by Piers Platt
Rath's Reckoning
By Piers Platt
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1
The automatic doors slid open, and Beauceron stepped into the parking lot of the spaceport rental center, squinting to protect his eyes from the swirling dust. He had never really considered Alberon a particularly humid planet, but New Liberia’s arid climate made him realize just how comfortable his home was. He found Rozhkov standing by their suitcases, and showed him the keys to their rental air car.
“Good,” Rozhkov told him, shutting down his holophone. “They’ll be here in ten minutes.”
“They have what we need?”
Rozhkov nodded. They found the air car parked three rows away – Rozhkov loaded the suitcases in the trunk while Beauceron took the pilot’s seat. Beauceron noticed the car’s hoverjet intakes were rusting, but when he ran the programmed pre-flight sequence, the vehicle started up readily. He turned on his datascroll and opened up the location tracking app, searching for the ankle cuff he had forced Rath to wear.
Let’s hope he still has it on, that rogue.
Beauceron had checked the app before they left Alberon – it had tracked Rath’s progress from Beauceron’s apartment to the spaceport, and then lost signal when Rath’s flight to New Liberia accelerated into faster-than-light travel.
But he probably took it off while he was on that flight.
Suddenly, a series of dots appeared on the map of New Liberia on the screen.
He forgot about it! No, surely not. He left it on intentionally, in case something went wrong. Good man.
According to the digital map, Rath had traveled south toward the penal colony, spent nearly a day in and around the closest settlement to the colony, and then made a detour out into a rural area for several hours. After that, his path went directly to the penal facility – and through it, Beauceron saw.
He left the complex almost immediately, and headed into the fallout zone.
Beauceron tapped on the Refresh button.
“Martin,” Rozhkov called from the rear of the car.
Beauceron stepped out of the car, and saw two men approaching. Rozhkov held a hand up in greeting as Beauceron joined him.
The two men stopped several feet away. “First time in the Territories?” one of them asked.
“Yes,” Rozhkov said. “It’s quite scenic here. We rarely get a chance to visit planets outside of Federacy space.”
Hearing the correct code phrase, the man relaxed and stepped forward, setting a small carrying case in the open trunk of the car. “Here you go, sir. Take a look and make sure it’s everything you need, and then I’ll need you to sign for those.”
“Of course,” Rozhkov told him. “Thanks for the assistance.”
“Not a problem,” the man said. “It’s not often we see colleagues out here in the Territories … nice to see a familiar face, as it were.”
Rozhkov clicked the case open and lifted an auto-pistol out of the molded lining. He checked the action, then repeated the process with a second pistol. “Excellent.”
Beauceron peered around the parking lot, checking to ensure that no one was observing them.
“You boys need help with whatever you’re getting into?” the other man asked, indicating the guns.
Beauceron shook his head. “Not right now, thank you. But we’ll let you know.”
Rozhkov finished signing a datascroll and passed it back to the men, then smiled. “Thank you, gentlemen.”
“Any time. Stay safe.” The undercover agents shook hands with them, then headed back to their own car.
Rozhkov held out one of the pistols, and Beauceron took it reluctantly.
“Would you prefer we bought some on the black market, Martin?” Rozhkov asked.
“No,” Beauceron sighed. “I just don’t like lying to other police officers, that’s all.”
“Come on,” Rozhkov grunted. “Time’s short.”
In the pilot’s seat, Beauceron set a course for the penal colony, and then picked up his datascroll again.
“He left the ankle cuff on,” he told Rozhkov.
“He did? Well, that’s a welcome surprise.” Rozhkov took a sip from a water bottle. “So where is he?”
Beauceron studied the map. “He entered the penal colony yesterday, and then moved into the fallout zone inside the city.”
Rozhkov leaned across, peering to see the screen.
“It looks like he went fairly deep into the city, then made his way straight back out overnight … it’s possible he found her – the one he’s looking for, the other assassin.”
“Don’t tell me they’re already catching a flight off-planet,” Rozhkov grumbled.
“No. His track from this morning follows this road away from the penal colony, and then deviates off-road, heading east for several miles. It ends here – that’s where he is now, the tracker is still live.” Beauceron tapped on the screen, and a satellite image overlaid the map.
“What’s there?” Rozhkov asked.
“Nothing.” Beauceron frowned. “Grassland. Open plain.”
“Well, let’s go find out what he’s up to.”
They landed on the grassy plain nearly two hours later. Beauceron climbed out of the air car, jogged a short ways, and then bent over. Rozhkov got out of the car and leaned his elbows on the roof, watching. “Well?” he asked.
Beauceron straightened, holding a bracelet aloft in one hand. “It’s his tracking cuff.”
“Shit,” Rozhkov observed. “He dumped it, then. Back to the spaceport? Try to spot them before they get off-planet?”
Beauceron shook his head slowly. “There are no tracks.”
“So?” Rozhkov asked. “They were in an air car, he took it off, and tossed it out the window.”
Beauceron traced a circle in the dirt. “There’s an impact crater here – it fell out of an air car, you’re right. But why would he leave it on so long, and then take it off at that exact moment?”
“Maybe he finally remembered it. Or she made him take it off.”
Beauceron scowled and walked back to the air car, taking out his datascroll. He set the small screen on the hood of the car, showing it to Rozhkov. “Look, they followed this road for several miles after they escaped from the colony. Then they went airborne at this point. Why do that if they were in an air car? Why not just take off right away?”
“You think they met someone in an air car?”
Beauceron met Rozhkov’s gaze. “I think someone met them. The Janus Group.”
Rozhkov glanced over his shoulder, scanning the grassy horizon. “That would be bad.”
“Very bad,” Beauceron agreed. He tapped on the screen, zooming out. With his finger, he followed the last line that Rath’s tracker had drawn on the screen, extending it out in the same direction. “If they changed direction after dropping the cuff, we won’t have much chance of finding them,” he observed. Then his finger stopped, and he zoomed in on the satellite image again, bending closer to the screen.
“What?” Rozhkov asked.
“There’s an abandoned cattle ranch along their route, about eight miles from here.” He looked up at Rozhkov. “A nice, isolated location to conduct some business in private.”
Rozhkov grinned. “When this is over, I am going to lock the police commissioner in my office until he agrees to give you your job back, Martin.”
Beauceron laughed. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We don’t even know for
sure that they’re at the ranch. And if they are, they’re going to see us coming. We can’t exactly just walk up and knock on the door.”
Rozhkov loosened the pistol in his belt holster. “Do you have any other ideas?”
* * *
Beauceron traded a look with Rozhkov, and then knocked firmly on the ranch house door. As he stood waiting on the house’s porch, he cast a wary eye at the armored air van parked at the side of the house.
“This is crazy, Alexei,” he muttered.
“There’s just that one van. There can’t be too many of them,” Rozhkov whispered back.
The door opened, startling Beauceron. A man in tactical gear stood in the frame, examining them warily over the barrel of his auto-rifle. To his left, Beauceron saw movement at one of the ground floor windows, and to his right, another guard stepped into view at the end of the porch, covering them with his own rifle.
“Yes?” the man in the doorway asked.
Beauceron cleared his throat, but Rozhkov spoke first. “I’m Colonel Rozhkov, Interstellar Police – Alberon Division.” He held up his badge.
The man raised an eyebrow. “You’re a long way from home, Colonel.”
“Yes, we are. And way out of our jurisdiction.” Rozhkov smiled. “But you and I actually share a different employer.” Rozhkov held up the holophone the Janus Group had given him years ago, and flicked open the encryption passcode app. The guard glanced at it, and Beauceron saw a flicker of recognition.
“I need to speak with your prisoner immediately,” Rozhkov continued. “I believe he knows the identity of an employee within Janus Group Headquarters that has been feeding information to an organized crime task force in my division.”
The man frowned. “We weren’t told to expect you. My last directive—”
“Look,” Rozhkov interrupted. “I just made a long trip, and while we argue about protocol, that informant back on my planet is compiling another report. I would rather my name stay off that report.”
“If we’re not supposed to be here,” Beauceron pointed out, “how did we know to find you here?”
The man looked over at Beauceron, considering. Beauceron felt a bead of sweat form at his brow. Finally, the man’s finger moved off his trigger. “Wait here while we clear it.”
“Here, use this,” Rozhkov told him, tossing his holophone at the guard. The man juggled his rifle, holding up a hand to catch the inbound holophone. But Rozhkov was already turning in place, drawing his pistol and opening fire on the guard at the end of the porch. Beauceron, caught unawares, dropped to one knee instinctively, scrabbling for his own sidearm. He heard a burst of automatic fire from his left – the guard at the window, he realized – but the guard at the door was already recovering, the barrel of his rifle swinging up. Beauceron fired twice, and the man went down, the rifle discharging uselessly into the floor. Beauceron jumped up and swung through the door, turning left, pistol at the ready. The guard at the window was dead – shot by Alexei, Beauceron saw. He turned.
Alexei slumped to his knees, grimacing. His white dress shirt was stained in three different places, a neat row from belly to armpit.
“Oh, god,” Rozhkov said.
“Alexei!” Beauceron rushed over to him.
“That was foolish of me.”
“Yes, it was,” Beauceron said. He helped the older man sit back, and then slid him over to the house’s outer wall, propping him against the door frame. Beauceron took a closer look at the wounds. “Alexei, this is bad.”
Rozhkov let his head rest against the house. “Leave me. There will be other guards. They’ll have heard the shots.”
“We can call for an ambulance,” Beauceron argued.
“Go, Martin!”
Beauceron grabbed the dead guard’s rifle and stood up, hesitating.
Rozhkov met his eyes. “I’m sorry, Martin. For everything.”
“You did it for Katarina,” Beauceron said. He shrugged. “You had to.”
“You’ll see this through, won’t you?” Rozhkov asked.
Beauceron nodded, tears welling in his eyes. “I promise.”
“Good. Be careful.”
Beauceron gave him a tight smile, and then disappeared into the house. Rozhkov let his head rest against the door frame, and looked out across the porch and the flat grassland beyond. As he watched, a gust of wind twisted and flattened the brown grasses, creating swirls and eddies in the waving stalks.
“Of course he’ll see it through,” he told himself. “Martin always sees it through.”
Rozhkov smiled and closed his eyes.
* * *
Paisen’s breathing was becoming ragged. Strapped to the table across from her, Rath felt his heart racing in fear, and took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself. On the screen above him, he saw the two men step back from Paisen, and lift the electrodes from her chest. Her body stopped convulsing, but her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath. She was still bleeding from the deep cuts along her arms, Rath saw.
“Okay, 339,” one of the men said, checking his watch. “That was one hour. Eleven to go, and then you get a break for the night. We’re going to move on to the acid next.”
Rath saw Paisen spit to one side.
“Fuck you,” she told the man.
Rath watched as the man pushed a finger slowly into one of the cuts on Paisen’s left arm, twisting it cruelly as he dug into the wound. Paisen screamed.
“Scream all you want,” the man told her. “With the noise cancelers on, no one can hear you.”
“I can hear her,” a familiar voice said, from across the room. The two men’s heads snapped up, and Rath saw them freeze. “But with those noise cancelers on, you didn’t hear me come in, did you?”
Rath strained to look at this new person, but they were out of his field of view. Then he recognized the voice.
“Martin!”
“Hello, Rath.” Beauceron flicked the barrel of his rifle toward the two men. “Undo her, please.”
One of the men shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Do it now,” Beauceron said, quietly.
On the viewscreen above him, Rath saw one of the men move to the side of the table, and begin unbuckling Paisen’s restraints. She watched impassively, waiting until all of the restraints were off to sit up on the table. A shiver of cold ran across her body, and then she took a deep breath.
“Okay, now—” Beauceron started, but Paisen was already slipping off the table, grabbing a scalpel from the trolley of instruments.
“No!” Beauceron yelled, but Rath saw her strike once, twice, and abruptly both men were on the floor, screaming in pain. Paisen rolled across the table, dropping to the floor on the far side, putting the table between herself and Beauceron.
“You killed them!” Beauceron blurted.
“He did warn you that letting me out was a bad idea,” Paisen called out, her voice hoarse.
“They deserved a trial,” Beauceron protested.
“They got exactly what they deserved. Now, I don’t want to sound ungrateful,” she said, “but you need to drop that rifle if you want to live.”
“It’s okay,” Rath said. “Martin’s a friend.”
“Friend or not, I’m not in a real trusting mood right now,” Paisen told him. “And that includes you, Rath.”
“Martin, just put it down,” Rath said.
Beauceron frowned, but put the rifle on the floor.
“Slide it over this way,” Paisen ordered. When the weapon came to a stop, she stood and retrieved it, watching Beauceron carefully. She walked over to Rath, and looked down at him.
“Are you okay?” Rath asked, looking up at her.
“I’ve been better.”
“Can you cut me loose?” he asked.
She tilted her head to the side. “I’m not sure I want to. You’re a serious liability.”
“Paisen, I’m sorry. I didn’t know they were following me. I just wanted to get you out of har
m’s way.”
She glowered at him. “You just worry about yourself.” Then she sighed. “If I let you out, from here on, I do the planning, I do the thinking. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Free from the restraints, Rath sat up, rubbing his wrists where the bindings had been. “Martin.” He looked over at the detective. “I am really glad to see you. And I’m sorry about the stun dart … and all of that. You found the ankle cuff?”
“Yes,” Beauceron said. “They shot Rozhkov, he’s outside.”
“Okay,” Rath told him. “I’ll come take a look. Paisen, you need some sutures on those cuts, too.”
“Later,” she told him. “Get dressed, I’ll cover you – clothes are over by the wall.”
Rath stood and carefully picked his way over the two dying Group employees, whose blood was rapidly pooling across the floor. He saw the shiny coils of an intestine, and shuddered. Near the wall, he found a garbage bag containing his clothes. His Forge sat next to the bag. He gave the backpack a quick pat, and then dug into the clothes bag.
“You’re the detective?” Paisen asked Beauceron.
“I am.”
“Martin Beauceron, meet Paisen Oryx,” Rath said.
Beauceron held up a hand. “Hello.”
“Are there any more outside?” Paisen asked.
“No,” Beauceron shook his head. “The three others are dead, and my friend is outside. He’s badly hurt.”
“Only three others? There were more. Two military-grade transports, and about a dozen mercenaries.”
Beauceron shook his head. “Just one van, and three guards when we got here. The others must have left.”
“Where are we?” Rath asked, buckling his belt.
“In the barn of an abandoned cattle ranch, a few miles north of the penal colony.”
Paisen pointed at Rath. “Go secure the ranch, and see about his friend. I’ll join you in a minute.”
Outside, Rath let Beauceron lead the way back to the ranch house.
“You brought Alexei, huh?”
“Mm-hm,” Beauceron said. “He insisted.”
They crossed through the house. On the porch, Beauceron knelt next to the old policeman and shook him lightly. “Alexei?” He touched two fingers to his throat. “Alexei!”
