh pair from the box and grabbed a bottle of hydrogen-peroxide, dousing it into the wound. "I don't think stitching this closed is a good idea. The gaps are too large, and you'll pop the stitches moving. The best I can do is pack it with gauze and cover it."

  "Whatever it takes. We just need to get out of here as soon as possible. We need to keep moving so they don't find us."

  "I'm aware," Halem said. "You've only mentioned that a dozen times since our arrival. Once I grab some weapons, we can head out. You can pack a bag of medical supplies, so we can keep your bandages clean."

  "Understood."

  "Do you have anywhere we can hide out that the Agency doesn't know about?" Halem asked, pulling a strip of tape from a roll and applying it to the bandage on my shoulder.

  "No. well, not any locations that will be comfortable."

  "To hell with comfort," Halem said under his breath. "We just need a place to hide out until we can formulate a plan to stop Cherum, and whoever might be helping him."

  "You still believe Tetrim is behind it don't you?"

  "As sure as I am that the conspiracy goes further than just Marada's death. The Agency is a shadow program. If they are hiding that, then what else are they hiding?"

  "The two are not necessarily connected," I said, trying to warn him off of being so sure of a conspiracy that doesn't exist, just because it would make him feel vindicated for his loathing of Councilman Rine. Not that I could blame him.

  "Maybe not, but if we can find a connection, then that will go a long way towards finding justice for Marada."

  I groaned as I sat up, grabbing a shirt from a bag he found and pulling it over my head. Conveniently enough, it was a dark red color, perfect if a wound was to leak. "What if fate refuses to administer justice? You can't live your entire life for this singular purpose and be happy if it all falls apart."

  He stopped what he was doing and looked at me. His eyes were wild and borderline manic. "I swear, justice will be served before I draw my last breath."

  "Spoken like a man with nothing to lose."

  "That's because they've already taken everything from me," he replied.

  "You're still breathing," I said before standing and pulling the shirt the rest of the way down my torso.

  "Life is meaningless now. I have nothing but my contempt to push me forward. Once that's over, I have no reason to go on."

  Halem stood in stoic silence. His humanity was already lost if that was truly how he felt. The irony was I recognized it in him just as I did in myself. I wondered if he would mourn the loss of himself the same way I did, or if the hatred he bore in his heart was enough to mute the tiny voice that reminds us all who we really are? The Agency tried to kill that voice in me and failed.

  Maybe they succeeded with Halem?

  I didn't look forward to answering that question, because I knew the tool they used was me. Something reminiscent of guilt shrouded me, turning me against myself, or at least the version of myself the Agency created. The dichotomy of self-hatred and self-preservation clashed violently in my mind.

  "Life will always be meaningless if you allow hatred to consume you. Your purpose goes beyond that," I said, reciting words both of us heard more than once on the force.

  He looked at me unflinchingly. "Says the man instrumental in taking my wife from me. Forgive me if I have a hard time accepting condolement from her killer."

  "I'm sorry, Halem. I—"

  "Save it. I'm going to the armory. I suggest you pack your supplies and hold up here until I return." Halem barged out of the room and I realized he was not the man he'd been the day before. Losing Marada destroyed him. That was Cherum's intention all along, I knew it, but seeing it played out gave it a different meaning.

  As I shoved bandages and medicine into a bag, a realization came to me. I told Halem I was sorry for the hand I played in Marada's death, but the words did not come autonomously. There was sincerity to them. It was something I never thought I would experience again. Was I returning to the humanity they stripped away from me? I could only hope so. But like Halem, I knew my time was nigh.

  The only thing I could take solace in was trying to end the destructive plan Cherum set me on, if for no other reason than to try and fix what I had broken.

  21

  Halem

  My heart pounded as I pulled weapons off the armory wall. Looking at my wife's killer, regardless of who it was, took more out of me than I was willing to admit. Why I didn't kill him and be done with it was a mystery to me. I had every reason to. I would never give a common killer this much quarter under normal circumstances. I couldn't shake the feeling that I needed him, though. What made the feeling worse was that I was helping keep the creep alive.

  Castor, as he was called now, told me who was responsible for Marada's death. At least from his perspective. It would be so easy to walk back into that room, pull the trigger and leave his lifeless body for someone in the precinct to discover. Would I go down for it? I was certain of it, but I would have enough time to pull off a few more calculated rounds to put Pontiff Cherum out of his misery. Hell, I might get a little trigger happy and give Tetrim a taste just for the enjoyment of it.

  What am I thinking, when did I become a cold-blooded murderer?

  I paused a moment, so worked up that my body trembled. Caught between anger and despair, I could hardly constrain the wildly, wicked thoughts scorching through my mind. The hotter my contempt burned, the more desperate the thoughts were. I was appalled that I leaned towards mass murder as the answer to my life's problems. If I gave in, it would be a far cry from the justice Marada deserved.

  But it would feel right, a voice in my mind whispered through clenched teeth.

  "Enough of this," I seethed, pulling another gun from the rack and loading the magazine before stuffing it into the duffle bag. Once I had a dozen guns, I began shoving boxes of ammunition in with them. The duffle was heavier than I expected, but this was war and I was not about to be outgunned by my enemy.

  I stormed out of the armory and kept to the shadows of the hallway. The precinct was far from empty, but the late shift mostly consisted of a skeleton crew standing by in case of an emergency. With the renovations happening, this section of the precinct went largely ignored. Besides, Archean crime in this area of the city didn't warrant a full shift. At least not like Outer Downtown did. Even with the relative emptiness, I still kept quiet as I made my way back to the room where Castor waited.

  I found him standing in the middle of the room, a backpack over his one good shoulder and his hands shoved into his pockets as he stood still, eyes towards the floor.

  "Are you ready?" I asked, pulling him from whatever distraction he found himself in.

  "Yeah," he replied, pulling his hands from his pockets and stepping towards me. I noticed a limp, but not enough of one to slow us down.

  I pulled a comm from my pocket and showed him. "I have a transport coming to retrieve us."

  "Is that a good idea? They're equipped with cameras. They might be looking for us digitally," he said.

  I hadn't considered that. "How far is the place you mentioned? Can we walk there?"

  "It's not far. In fact, you might like the destination's proximity to the World Council building.
"

  "Really? Do tell," I replied.

  "There's an abandoned sub-rail station beneath the World Council building. It's no longer on the city maps because it's been out of use for over a century. Most of it was filled in as the city expanded. But there's enough down there to hole up for a while."

  "I had no idea about that."

  "Yeah, it was a convenient secret. It was used for transferring supplies across Archea during the first years of the colony, but eventually, the technology was outdated, and it was cheaper to build over it. I sometimes wonder why the World Council would hide it. Then I'm reminded of who I am now, and that question no longer seems relevant."

  Oddly enough, I understood his position. The last twenty-four-hours opened my eyes to all kinds of possibilities I wouldn't have considered feasible until now. An abandoned underground tunnel for a sub-rail system seemed oddly reasonable given the circumstances.

  We left the precinct and headed south. Despite his injuries and noticeable limp, Castor showed no sign of having trouble keeping up with me. In fact, I felt more as if I was the one following him. I suspected whatever augmentations were inside his body were keeping him going. A normal man would be in the hospital with his injuries. Or dead.

  It took the better part of an hour to walk the distance between the precinct and the World Council building before he ducked into a narrow alley.

  I spread my arms and allowed my fingers to brush against the sand-colored bricks protruding skyward. The rough texture scrapped against my flesh. I could almost hear it through my body as we made our way deeper into the alley. I focused on that to distract me from my thoughts, no longer wanting to wallow in despair. Once we made it to the end of the alley, Castor pointed to a manhole cover.