Lord Banshee- Fugitive

by Russell O Redman

  My own experience could not be taken as typical of life on the Earth. I had grown up with gangs and murder, but I lived in what most citizens regarded as a hell hole, a violent town in a violent region that had always been on the verge of gang war, until the verge exploded into a regional war. Elsewhere, most citizens grew up in peaceful, prosperous communities. People died of infectious disease occasionally, accidents more often, but normally of old age. Hardly anyone died of murder. Contract killings were the stuff of cheap novels about death and treachery on Mars that normally invoked the Ghost as a “surprise” plot twist. For someone to die from an actual contract killing was electrifying. The failure to capture the killer had terrified the whole pharmaceutical community.

  That the killer had vanished in the same region where Leilani and I had discovered a hidden army was unsettling. The disappearance of the killer in that region suggested that the army was still active, if better hidden. That it had been organized by Clan Qinghai Mining could not be proven but seemed likely. It would probably not remain hidden much longer. In less than a week, I expected an army raised and maintained by Clan Qinghai Mining would emerge from its tunnels in Noram Norwes, an army that would be hostile to the Terrestrial Council and whose loyalty to the Imperium was also doubtful.

  My thoughts returned to Aragon Wheland and the Hellas Water Excavation Corporation. They used the revenue from the sales of the sandstone slabs to purchase meds, which they shipped on the liners back to Mars and distributed for a fat profit. It had been Aragon’s job to purchase the meds. Aragon had married into the Langara family just as the LUVN project moved from design to construction. It would be easy to assume this was a corporate marriage connecting an important med distributor on Mars to a new supplier of meds that could, with a few successful shipments, undercut the price of the monopolies and would open a huge new market in the Belt. His murder disrupted the flow of meds, causing the price of meds on Mars to spike, but also causing a drop in the stock prices for HWE from which they had not yet recovered. From the looks of things, Langara was now struggling to arrange transport by itself and was attempting to distribute their meds on Mars directly, even though they had no previous experience in the Martian markets. I could not imagine that either LU or HWE would be happy about this development. If I was connecting the dots properly, there was (admittedly weak) evidence that Clan Qinghai Mining were responsible for the divorce and, when that failed to break the commercial alliance, the murder of Aragon Wheland.

  If Clan Qinghai Mining knew about LUVN, other factions probably did as well. I would have to check which faction or factions were associated with the liner companies that owned the monopoly. There might have been a competition to either capture LUVN’s trade or destroy it. The pirates probably did not learn about LUVN on their own; I considered it more likely that a larger faction had contracted them to attack this prize.

  Since Langara had no personal experience on Mars, I wondered if any of their managers realized that they were being courted by the Imperium through the two other marriages. Even more to the point, did they realize how big a target they had become with this simple technical innovation? To my imagination, LUVN was a big, interplanetary bullseye in a Martian factional dispute, a casus belli that might trigger a factional war with advanced weapons.

  I realized, of course, that I could not complete the investigation I had just started. I had reached no real conclusions, just created a set of suggestions to follow up. I could write what I had in that spirit, taking care to give only indirect references to documents that only existed for people with the same clearances as the Banshees. So far as I knew, that meant only the Banshees and the former ministers, all of whom were officially dead. Half an hour finished the description of the little that I knew. It was another hour before I was satisfied that I had given enough leads that a competent agent would reach the same tentative conclusions I had.

  I highlighted the risks I perceived: the enormity of the peril threatening LUVN; the hidden army that might be waiting in Noram Norwes; contract killings being organized by the companies who owned the transportation monopolies to Mars; the hundreds of thousands or even millions of people out in the Belt who had no access to proper meds and who would resent the suppression of a technology that promised to relieve their misery.

  I also highlighted the opportunities: The Imperium could institute more equitable rules for trade to the outer solar system with benefits that would accrue to everyone; the untapped potential of the Belt as a market that had been stifled by monopolies and bad management under the Martian Governors; the different styles of business between the two communities that opened more channels for cooperation than either business community might be aware existed.

  If I made any attempt to file the report, I would immediately draw attention to my presence on the Quetzalcoatl, yet I wanted progress to start immediately because the crisis was far from resolution and was probably still escalating. It only took a moment to realize who could receive my report and complete it without drawing attention to my presence. While I had been napping, we had reached LUVN and released some of the farmers with injuries light enough for them to resume their jobs. Regardless, the agent from Commercial Intelligence was probably still on board the Quetzalcoatl, recovering from gunshot wounds received during the pirate attack. If the wounds were anything worse than cuts in the skin they would take days or even weeks to heal, especially since they had not received immediate attention.

  I could pass the file indirectly to the agent. Ze would need help from the Banshees to fill in the blanks and although I could not make that connection personally, I knew a few people who could. The trickiest part would be passing the report to an agent who I could only identify as having been shot in the pirate attack, who I hoped was still travelling on a ship that probably had pirates amongst the passengers, and who would be almost as reluctant as I was to be identified in such company.

  Not my problem. I would encrypt the file using CI codes and would pass it through MacFinn to Commander Sa’id. He was free to ask the assistance of the crew to pass the file to the agent. For me, it would be no sweat, especially since I was still forbidden to exercise. After that I would have to sit back and await developments.

  2357-03-14 09:00

  The Narrow Path of Justice

  I returned to the problem of escaping the Quetzalcoatl. It was impossible to make any kind of plan without at least knowing the current schedule for the ship. I was also intensely frustrated that I did not even know my own name as a member of the TDF. For the moment, I was stuck being Ben Lomond, an accountant from Commerce who had been injured in Valhalla.

  To MacFinn/private, “Surgeon MacFinn? If you have the time, I think I am ready to talk.”

  MacFinn/converse, “Lad, time I ha in abundance! Ye’re so quiet, I thought ye might be back asleep. Ye should eat again, an ye get a choice o’flavours this time: plain, mint and orange. I think the orange is the least like eatin cloth. Goes good with coffee.”

  Me/converse, “Orange and coffee, then. I will try to imagine I am having lunch on a beach in Fiji, with ocean waves splashing in the background. In fact, I will try to bring that image up on the walls.”

  I wasted a few minutes finding the controls for the wall displays, then another few after MacFinn arrived until I found a Polynesian beach scene.

  He looked around doubtfully.

  MacFinn/converse, “Never quite got used to havin that much emptiness o’er my head. There ought t’be a ceiling.”

  I wasted a few more minutes finding a way to place us visually inside a thatched pavilion, with the beach as a background.

  MacFinn relaxed a bit, but still looked uncomfortable.

  MacFinn/converse, “The Earth ha lots o’good rock. Why do they na use it?”

  I laughed. Me/converse, “Mostly because it falls down and hurts people. Wood and thatch are better with that much gravity. Besides the sky is beautiful and always changing, with clouds and rainbows and stars. People on the E
arth think everyone in space has a great view of the stars and cannot understand why we go all weepy and ga-ga about the sky at night.”

  MacFinn/converse, “It’s damn cold at night. Nobody stays out after dark ‘cept in suits. What’re they thinkin?”

  Me/converse, “Not at night in the tropics.”

  I dug back into the interface until I found the sky at night from Fiji with the Milky Way overhead. I turned off the pavilion so he could see the whole panorama.

  Me/converse, “The big bright patch is the centre of our galaxy. There are half a trillion stars in that part of the sky. The dark areas have the colour of the infant universe, except then it was as bright as the surface of the Sun in every direction. Imagine, if you can, that the entire universe is wrapped around you like a softly glowing blanket.”

  He shuddered and asked me to bring back the pavilion. I did, but I noticed as we talked that he kept being distracted by the stars around us.

  MacFinn/converse, “B’fore we start, y’ll be happy t’hear that the paper on the medmons ha been submitted and sent for review. The LR surgeons ha already circulated it amongst their colleagues. They are preparin three more papers on related defects. Never realized how much these guys knew about coding. Alexander should talk to em.”

  Me/converse, “You should tell him that. He might enjoy a change of topic that is still within his field of expertise. Besides, LR might give him a level of protection even better than the TDF.”

  He was quiet for a moment.

  MacFinn/converse, “Ye’re not an optimist, are ye?”

  Me/converse, “Actually, I am. But I am also aware of more risks than most other people. Alexander can disappear into the cracks until the immediate crisis blows past and will be welcome everywhere after that. I cannot. There is a Mission I must complete that prevents me from even trying. At the same time, there are political risks that I must not impose upon institutions as critical as Lunar Recovery. That is what I need to talk about.

  “It will be extremely dangerous for me to be on this ship when it returns to the Moon. Even arriving on a Martian ship would be better.”

  MacFinn/converse, “Ye’re jokin! Wahhh, ye’re na jokin? Hoo, that would na be the trip I signed up for. In wha way would it be better if we’re on a Martian warship? No, do na tell me.”

  I had been exaggerating to make a point, but the idea was like a flap of loose skin; it hurt to touch but was too irritating to leave alone. I felt like a moth in a room with a lit candle.

  Me/converse, “Not joking, but not serious. It would be easier by far to get onto a TDF ship, but if I can bluff my way onto a Martian ship I suspect it would be easier to disembark on the Moon. Either would be less risky for everyone else than my arriving on the Quetzalcoatl. By the time we get back, the Martians may have imposed full inspections of all arriving passengers, and this ship is carrying people they want to talk to in the worst way. I must avoid that scrutiny.

  “But try not to think of the Martians as enemies. They are here to stay and we need to live alongside them. Try to think of them as our long-lost brothers and sisters. It is moot anyways because there will not be Martian ships at Valhalla.”

  MacFinn/converse, “Thank heavens f’that. So, ye’re really sure ye ha t’get off the ship? Would na be the first time LR had t’smuggle someone ashore. Till we get t’the Moon, this is the best place for ye t’be. TDF ships would put us back medically t’where we were b’fore, and all the ships available will be slow. We will na meet another FAS till we are back at the Moon.

  “Ye’ll need to know what ships ye might transfer to. I can find that, although I object t’the concept. Ye know ye canna move for two days at least? Y’need t’be here that long, and ye’ll be just startin physio then. But that was na all ye wanted to talk of, was it?”

  Me/converse, “No, there is more. I have a question that you might find odd. Am I still a member of the TDF? You should probably not ask that question directly. Onboard, there is a TDF marine, Commander Sa’id. He can probably make the inquiry and relay my status back through you.

  “I have another chore for him. Could you carry to him a small file I have written? It is to be delivered anonymously to the CI agent who was on LUVN and was shot in the pirate attack. Commander Sa’id can probably get the crew to deliver it. Tell him that if communications with the Banshees are requested, he should arrange it.

  “Commander Sa’id is your guarantee that I will not do anything precipitate with the Martians. He is here to watch over me, to keep me safe, and will probably follow me wherever I go, even onto a Martian warship. I must watch over him and protect him as he protects me.”

  MacFinn/converse, “So, m’tasks are first t’ask about ships available for a transfer an whether they’d be willin to take on passengers, second t’give the file to Commander Sa’id wi instructions to arrange contact wi the Banshees if requested, and third t’ask im about y’status. Wi y’permission, I’d like t’go before ye say something that really stops my ticker.”

  I truly had not been serious when I suggested traveling on a Martian ship. It was nearly suicidal, almost as bad as surrendering to a Martian Intelligence officer. MacFinn was right about that. Just making the suggestion to an Imperial captain would excite hostile suspicion. I could talk around the issue amongst people I trusted, but even with them trying to making a real request would trigger the Censor and shut me down. Yet…

  I knew so little about the Imperium. The Governors had suppressed all rivals for power. Even the largest factions on Mars had not approached the scale of the fleets that surrounded us. Admiral Wang had developed some kind of relationship with Forward Command, so they were not a disorganized rabble of factional warriors. For the Mission to succeed, a mandatory Step along the Path was to force my trial into the Imperial justice system. I needed to know how they thought, how they organized their society. To gain that understanding, I would have to make contact with the Imperium, soon.

  I wondered briefly if this was the kind of hard decision Toyami had warned me to avoid, but the conclusion seemed so obvious that I had to class it as easy.

  Deciding how to do it was still impossibly hard.

  Unable to make progress on that front, I tried to list all the people I had an obligation to protect. Some were obvious. My sister, Lucille, and her two children were the only family I had left since the Incursion. Diego’s mother and her daughter. My old schoolteacher. There were more, lots more. I remembered all the girlfriends I had dated as the Student, however, briefly, and realized that I could never mention their names unless explicitly asked and would need to emphasize why they had dumped me. There were all the friends I had studied with, or gone camping with in the northern forests of Noram Prairie, or even met regularly for coffee. I added my classmates while I trained as a spacer. Most of the crew members I had worked with as a spacer were dead, insane, or so long retired that they had never been drafted into the Counterstrike. I added to my list the few who survived, hating the Martians as much or more than I had.

  The list became very long when I became an Agent, longer still during my years as an Assassin. I realized with a shock that I had been underselling myself during that period, remembering only the atrocities that seared themselves into my brain and neglecting the people I had rescued or sheltered. Even as the Ghost I had continued that practice, but I had never mentioned it to the Exterminators.

  As the Assassin, I had tried desperately to protect the people of Mars by obeying the orders of my superiors who knew better than I what needed to be done. When it turned out that they were only protecting their wealth, I had cursed myself as a fool. In the decade since I returned, I had given myself no better orders and had been running on Ngomo’s program whenever I allowed the Assassin to take control. Could I blame the Assassin for being irresponsible when I had given myself no ethical guidance to replace it? I shook my head to try to clear the dust that thought stirred up and felt gratitude that Doctor Toyami’s Advice had corrected the omission.


  I also realized that the details of the people on my list were getting hazy because there were so many of them that the images piled one on top of the other, blending indiscriminately. Before I faced the judge, I would have to bring my own memories into order, to get enough of my facts right that a few misdirections would pass unnoticed. Remembering Alexander’s warning about memories changing and vanishing with time, I also realized that I mostly needed contemporary reference points to ensure that I caught everyone important. Fortunately, the Exterminators had provided me with a mesh of control points though my personae. I enabled the Ghost, the Cripple, and the Kid and began to construct a memory palace of my life, putting all the events and people in order, flagging the ones I might want to remember selectively or differently.

  2357-03-14 11:00

  The Inescapable Logic of Madness

  I was working my way into my teenage years when MacFinn returned.

  MacFinn/private, “Ye’re mad, all mad, every one of ye. The whole ship is mad. The whole universe is mad. Bring up channel 22666. It shows our current tactical display, an remember we ha no weapons at all. Pull back a bit, like this. This’n here is us. These five clustered just b’hind us are our ‘Official Imperial Escort’. Picked em up three hours ago. They were waitin f’us; apparently followed the Columbia from Valhalla. Our course’s straight through. That up ahead...”

  That up ahead was a melee of ships in battle. Missiles from our escort shot ahead. Most were destroyed in flight, but I watched as two ships, one red, one yellow in the display, were hit and turned grey. A few moments later, the formerly yellow ship flashed brightly and disappeared. The battle must have been in progress for a while, because half a dozen other grey derelicts littered the display.