Nearest Night

by David VanDyke

  “That is fewer than fifty thousand people,” said the Australian. “Nothing compared to what we’re dealing with.”

  “True, but our population, economy, and ability to deal with crises is much smaller as well. This influx has strained our small country tremendously. In a nation of only five million, fifty thousand is many.”

  “Everyone, please,” said Markis, suppressing his frustration. “I think I understand your challenges and appreciate everything you’ve done so far, but the number of refugee Edens coming out of North America is growing. The Colombian government is putting pressure on us to stop building refugee camps here, and even eliminate some of them. The other Central and South American nations have been reluctant to take any. We need to find permanent homes for these people.”

  There was silence as the three leaders looked down at papers in front of them.

  Markis sighed heavily. “I can understand that no one country can take in everyone. I think we may have to divide and conquer in this case. I ask you each to go back and talk to your governments once more. Ask them to carefully consider the consequences of failure, and try to sell them on the long-term economic benefits of this influx of talent and labor.”

  “Speaking of failure,” said the South African, “what’s this I hear about your man in The Hague? The one you asked me to add to our U.N. staff there? He’s gone off the grid.”

  “The situation has been complicated.”

  “Complicated how? What’s he talking about?” asked the New Zealander.

  “One of my special attachés has disappeared,” said Markis.

  “What do you mean, disappeared?” asked the Australian.

  “We don’t really know. We’re trying to figure out what happened, but at this point we have to assume the worst. This man was a friend of mine, someone I trust. He wouldn’t have vanished on his own. He must have been taken.”

  “Why would you send a friend of yours as a glorified aide?” asked the New Zealander.

  Markis rubbed his tired eyes. “I can’t give you specifics.”

  “He wasn’t there as an attaché, then,” said the Australian. “It must have something to do with the exfiltration network for the Edens in Europe. Can’t you see we’re already at our limits trying to deal with the Edens we have? Why take big risks to add more to the pipeline?”

  “And,” said the South African, “this case at the International Criminal Court is important. If our governments get branded as undermining international law, we’ll be isolated even further. This incident with your agent won’t help matters.”

  “It was a judgment call on my part,” said Markis. “We have no reason to believe the disappearance of the special attaché will reflect upon the case at the tribunal…though they may be related in fact. If someone snatched him, they may want information about either – the case, or the exfiltration network.”

  “Be that as it may,” said the South African. “In the future it would be best if you included us on decisions such as this. You’re the FC council’s chairman, not an autocrat.”

  Markis’ jaw clenched. “I include your council representatives in all political decisions. They get to have their say and vote me down if they like. I can’t run every minor diplomatic or intelligence issue past them. If you don’t like what I’m doing or how I’m doing it, find someone else.”

  The mechanical wall clock sounded unusually loud in the sudden silence. Markis counted off ten ticks before anyone spoke.

  “Daniel,” said the New Zealander in a soothing tone, “relax, my friend. You’re the right man for the job and we trust you, but we do need to make sure you have input from everyone when you make your decisions.”

  Markis took a deep breath before answering. “I listen to all the advice I can, but leadership by committee is an oxymoron. I feel a responsibility to every Eden out there. Most of them wouldn’t be fleeing for their lives if not for what I did. I don’t regret the things I’ve done, but I can’t walk away from them either, and the human cost. As long as I’m Chairman, I’ll put people’s lives first.”

  “Very well,” said the Australian official. “Send along your proposal and I’ll try to get it approved.”

  The other two men mumbled similar responses.

  “Thank you,” said Markis.

  The New Zealander cleared his throat. “You know they’ll eventually come for us all, don’t you?”

  “They’ll try,” said Markis.

  “What do you mean?” asked the South African.

  “Right now our enemies are mostly content to persecute or expel Edens. Some places are worse, rounding up and killing them, but only within their own borders. Eventually, the anti-Eden nations will finish with their internal cleansing efforts. They’ll see our rising economic success based on cooperation and shared sacrifice, and they’ll want it for themselves. They will work themselves into a frenzy and come for us. We should be ready.”

  “Yes,” said the South African, “we should formalize a military alliance for mutual defense.”

  “A military alliance is a start, but if we’re going to make this Free Communities arrangement work, it needs to be fully integrated – political, economic, legal, everything,” said Markis. “Like the EU, but more so.”

  “That’s going to be difficult to sell,” said the Australian. “Our people aren’t ready for that. Let’s proceed one step at a time. Mutual defense makes sense, but I’m not even sure what a full alliance would mean.”

  “Neither am I,” said Markis, “but we need to figure it out, because our shrewd Maori friend is right. Eventually they will come for all of us Edens, if they can.”

  “Wouldn’t an open military alliance be just the sort of pretext one of the Big Three may be looking for to attack us?” asked the South African.

  Markis sat back. “That’s a risk we’ll have to take, but the sooner we take it, the better. We must make ourselves stronger, to deter any major military moves. That means all of you need to increase defense spending.”

  There came a collective groan.

  “What did you think?” said Markis. “That an alliance would allow you to spend less on defense? Global economic crisis...demographic cliffs...blah blah blah. None of that will mean anything if we’re all nuked or invaded.”

  “Trivializing our challenges isn’t the best way to endear us to your way of thinking,” said the New Zealander.

  “It’s your way of thinking, Arana. You brought it up. You’ll have to sell it. Our time is nearly over for today; I see the secure satellite window is closing. Anything else?”

  When the teleconference ended, Markis let out an exaggerated groan of frustration and turned to Cassandra Johnstone, who’d been sitting off camera. “Do you see what I have to put up with?”

  “I thought it went quite well actually. You’re good at this. But I’m not here to talk politics.”

  “When you sit in my chair, everything is politics.” Markis grimaced. “Spooky’s people working with you? Any of them giving you trouble?”

  “Not so far, but I can tell you I’m going to need some help if he doesn’t come back soon. On the one hand, he hasn’t mentored a strong deputy, so his organization is taking my orders without too many protests. On the other, I’m now both your Chief of Intelligence and acting Chief of Security and Counterintelligence, which includes covert operations. I can’t possibly keep a close eye on everything, especially with some of his…unconventional arrangements.”

  “Unconventional?”

  “You really don’t want to know the details. Some operations he’s obviously running personally. I only know about them because certain people have made contact, and because I’m now reading his compartmented reporting. He’s really given a lot away by going on this mission himself.”

  “It’s his family.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d have said Spooky was hatched, not born. You know he’s not quite like the rest of us.”

  Markis nodded, his eyes hooded. “I’ve heard
the theories about Edens who lack the virtue effect, but I have to judge people on actions and results, not on their personal proclivities. I haven’t seen any evidence of betrayal, not of me personally or, more importantly, not of the FC.” He let out a long breath. “Cass, I know you both try to protect me from the seamier side of the spy game, but I’m not a fool. I know you both push the boundaries of morality at times, but I have to trust you and Spooky to stay on the right side of the line.”

  “That last part may prove just how naïve you are, DJ. No offense.”

  “None taken. But how bad can it be?”

  Cassandra lifted her eyes to the ceiling as if considering how to answer. “The postmodern secular ethos seems to have settled on murder as the ultimate evil. Do you think that’s true?”

  Markis considered her in puzzlement. “What could be worse than murder?”

  “A religious hardliner might say blasphemy. A feminist might point to rape and sexual slavery. A libertarian might say authoritarian fascism or communism. An anti-Eden crusader would claim allowing the virus to spread is worse than murder, believing the Plague takes away humanity rather than enhancing it.”

  “So what’s your point?”

  “People will rationalize any evil in the name of their chosen ideology. Spooky’s got an ideology that lines up with yours and the FC’s…for now.”

  Markis rubbed his chin. “You’re saying he’s murdered people for what he sees as the greater good?”

  “I’m saying we all have, DJ, you included. Whenever we make decisions that affect many lives, somebody dies. It’s easy for me to condemn Spooky because he’s more ruthless and direct than I would be, but I’m fair-minded enough to see my own hypocrisy.”

  Markis thought about Cassandra’s words. “And mine, you’re telling me. Because I haven’t reined him in, because I’ve demanded he get results, I’m as much to blame as he is.”

  “Responsible, anyway. Yes.”

  “I accept that. I also accept the FC’s need for Spooky, or someone like him, to deal with our enemies that are far worse. The experimentation camps have shown how ugly this struggle has become. And there’s no one else I trust enough right now to take over for him, even as a temp. The FC is still on a razor’s edge. A slight push could bring everything crashing down.” Markis stood up to rub his hands, as if cold. “I should never have let him go on that mission. I let my personal sympathy sway my better judgment.”

  Cassandra shrugged. “I think he might have gone anyway. Then you would have had to deal with open defiance. Better that you acceded with grace. And I can handle both hats...for now.”

  “Have you heard from him yet?”

  “Nothing,” answered Cassandra. “Like they say, no news is good news.”

  “Except when it isn’t.”

  “With any luck he’ll be back soon.”

  “Speaking of coming back, have we gotten anywhere on finding Larry?”

  Cassandra dropped her eyes. “Not yet. I strongly suspect he’s been taken.”

  “He’s a giant, gregarious black man. How can no one have seen him in a country dominated by polite Caucasians? Isn’t this what you have all your source networks for?”

  “We’re looking,” Cassandra said patiently. “We have a few leads.”

  Markis’ face got tight. “Look harder, Cass. Find him. Fast. The information he has is critical. This is your top priority.”

  “You’ve told me four different things are my top priorities over the last two days,” Cassandra replied, drumming her fingers. “Which –”

  They were interrupted by the door opening. Markis’ aide poked her head in. “Your next teleconference is coming up, sir. Brazil.”

  Markis said, “Thanks, Fran. One minute.” He turned back to Cassandra. “I have to take this. Close the door on your way out. Find Larry. No excuses.”

  Cassandra ground her teeth and closed the door softly as she departed the chairman’s office. “Too many damn irons in the fire,” she said out loud, realizing it was true. A palpable sense of foreboding crossed over her mind like a dark cloud on a sunny day. Without Spooky, or someone like him, things would start slipping through the cracks.

  It surprised her to admit she missed having him around.

  Chapter 14

  “Dump your knives too,” the voice from the trees said to Spooky. “You types always carry knives. Way too many, if you ask me.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean, you types?” asked Tarzan from nearby.

  Pulling out three knives, Spooky laid them carefully on the ground in front of him. “Who are you?”

  “You first, since I’m the one in charge.”

  “And I’m the one in charge of this team,” Reaper interrupted, walking up to Spooky with her hands wide and empty. “I speak for us.”

  “Speak, then.”

  “We’re special operators from the Free Communities. You can call me Reaper.”

  “What if we were Security Service? You just bought a one-way ticket to a concentration camp.”

  “If you were, you’d have killed us already…or tried. No, I think you’re something else.” Reaper elbowed Spooky. “You remember that note on a group of Edens Skull ran across in this area, Spooky? Led by a former greenie beanie?”

  “Of course I do,” Spooky replied. “I presume they spotted our LZ beacons…or they compromised one of my sources.”

  “Spooky?” The voice became a man stepping forward, an Eden by his apparent youth and vigor. He lowered his rifle. “Why did she call you that?”

  “It’s a handle I picked up in another life.”

  “What’s your real name?”

  Spooky crossed his arms. “Who wants to know?”

  “My name is Derrick Straw.”

  “I’ve heard that name. Sergeant Major Straw, Fifth Group?”

  “And you started in Third, then spent a lot of time in First, at Lewis. You’re Master Sergeant ‘Spooky’ Nguyen.”

  “I used to be, though I hear I’ve been dishonorably discharged and sentenced to death in absentia. I’m a brevet colonel in the Free Communities Armed Forces now.” Spooky stepped forward, holding out his hand.

  Derrick took it. “I’ll be drawn and quartered. Spooky fucking Nguyen. And I got the drop on you.”

  “I was rather busy at the time, riding a pallet in.” He refrained from pointing out that he might have slipped away as an individual, had he been willing to sacrifice the team.

  Reaper stepped closer. “Since it looks like we’re all on the same side, can we put the bromance on hold and start breaking out our gear? We’ve got a mission. Derrick – should I call you Derrick? – sorry for dropping into your backyard, but we’ll get out of your hair as fast as we can if you’ll just forget you ever saw us.”

  “Who were you in a former life, if I may ask, miss?”

  “Miss?”

  “He’s older than he looks,” said Spooky. “At least seventy, am I right?”

  Derrick smiled. “I used to be.”

  “I was a Marine tactical cop, 3RT,” Reaper said. “And a One Percenter, if that means anything to you.”

  “It means I wouldn’t want to arm-wrestle you, I imagine.” Derrick looked from Spooky to Reaper and back. “So what is it that brings such elite operators to my doorstep?”

  “Classified, no offense,” Reaper replied. “Need to know.”

  “That won’t wash,” said Derrick. “You have to give me something. My people are well trained, but we’re not a military organization and I’m not a dictator. They’ll want to know what heat you’ll bring down on us. We’ve survived for these years by keeping a low profile, using local knowledge and not drawing attention. We’re fugitives living among the populace, not insurgents.”

  Spooky turned to Reaper and raised an eyebrow.

  “All right,” she said. “Brief him the minimum necessary. You have the most at stake. In the meantime, Rangers, load up and get ready to march.”

  ***

  Day was br
eaking before they finally stopped walking. Reaper found herself surprised at the depth of her fatigue. Maybe she was getting soft, not training enough. “We need to stop for chow,” Reaper told the leader of the group that had “captured” them at the drop zone.

  “Will do,” answered Derrick. “Just a few more minutes.”

  “Thanks,” said Reaper. “You know, it would have made things easier if you told us up front you were on our side.” She nodded toward Hulk’s busted face and several of Derrick’s men who showed signs of healing injuries. Apparently, they’d had a little tussle.

  Despite their threats, the local forces hadn’t actually been willing to fire first. She wondered if that was a result of prudence, or the virtue effect enhancing their reluctance to kill. It took training for anyone, especially Edens, to shoot human beings without hesitation, especially with lethal ammo.

  As Derrick had said, these people weren’t really fighters, despite their weapons. They were armed fugitives.

  “We haven’t survived out here on our own surrounded by forces that want to eradicate us by being overly trusting,” he answered. “Those are the sorts of things you take for granted in your secure FC compounds located in your friendly countries. Here, it’s always life or death.”

  “Fair enough. We trust each other enough now to get our heavy weapons back?”

  He turned to her and shoved the pack he was carrying in her direction, machine gun attached, and she caught it. “I was just lugging it around to be chivalrous, but you can carry your own weight now.”

  Reaper put the pack on her back and adjusted her weapons. “Chivalry’s nice, but how about you just treat me like any other warrior.”

  “I’ll try. In my day, women didn’t fight.”

  “New day, new way.”

  “Got that right. We’re nearly there,” Derrick said, pointing to a steep draw ahead of them.

  At first Reaper could see nothing but trees, but as she peered more carefully, she picked out giant camouflage nets strung high in the trees. They looked to be military issue, meaning the nets were of the IR-, UV- and radar-scattering type, reducing the chances of being spotted from overhead recon. As they got closer, she saw an entire camp, with scores, possibly hundreds of men and women, even a few children, but quiet, with few visible fires and no permanent structures.