by Piers Platt
The last time I got a really good night’s sleep was here on Scapa – with Jaymy.
He smiled at the memory. She had calmed him somehow, whenever they slept together – just her presence had seemed to keep the nightmares at bay. His nightmares had come less often of late, but they still visited him with regularity. My guilty conscience, still punishing me.
Rath fell asleep.
The alarm klaxon jerked him awake hours later. He rolled off of his bunk automatically, dropping into a crouch.
“Alert: fire in the laundry facilities,” a voice announced. “Proceed to designated evacuation areas.”
The jail’s emergency lights were on, flashing red. A guard appeared moments later, jogging and carrying Rath’s chains. “Come on,” he told Rath. “Hands and feet, you know the drill.”
Rath hurried over to the cell’s bars, slipping his hands through. The guard cuffed him, then attached his ankle cuffs, before linking the two with a short chain. “Don’t get any ideas,” the guard warned him, sliding his baton out of his utility belt. “I’ll break your skull the second you fuck with me.”
“Yes, sir,” Rath agreed. The bars slid open and Rath shuffled into the hall. The guard pushed him toward the end of the corridor.
“Head for the yard.”
Rath felt his pulse quicken. Is Paisen making a move already? Surely not.
Outside, the night was brisk, the desert air crisp and clear. Rath could see the stars overhead – he even saw the faint lights of a satellite. The Suspensys station, he realized. The small yard was crowded with inmates, who were being herded to the far side of the recreation area, away from the jailhouse itself. Rath’s guard had him follow, but kept him separated from the other men. He stood, alone with his guard, in one corner of the yard, across from the other inmates. And then Rath heard a shout.
Rath craned his neck, and saw a fight had broken out amongst the crowd of prisoners. The other men moved back from the fight, giving the combatants room, but when two guards moved in to break it up, an inmate leapt onto the back of one of the guards, bringing him to the ground. The other guards in the yard converged on the fight immediately, knocking inmates out of their way with their stun batons. But another inmate took offense to being manhandled, and with a suddenness that surprised Rath, the scene devolved into an all-out brawl.
Should I be ready to run? Rath thought. Is this something Paisen did to give me a chance to break out? Rath surveyed the mayhem across the yard. No, this isn’t her style at all. Something doesn’t feel right about this.
Rath’s guard flipped his stun baton on, and Rath heard it crackle with energy. He waved it in Rath’s face. “Don’t fucking move,” the guard said.
Rath held his manacled hands up, feeling the chain tug at his ankles as well. “I can’t move!” he replied. Over the guard’s shoulder, Rath saw two prisoners break away from the crowd and sprint toward him. One held a stolen stun baton, and the other carried a homemade shiv.
“Look out!” Rath yelled. He pushed past the guard as the man with the baton raised it high, aiming a vicious swing at the guard’s head. Rath shouldered him in the chest, and the baton flew wide, missing the guard. Then Rath felt an arm around his neck, and he was stabbed once, twice in the kidneys. He bellowed in pain and jerked his head backward, head-butting his attacker, and breaking free from the choke-hold. The guard had squared off with the other attacker, and Rath stumbled a few feet, turning to face the man with the shiv. The man’s nose was bleeding, but he had recovered his wits and was closing with Rath again.
Rath shuffled backward, trying to buy time, but the chain between his ankles nearly tripped him. The man lunged forward, stabbing at his stomach, and Rath dodged to the side. His back was on fire from the stab wounds – he realized the disruptor collar was preventing his hemobots from administering pain medication. Let’s hope it lets them do their rapid clotting routine, otherwise I’ll bleed out in a couple minutes.
The man attacked again, slicing this time at Rath’s face, but it was merely a feint – he followed it shortly with another stab at Rath’s chest. Rath turned the blow with an arm, but once again, his chains prevented him from moving quickly. This guy’s no trained fighter, but he’s going to kill me if someone doesn’t put a stop to this, soon. Rath’s guard and the man with the baton were nowhere to be seen.
Fine. I’ll do it myself.
This time, when the man lunged at him, Rath let him come. His eyes telegraphed where his strike was aimed, and Rath was waiting: Rath side-stepped the cut, and deftly wrapped a loop of his chain around the man’s knife wrist. Then Rath yanked his hands up, pulling the chain taut with sudden speed. With an audible crack, the man’s wrist fractured, and he dropped the knife with a cry of pain. Rath grabbed him by the shirt and kneed him twice in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. As the man doubled over, Rath wrapped the chain around his neck and stepped behind him, cinching the chain tight and pulling the man back upright.
He took a second to scan the rest of the yard. The chaos was dying down, as a wall of guards in heavy riot gear forced the remaining inmates against the fence, using stun weapons liberally to bring down those inmates who refused to surrender. A pair of guards was headed for Rath, as well. He jerked on the chain around the man’s neck.
“Who sent you?” Rath hissed at the man.
“Fuck you,” the man gasped back.
“I can break your neck the same way I broke your wrist,” Rath promised him, tightening the chain.
“Drop him!” The two guards stopped in front of Rath, and one pointed a stun pistol at him. “Do it, now.”
Rath swore, and let the chain go. As he unwound it from the man’s neck, he noticed a small tattoo behind the man’s left ear: a circle bisected with three wavy lines. Now where have I seen that before …? One of the guards took Rath by the elbow, and tugged him away from the rest of the inmates.
“You mind taking me to the infirmary?” Rath asked.
“Why?” the guard asked.
“He stabbed me in the back,” Rath told him. “Twice. And if he was hiding that shiv where prisoners normally hide stuff, I’d better get the wound cleaned.”
The guard grimaced at him, and leaned over to check Rath’s back. “Yeah, okay. As soon as the fire’s fully under control, I’ll take you up.”
“Fantastic,” Rath commented. “Let’s hope that doesn’t take too long.”
* * *
“How are you feeling?”
Rath grunted, and took a seat across from Mishel in the jailhouse’s meeting room. “I’ve had a lot worse,” he told the lawyer.
The older man held up his hands. “I don’t want to know. The doctors tell me your hemobots should have you fully healed by tomorrow, but I got the trial recessed for a couple days, and I’m trying to get them to post a guard on your cell, as well.”
Rath shrugged. “I’ll be fine. I need your help with something, though.” He took Mishel’s datascroll and tapped on the screen, pulling up a drawing application. He swiped across the screen quickly, sketching a symbol, then turning the screen so that Mishel could see it.
“Have you seen this before?” he asked. “Is it some kind of gang symbol?”
The lawyer made a sour face. “A gang? No. Well, not in the sense you’re intending. That’s the NeoPuritan symbol. You’ve never heard of them?”
Rath shook his head. “No. It’s a religion?”
Mishel snorted. “A cult, one might argue. And a blight on this planet, and a growing number of other planets. Why?”
“Last night, the man who attacked me had a tattoo like this on his neck. And one of the men who attacked me at the restaurant wore a necklace with the same symbol.”
Mishel rubbed his chin, brow furrowed. “That’s an odd coincidence.”
“I agree,” Rath said.
“But why would the NeoPuritans have a beef with you?”
Rath sighed. “I have no clue.”
“To be fair, they take offense easily –
their main stated aim is to establish a more pure society, and rid the galaxy of corruption. That’s a society remade according to their ideals, mind you – and they are positively prehistoric in their views on gender equality and sexual practices, among other things. But it could be that they see you as some kind of exemplar for corruption in our society,” Mishel suggested.
“But I’m on trial already!” Rath pointed out. “They’ll have their justice … probably.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Mishel said. “Now, let’s get back to your trial, if we may. Big week coming up: the prosecution is going to be calling some friends of yours up onto the stand.”
* * *
Rath lay on his stomach on his bunk – the back wounds had fully scabbed over sometime during the afternoon, but lying on them still caused a twinge from time to time. He looked up from the book on his datascroll to see a guard standing at the bars to his cell. The guard from last night, the one who escorted me outside.
The man cleared his throat. “I … I wanted to thank you,” he said.
“For what?” Rath asked.
“For warning me, last night.” Rath could see a large welt under one of the guard’s eyes, and a nasty gash along his neck. “I didn’t see them coming, and you jumped in the way. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I lost sight of you after the fight started,” Rath said. “Did you get your man? The one with the stun baton?”
“Yeah,” the guard nodded. “He got in a couple good licks, but I got him in the end.”
“Good,” Rath observed.
“If there’s anything I can do for you, you let me know,” the guard said.
Rath eyed him appraisingly. “You wanna unlock that door and take my collar off? There’s a billion dollars in it for you.”
The guard shook his head. “No, sorry.”
Rath chuckled.
“But, you know, if you think of something else …,” the man trailed off.
“Actually,” Rath said. “I do have something else. This datascroll blocks web access, but I need to do some research. I want to find out why those assholes attacked us last night. Can you get me online?”
The guard looked both ways down the hall, and then nodded. “Yeah, I can do that. Pass it here.”
Rath stood and slid the device through the bars. The guard tapped in the settings for a minute, then looked up at Rath. “You’re not going to send an email to your friends, and have them come bust you out, or anything?”
Rath laughed. “No.”
“You think she’s already coming? 339 might try to come here?”
Rath could see the fear in the man’s eyes. “I don’t know,” Rath told him. “But if she does, I’ll put in a good word for you, don’t worry.”
The guard looked somewhat relieved, and handed Rath the datascroll.
“Thanks,” Rath said. He took a seat on his bunk and opened up the web browser.
He searched for each of his fifty victims in turn, pulling up their names from his photographic memory of the mission briefs. The lights in his cell went out, as usual, at ten o’clock, but Rath kept working, his face lit by the glow of the datascroll’s screen.
After two hours, he sighed, and set the datascroll down. As best he could tell, none of his fifty victims had any ties to the NeoPuritan movement, nor was the religion ever mentioned in connection with the Janus Group. In fact, several church leaders had been quite outspoken about the Group in recent months, pointing to it as another example of the failing morals in today’s society. So I didn’t kill one of them, and they aren’t pissed about the Group being exposed. Rath furled the datascroll and stood, pacing his cell for a time, thinking. Finally, he sat back on the bed and lay staring at the ceiling.
I could really use Beauceron’s help on this one.
19
The message arrived in Paisen’s encrypted chat program later that evening. She muted the drama program on the room’s viewscreen and sat down at the desk.
>You warned me not to underestimate your skills, and I should have listened. That was an impressive demo tonight.
I wanted to get your full attention, Paisen typed.
>Well, you have it. I have a closed-door Intelligence Committee meeting tomorrow, and I’d like to take your proposal to them. But I need more details. Size of your team, capabilities, cost, etc.
Paisen replied: Team is an even dozen, including me. We can operate in teams or work individually, depending on mission requirements. We can penetrate nearly any organization or facility, retrieve whatever information you need, and get out, without being detected. We can conduct surveillance and reconnaissance of enemy forces, shadow key individuals, steal data and information, and recruit agents within organizations as needed. I’ve focused most of our training on espionage tasks, but we’ve also trained as a fighting unit, so if you need us to capture high-value targets or sabotage key installations, we have that capability, too.
>No direct action, came the senator’s reply. No shooting. No violence.
Depending on where you want us to go, we may not have a choice – if we’re discovered, we may need to defend ourselves, Paisen told him.
>Let me be clear: I don’t want your team arming yourselves at all. Aside from the fact that I don’t want to be responsible for more deaths, that kind of stuff leads to publicity, and we can’t have that.
Paisen wrinkled her nose at the screen. I’m not keen on those rules of engagement.
>Non-negotiable, the senator replied. What about fees?
I’d like $5 million per month operating budget. That will cover transportation, equipment, miscellaneous expenses, and personnel salaries, she typed.
>That seems high. Can’t promise you that much, but I’ll see what I can do.
Pardons are impossible? Paisen asked.
>Yeah, no chance. This whole operation has to be black. Totally off the books. We’re on the verge of mass uprisings as it is … the people would be in the streets with torches and pitchforks if they knew we were turning back to the Guild for assistance.
I’m not the Guild, Paisen pointed out.
>You were. Regardless, the only way to pardon you and your team is to work with Justice – that means updating files, public records … someone will see it, and there goes your secrecy. Can’t do it.
Paisen sighed. Well, if one of us is arrested, she thought, we can always just blow the whistle on him and the rest of the Intelligence Committee … cop a deal.
Another message appeared from Lask.
>I can contact you via this chat after I’ve floated the plan to the rest of the committee?
I’ll be here.
* * *
“… and they’re trying to sneak another tax cut into the spending bill,” Lask’s senior aide finished, reading from his datascroll as they walked briskly through a corridor in the Senate building.
Lask sighed. “Of course they are. Send me the text they inserted, I’ll review it tonight.”
He pushed open a non-descript conference room door, then gently took his aide by the shoulder. “Closed committee today.”
His aide looked up from the datascroll, confused. “Oh, of course. Sorry, sir – lost track of where we were.”
Lask entered the room alone, and found four other senators seated around a small conference table.
“Gentlemen,” he said, nodding in greeting. “My apologies, I was interrupted on my way over here.”
“We were just discussing whether we need today’s session,” Senator Tsokel, the committee chair, told Lask, “as the budget appears to be set.”
Lask sat at the table. “I actually have something,” he told them.
“A new report?” Senator Campos asked.
“No, a concept. A proposal, if you will. Something to restart our intelligence gathering capabilities.”
“We’ve already discussed this,” Tsokel said, shaking his head. “IP can’t afford to spare any additional personnel for activities in the Territories
.”
“I’m not talking about using IP resources,” Lask said. “And I know: establishing and training a new agency to handle the task is well beyond our budget.”
“And it would take months … years, even, to get it up and running,” Campos noted. “But every time we punt on starting it, we push that timeline back.”
Tsokel frowned. “Campos, if you can find the funds, we can discuss this pet project of yours. But it’s not happening this election cycle, I can tell you that.”
“Gentlemen,” Lask said, raising his hands. “There may be a third option we haven’t considered. A pool of resources that are already trained, and ready to go.”
“The private military outfits are ill-suited to espionage,” Senator Herek cut in. “We sponsored a study on them three years ago. They’re capable mercenaries, but lack the training and subtlety for spy work.”
Lask chuckled, exasperated. “I’m not talking about them, either. Gentlemen, please! Just let me finish. We all agree that we desperately need help. We’re getting nothing but rumors today – press articles, patchy reports from IP undercover agents. But those rumors are more than concerning. The list of Territorial planets with capable militaries grows longer by the day. But we don’t know the full extent of the threat, and most importantly, we don’t know our enemies’ intentions.”
“True,” Tsokel said.
“The situation is dire,” Lask continued, hedging. “I don’t think we’ve been this close to a major interplanetary war since the Third Colonial War. And as we now know, the Senate had to resort to extreme measures to end that conflict, hiring an assassin to kill Anders Ricken.”
“Just spit it out, Lask,” Tsokel said, growing impatient. “We all know what we’re up against.”
“I’m about to propose something unorthodox, so I wanted to reinforce that our backs are against the proverbial wall. Any port in a storm … desperate times, desperate measures.” He took a deep breath. “Very well, here it is: we can hire a team of former guildsmen to serve as our intelligence network.”
