by Thomas Webb
Montgomery skirted the base, circumventing the runways and munitions sheds, until they made their way to the squadron hangars. He flashed his credentials to the gate guard. The airman gave a token check of Monty’s ID and waved them through.
When Monty pulled up to the HQ building, the pangs of nostalgia hit sharper than she’d anticipated. In many ways, it was like the prodigal daughter returning home.
“Place hasn’t changed a bit,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.
Monty smiled, giving her a minute. “You’ll find the faux-military interior is the same as it was when you left,” he told her, attempting to lighten the mood.
“I’ll bet.”
Monty opened his door. “Shall we?”
Shane followed him through the familiar doorway leading into the hangar. It was strange, being escorted through the halls instead of walking them in her flight armor. For several years this was Shane’s home base. Some of the best times of her life were spent inside these walls. Even when she wasn’t deployed, she’d spent more time here than in her off-base apartment. As they walked the squadron halls she saw precious few familiar faces, and no old faces at all. It seemed as though everyone was new.
“Anybody left around here?” She asked. A fresh-faced 2nd lieutenant snapped off a ‘morning sir” to Monty as they passed. The girl looked like she should have still been in pigtails.
“Some of the pilots are still around,” Monty said. “‘Course everyone’s out on maneuvers this week. But as for HQ? Not many from when you were here. Lots of folks either requested new billets with other units or EAS’d after the new commander came onboard.” He shrugged. “Those that didn’t leave, the CO cleaned house and replaced with his own people.”
That was odd. Almost no one wanted out of the 151st after they got in. It was the best unit there was. She wondered what the deal was with this new CO? He must have been pretty bad for people to punch out just to escape his command.
Shane and Montgomery reached the stairwell leading down to the sub-floors. He scanned in through a thick metal hatch before they got to the Intelligence, or S-2, area. Together they strolled past the larger intelligence hub, clear plexglass revealing a large intel room. Banks of holo monitors made up the entire front surface of the darkened space. Air & Space Command personnel sat hunched over their entry boards, crunching data in a desperate bid to aid in the war effort.
They passed by the central area and on to Montgomery’s small office. The placard on the door read “Captain Montgomery, M.” Shane had often wondered just what in the hell had possessed Monty’s parent to name him ‘Montague Montgomery.’ Out of respect for their friendship, she kept her curiosity to herself. It was probably better that way.
Monty opened the door with his biometric key and invited Shane inside. The room was sparsely decorated-a desk, a couple of beaten chairs, a holo screen, and a watercolor print hanging on the wall that was already ancient when both Shane and Monty were still in diapers.
Monty shut the door behind him. “Gimme a second to fire this thing up,” he said, taking the seat behind the desk.
Shane made herself comfortable while Montgomery activated his holo screen. He went through several layers of security, finally finishing with an optical scan before he was in.
“Ok,” he began. “You said you had something you wanted to talk to me about? Face to face only and no communication’s wave?”
Shane nodded. “Yep.”
“Hmmm. Pretty cryptic, Shane. Sounds like some real secret-squirrel shit.”
“You’re one to talk. You work in intel.”
“Touché’. So what’s going on that’s so clandestine?” He’d used his fingers to create air quotes around the word ‘clandestine.’
On the flight in, Shane had debated exactly how much to tell Monty. With Lima’s sources all coming up dry, they needed the data her old squadron mate could provide. But how much to share and what to ask him for rode the razor’s edge of a very fine line. Too much, and he might ask some uncomfortable questions. Too little, and they wouldn’t be able to get what they needed. Not to mention the risk to Monty himself. He could get into serious trouble pulling classified data for Shane . . . as in stockade-level trouble.
“We’re working something right now,” she began.
“We?”
“The company I work for. It involves the murder of a Velusian woman.”
“That’s terrible,” Monty said. It was the human thing to say. “But I have to ask—how does this woman’s murder involve Air & Space Command Intelligence?”
“We think the woman was killed by someone we’re looking into. We can’t use our regular resources. I need this done off the books.”
“Off the books, huh?” He stared at her. “We go back a good ways, Shane. I don’t think you’d be asking if you had any other choice.”
“I wouldn’t. And I’d owe you, Monty. Big time.”
Monty stared at her before he finally cracked a smile. “I’ll remember that,” he said. He cracked his knuckles and wiggled his fingers. “What can I check into for you?”
This was delicate. “This woman was poisoned. They used a very specific toxin when they did it. Something called triosium phosphate. Do you have anything on it? Any recent hits or intel around this stuff?”
“Uhh-lemme see.” Monty worked his intel magic, scrolling through holo images and data faster than Shane’s eyes could follow. “Got an assassination attempt here. Went down about ten years ago?”
“Any Outer Colony assets involved in the incident?”
Monty raised an eyebrow.
Easy Shane.
“Negative,” he said. “It was an attempt on a UN planet, and the perpetrator was a citizen of the UN with no Outer Colonies ties.”
Shane shook her head. “That’s not it, then.”
“OC planet related, huh? Ok. Let me run it through UNODC.” He typed the floating screen. The privacy mode was down, so Shane saw a reversed United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime seal flash by. “Nope—no dice there, either.”
“Ok.” Shane’s brain kicked into afterburner. “They make this stuff on Haven. How about connections there?”
“Good idea Shane.” Monty leaned in, his fingers typing faster on the holographic keyboard. “Uhh-ok. Here we go. I checked out anything buzzing on Haven and bumped it up against anything with triosium. I got one hit on the Pharmaceuticals Data Stream.”
“The PDS? Don’t we share that with the Kingdom?”
“Yeah-they coordinate with the UN and Homeworld Security. They use it for alien narcotics busts, interplanetary drug interdiction. . . all sorts of stuff.”
Now he had Shane’s attention. The Kingdom. Anesu? That was a coincidence. Shane didn’t believe in coincidences.
“So what’ve you got?”
Monty peered at his holo screen. “The intel says a person of interest was just taken into custody a couple of days ago. Trace elements of triosium were on his clothing and skin. Stuff’s non-lethal to humans, but from what you just told me it sounds like its deadly for Velusians.”
“Where in the Kingdom was this?” Shane wanted to know.
“Right on the border. Says they took him into custody for illegally crossing.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah. And then—,” Montgomery paused, his face scrunching in confusion. “Damn. That’s weird.”
“What is it?”
“The data-it just . . . disappears.”
“Disappears?” Shane repeated.
“Yep. A dead end. Nothing else mentioned anywhere in our database. Or any of the other intel databases.”
“What does that mean?” Shane asked.
He raised an eyebrow. “Usually only means one thing.”
Shane’s eyes narrowed to slits. What could that mean? Suddenly it clicked. “A God-damned UNIA black site,” Shane said.
Monty pointed at her with his finger gun and pulled the trigger. “Bingo.”
“And on Kin
gdom soil.”
Monty nodded. “Looks like it.”
This was too big to ignore. “Can you get me a holo file with all that stuff?”
“Sure,” Monty said. He downloaded the data to a small holo drive. Just as Shane palmed the drive, the door to Monty’s office burst open.
Montgomery was on his feet and at the position of attention before the man completely entered the room. A man who’d deigned not to even knock.
“Good morning sir,” Montgomery said.
“Morning Captain,” the man said. “Stand at your ease.”
Montgomery relaxed and sat back down. Shane, no longer on active duty, hadn’t even bothered to get up. She caught sight of the silver eagles flashing at the man’s collar. An Air & Space Command colonel. He looked down on Shane as she sat, but he didn’t have far to go. He couldn’t have been more than one-hundred sixty-five centimeters tall, if she had to estimate. He stood as straight as if a peristeel rod ran through his back. The colonel was clean shaven, with a square jaw. He wore his silver and black hair close-cropped.
“Shane,” Monty began. “This is Colonel Trapp.”
Trapp. A colonel. The squadron’s new CO.
“And who do we have here?” Colonel Trapp asked. The frown on his weathered face told Shane he wasn’t used to people not un-assing their seats when he entered a room.
“Shane Mallory,” Shane said. She slipped the holo drive into the pocket of her cargos. “And you are?”
“I’m the new Squadron Commanding Officer.”
Shane nodded. “Colonel.”
Shane read his energy the second he walked in. A total Napoleon complex. Which she’d always found odd. Napoleon was actually quite tall for a man of is day. Colonel Trapp made no move to offer his hand. She made no move to stand and offer hers.
Trapp looked at her with disapproval in his eyes. “Mallory, is it? Yeah . . . I heard of you. You’re the hotshot pilot who up and quit on us last year?” he smiled, but it didn’t reach as far as his eyes.
Shane gave it right back, a wide smirk crossing her face “Guilty as charged.”
“Hunh,” Trapp grunted. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “That your fancy civilian craft that’s parked out in my far hangar?”
“You got me again Trapp.”
Colonel Trapp balked at the informal use of his last name. Shane had seen his type before. Lead-from-the-rear type leaders. Only one language they understood. Force.
“What brings you to our side of the globe?” Trapp asked.
“Just visiting,” Shane answered.
His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Just visiting? No law against that, I suppose. But more importantly, do you still have clearance to be here?”
Shane was just about to let the colonel have it on his lack of courtesy, both to guests and to those who served under him, when Montgomery jumped in. “Uhhh—Shane’s not here in any official capacity, sir. She was in the area and was just asking if I could grab some chow. Right Shane?”
“Sure,” Shane said. No reason to get Monty’s ass chewed over this.
“What can I do for you sir?” Monty asked.
“Right,” Trapp said. His eyes shifted between Monty and Shane. “I just wanted to get hold of that intel packet you were putting together. I didn’t see you in the S-2 shop, so I thought I’d pop over to your office.”
“I’ll have it for you by 1300 sir.”
“Good,” Trapp nodded. “See that you do.” He eyed Shane with something akin to distaste. “Enjoy your noon meal. When you’re ready to leave the base, I’ll send a couple of security officers over to make sure you can find your way back to your craft.”
Shane had served years on this base. She knew it as intimately as the curve along Gina’s thigh. If the colonel knew who she was, then he had to know that, too. Not wanting to get Monty into any more trouble than she already had, Shane kept as much of the sarcasm from her voice as she could manage. “Appreciate the hospitality.”
Colonel Trapp shot Shane one last look. He gave Monty a nod. Then he disappeared, leaving the door wide open.
When he was gone, Shane turned to Monty. “He seems like a real winner.”
Montgomery rolled his eyes. “I’ll admit—he’s not the best CO ever.” He started typing.
“What are you doing?”
“Wiping my tracks.” His eyes flew over the floating screen in front of him. “There.”
“Hey—can I get a wave in here?” Shane asked.
“Yeah-I trust you. Lemme lower the security field. Hold one.” Monty entered a command. “Ok. You’re good to go.”
Shane pulled the holo drive from her pocket. Then she took out her comm device and keyed it up.
“X37,” Shane said. “You there?”
“I am here Captain.”
Shane inserted the drive into her comm device. “I’m sending you something. I need you to forward it to Sao Paulo.” Shane activated the transfer. “Sending feed now.”
Shane watched as the holographic indicator on her screen scrolled from 0%. When the files showed 100% complete, Shane hailed X37 again. “You get all that X37?”
“Affirmative Captain Mallory.”
“Good. I’ll see you back at the starliner in about an hour.”
“Understood. See you then, Captain.”
Monty’s eyes went wide. “Was that an AI?” he asked.
“Yep. State of the art one, too. She saved our asses once. I’d even call her a friend.”
“And did it call you ‘Captain?’”
“Yes. She did call me captain.” Shane saw the expectant look in Monty’s eyes. “It’s a long story.”
“She?” he asked.
“That’s an even longer story. I’ll fill you in over some chow.” Shane stood up. “I’m starving. And you promised me lunch. The mess hall still as delicious as I remember?”
-5-
“Great to see you again Silvio.”
The man across from Lima grinned. His suit and tie fit him a bit more snug than they had the last time Lima saw him. His belly protruded further and presented a bit more of a bulge than Silvio remembered. His hair now had touches of grey, and a few more wrinkles had found a home on his dark brown skin.
“Good to see you as well Karl,” Lima said. “How is Cynthia?”
Just then the server happened by, and all conversation between Silvio and Karl ceased. A young Salayan woman took their drink orders, then disappeared around the corner.
When they were certain she was gone, Karl leaned back in the booth. “Oh, you know Cynthia. She’s doing well. . . ” He paused. “Ok—that may be something of an exaggeration. She’s actually testifying before the ICJ senate today.”
“Oh Really?” Silvio replied. He recalled, not fondly, his bosses being called before the International Court of Justice in the past. He was grateful he’d never had to perform that particular song and dance. “What is she testifying for?”
“You know,” Karl rumbled. “The usual bullshit.” He dismissed it with a wave.
Silvio nodded. “I do know.” It never failed-some bureaucrat getting in the way of the good people working in the field, no doubt. “I know very well. This testimony . . . is it perhaps anything I would be aware of?”
Karl shrugged. “Probably.”
Karl was playing it close. Silvio could respect that way of thinking. Once you were with the company, you were always with the company. You lived it. It stuck with you. And it never let you go. Silvio chose to press it no further. He’d find out soon enough, if he had a need to.
The waitress returned with two glasses—a bourbon, neat, for Karl, and a caipirinha, the national cocktail of Brazil, for Lima. As she placed the drinks in front of them, Silvio looked around the near-empty bar. Dark wood paneling, no holo cams, low light and plenty of shadows made for a perfect meeting place. There was no rear exit, and Silvio sat facing the door. He smirked at the puzzled look on the face of a man sitting across the room, no doubt wondering why his person
al comm device was unable to connect to a wave. The portable blocker Lima had on his person had seen to that.
The waitress smiled and took her leave again. They each took a sip of their respective drinks. Karl was the first to speak.
“Alright babaca. As much as I love bourbon, what’s got you so riled up that I had to catch a hop all the way down to Sao Paulo?”
“Why would you care?” Lima asked, laughing at Karl’s Portuguese insult. “It wasn’t far out of your way.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Karl asked.
Lima frowned. “Come now, Karl.” Silvio’s sources had told him that Karl was already in South America. He was part of an advance UNIA team, in the area doing recon on an illegal synth-drug ring.
Karl’s eyes opened in surprise. A flash of anger, then his face relaxed. He laughed. “Admittedly? Maybe I was in the area.” He peered across the table at Lima, his dark eyes alight with mirth. “I’m not gonna ask you how you knew that.”
“Nor will I tell you,” Lima replied. He let that statement hang for a beat. “We’ve found something,” he said, changing the subject and hopefully defusing the situation.
“Really?” Karl seemed surprised. “I didn’t know Cynthia had contracted with you all since that last op on Mion. Damn good job, by the way.”
“Thank you. And no, she has not contracted us. This is something I and my team have been looking into on our own.”
“Okaaaay. . .” Karl said, drawing it out. “So you’re looking into things on your own now?” He nodded to himself. “Noted. But you’ll have to start getting real specific about what you’ve found, Silvio. This is UN Intelligence. We’ve got a lot of irons in the fire.”
“Our friends have something cooking, Karl.” Our friends. Agency slang for the Separatists. “There is a prison that I and my team need more information on.”
“Sure,” Karl said. “Where is this prison located?”
“Inside the borders of Kush.”
Karl looked away and shrugged. “A Kushite prison sounds like an issue for the Kushite embassy. So what do you need us for?”
If he didn’t know better, Lima would have bought it. Karl wasn’t a good liar. He was a great one. Silvio fixed him with a stare. “As you know, this is not that type of prison. It is not one that is run by the Kingdom.”
