by Piers Platt
“My pleasure. You have custody, sir?” Atalia asked him.
He put his hand on Yo-Tsai’s shoulder. “I have custody,” he confirmed. He guided Yo-Tsai toward the police cruiser.
Childers clapped Atalia on the back. “Outstanding work, Detective,” he said.
“Thank you, sir,” she said. “Team effort, though. Big time.”
“That it was,” Childers agreed. He turned and watched as the police car lifted up into the air, heading back toward the city.
“Sir?” Atalia asked. “Are Martin and I still in trouble?”
“Trouble?” Childers asked.
“For disobeying Senator Foss’ orders, sir.”
“God, no,” Childers said. “Didn’t you hear? Foss has been arrested.”
“Dasi got him, huh?” Atalia said, smiling. “Good.”
“Mm. District Attorney Hawken’s back in charge, thank goodness. And the fact that we defeated the Jokuan invasion because a few police officers decided to disobey orders is something neither he nor I wish to publicize.”
“Understood, sir,” Atalia said. “Happy to hear I’ve still got a job.”
Childers grunted. “I’m going to need to see about getting you a promotion. All three of you – Apter and Beauceron, too. And some medals, or something.”
“I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to a pay raise, sir,” Atalia offered.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Childers told her, frowning. “Where is your partner, by the way?”
“Martin went to Scapa, sir,” Atalia said.
“What the hell is he doing on Scapa?”
“I believe he was dropping off Mr. Kaldirim for sentencing. At Mr. Kaldirim’s request.”
“An assassin with a moral code,” Childers mused. “That’s a first. Well, tell Beauceron to get over here ASAP. You both played a part in this mess, so you’re going to help clean it up.”
“Yes, sir,” Atalia said.
“And see if you can borrow a dress uniform from someone. The people are going to want to see you two getting those medals pinned on.”
* * *
In the center of the hastily-erected stage, Beauceron held up his citation plaque, smiling for the cameras. Next to him, Atalia lifted her own plaque.
“My eyes are watering from all the flashbulbs,” she mumbled, through smiling teeth. “And this uniform is itchy as hell.”
“At least they didn’t make us give speeches,” Beauceron muttered back.
General Childers walked over, and they each posed for photos shaking his hand.
“I want to talk to both of you as soon as this ceremony is over,” he told Atalia. He pointed to the IP station that served as a backdrop for the stage. “Come find me inside.”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
The crowd applauded again. Beauceron felt as though he should bow, but after an awkward moment, he turned and followed Atalia to the stairs at the back of the stage.
“Childers wants to see us inside,” she told him, stepping down onto the street. “So let’s get out of here before the reporters try to come find us.”
“Okay,” Beauceron said. “After you.”
They made their way inside the station building, and a lieutenant pointed them toward the elevator. “Upstairs, Detectives,” he said. “The general’s on the third floor.”
“Thanks,” Beauceron said.
Atalia pushed the button for the elevator, and then fiddled with the medal pinned to her uniform, taking it off.
“Have you thought any more about what we talked about last night?” Beauceron asked her.
“No,” she said, frowning. “Have you?”
“No,” he admitted. “You’ve still got another two years on your assignment, but I also don’t think a long-distance relationship is a good idea.”
“… and I’m not going to ask you to leave Alberon for me, either,” she replied, stepping into the elevator. “So we’re back at square one again.”
“Maybe I should retire early,” Beauceron said.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I want,” Atalia told him, sourly. “A surly old retiree, moping about the house all day and wishing he was back on the force.”
“I might be happy,” Beauceron said.
“We both know you wouldn’t,” Atalia said.
The elevator doors slid open, and they found General Childers waiting for them, leaning against a filing cabinet. He pointed to an open office.
“We need to talk,” he said, gruffly.
Beauceron and Atalia shared a worried look, but followed him inside. Childers shut the door behind them, and then took a seat behind the desk. He glowered at them.
Atalia cleared her throat, and appeared to steel herself. “Sir, Detective Beauceron and I are … in a relationship,” she said, blushing. Beauceron looked at her in shock. “I just wanted to make an official statement, per IP policy.”
Childers sighed. “I’m fully aware of the nature of your relationship, Detective.”
Atalia turned to Beauceron. “You told him?” she demanded.
“No!” Beauceron said. “Anyway, why would you be mad at me if I did? You just told him yourself!”
“That’s different,” Atalia said, crossing her arms.
“Enough,” Childers broke in. “You two are killing me.”
“How did you know, sir?” Beauceron asked.
“Because, Detective, I’m not a fool. This morning you put in a request to be considered for undercover duty assignments in the Territories, with a strong preference for an assignment on New Liberia.”
Atalia looked at Beauceron in surprise, but Childers raised his voice, cutting her off before she could speak: “That request is denied, Detective Beauceron. For obvious reasons. The most famous cop in the galaxy has no place doing undercover work. As soon as you’ve completed your responsibilities here on Tarkis, you’ll report back to your duty station on Alberon.”
“Yes, sir,” Beauceron said, with resignation.
“… Which brings us to your request, Detective il-Singh. Considering how much your face has also been splashed across the news recently, your request for transfer out of undercover work has been approved. Though your supervisor tells me he will be very sorry to see you go.”
It was Beauceron’s turn to look surprised. “You didn’t tell me you had asked for a transfer,” he said.
“Neither did you,” she pointed out. She turned back to Childers. “You mean to tell me that we both requested new assignments at the same time, sir?” she asked him.
“Correct,” Childers said. “Had I granted both requests, I imagine you’d feel pretty foolish.”
Atalia put her face in her hands, shaking her head in disbelief.
“A word of advice,” Childers said, “from a man who’s been happily married for going on twenty years now. You two should probably talk to each other about really big stuff like this. Preferably before you go and do it.”
“I just wanted it to be a surprise,” Beauceron said, apologetically.
Atalia looked up. “If I’m not serving undercover anymore, what’s my new assignment, sir?”
Childers frowned, and rifled through the papers on the desk. “Your new assignment … where was it?” he asked, rhetorically. “I think the Academy’s been asking for more staff of late ….”
“I don’t want to teach, sir,” Atalia protested. “I want to do real police work.”
“… ah, here it is,” Childers said, ignoring her. He pulled out a sheet of paper and skimmed it. “Your permanent duty station has been changed to … Alberon.” He looked up at her, straight-faced. “How serendipitous. Perhaps you’ll run into each other.”
A slow smile spread across Beauceron’s face.
“Really, sir?” Atalia asked.
“Unless you’d prefer some other planet,” Childers offered.
“No, sir,” Atalia said, quickly. “Thank you, sir.”
Beauceron took hold of her hand, grinning, and for once, she didn’t mind at all.<
br />
40
The ship exited FTL travel, decelerating rapidly. At the helm, the copilot peered through the forward viewport.
“We’re here,” he observed. “Pretty barren stretch of space for a rendezvous. No planets, no stars – nothing.”
“I imagine that was intentional,” the pilot remarked.
The copilot pointed to a sensor display panel. “There’s the other ship,” he said.
The pilot squinted. “I see it.”
Ahead of them, a military-type transport lay motionless in the vacuum, running lights blinking slowly. The pilot adjusted his course slightly, lining up on the other vessel.
The door to the cockpit slid open, admitting District Attorney Hawken. “They’re here already, sir. We’re initiating docking procedures now,” the pilot reported.
“Excellent,” Hawken said.
He turned and made his way back through the small transport, and found Dasi waiting for him at the ship’s docking tube.
“They’re here,” he told her.
“I know,” she said. “We should be docking … now.”
Hawken heard a distinct thump from outside the ship’s hull. He shook his head. “This prescience of yours is really starting to freak me out,” he told her.
“Sorry,” she replied.
They heard the sounds of the airlock pressurizing, and then the hatch swung open automatically. The docking tube was empty, and there was no sign of the other ship’s passengers or crew. Dasi stepped into the airlock and passed between the ships, with Hawken close behind her. She followed the unfamiliar ship’s corridor along the curved outer hull, and then came to a closed interior hatch. The door opened at her touch.
Paisen leaned against a metal dining table in the center of the room, arms crossed. Along benches around the outside of the room, the other members of the Arclight team sat waiting, studying Dasi and Hawken. Dasi recognized several of them from their brief meeting back on Tarkis.
“Miss Oryx,” Hawken said, stepping forward and shaking her hand.
“District Attorney,” she replied. “Glad to see you’ve been released.”
“I have Dasi to thank for that,” Hawken said, nodding at the younger woman.
“You gotta keep your eye on that one,” Paisen said, arching an eyebrow at Dasi. “She acts like a shy government worker, and the next thing you know, she’s outing the entire Guild on social media. Or flying off to Anchorpoint to rescue some lawyer single-handedly.”
“She does sneak up on you,” Hawken agreed, smiling.
Dasi blushed. “I’m right here,” she said.
“Hi, Dasi,” Paisen said, smiling herself. “Good to see you.”
“And you,” Dasi said.
“Well,” Paisen said, spreading her arms wide, “we’re here, Mr. Hawken, as requested. Now: what could be so important that you’d take time away from your busy schedule to meet a bunch of assassins out in the middle of nowhere?”
“Well, I did want to meet you – all of you,” Hawken said, “and thank you in person. You’re never going to get any official recognition. But I wanted to tell you that I know what you did, and I’m immensely grateful for it. Defending Tarkis, seizing the drones … liberating the inmates of that camp on Jokuan. The Federacy owes all of you a great debt.”
“We take cash,” Rika offered.
Paisen shot her a disapproving look, but Hawken laughed. “So I hear. You were under contract with the Senate Intelligence Committee. Have they paid you?”
“They have,” Paisen said. “In fact, we just received another payment yesterday, which makes me think the senators must have set up some kind of automated debit system. I wasn’t going to say anything,” she said, smiling mischievously, “but it looks like things are set up to keep paying us, until you can figure out how to turn the payments off.”
“Well, perhaps we don’t need to turn them off,” Hawken suggested.
Jacque cleared his throat. “Are you asking us to keep working for the Federacy?”
“I’m suggesting the Federacy may have need for your talents again in the near future, yes,” Hawken told him.
Paisen glanced around the room, and saw her teammates nodding in approval. “We’d be amenable,” she said.
“I just have two conditions,” Hawken said.
“And those are …?” Paisen asked.
Dasi handed Hawken a manila envelope, which he opened up. “I need your real names and federal identification numbers,” Hawken said.
“No,” Paisen said flatly, frowning. “Absolutely not.”
Hawken walked over to the table and laid a sheaf of papers on the metal surface. “Well, it will be hard to fill out these forms without that information,” he said, sighing. “And I went to a lot of trouble obtaining these. Frankly, I’m all out of favors with my judge friends on Anchorpoint.”
“What forms?” Vence asked.
“Pardons,” Hawken said, evenly. “Official ones, for each of you. ‘In light of services rendered to the Federacy … yadda yadda … the below-named individual is hereby pardoned for all crimes committed prior to this date, et cetera, et cetera.”
Paisen picked up a form and skimmed it. “These are real?” she asked, after a moment.
“Valid, legally binding … totally real,” Hawken agreed, as the Arclight team stood and gathered around the table. “The Federacy pays its debts, Miss Oryx.”
Paisen looked at Dasi. “He did go to a lot of trouble,” Dasi said.
“We just fill in our names, and all those Guild murders are … forgiven? Purged from our records?” Huawo asked, looking at Hawken.
“That’s how it works,” Hawken agreed. “I decided we couldn’t have a bunch of criminals running the Arclight team, if it was going to become a permanent government agency.”
Silence settled over the guildsmen as they read the pardons. Then Vence spoke up.
“Okay, who’s got a pen?” she asked.
“Wait,” Wick said. “I have a condition, too.”
“What?” Rika asked. “Wick, shut up and sign.”
“No, these are great,” he said, pointing at the form in front of him. “But I want something else, too. I want a scholarship set up. The Tepper Memorial Scholarship. Every year, a deserving kid gets sent to Earth to attend college.”
The team considered this for a moment. “Yeah,” Jacque agreed, quietly. “He would have liked that.”
“Mr. Hawken?” Paisen asked.
“I think that could be arranged,” Hawken said.
“Thank you,” Paisen said. “You had another condition for us,” she pointed out.
“I did,” Hawken replied. “You’re short a team member, it seems to me. I thought you could use a replacement.”
“Me,” Dasi said. “If you’ll have me.”
“A cop, and a rookie one at that?” Vence asked. “No offense, but no thanks.”
“She wouldn’t be joining to babysit you,” Hawken explained. “I’m not looking for added oversight of the team.”
“So why do you want her in Arclight?” Paisen asked him.
“For one thing, she requested it,” Hawken explained. “But I think she can help you, too. You could benefit from someone with connections to law enforcement, for starters. And Officer Apter has … certain skills that aren’t immediately apparent. You could call her something of a ‘force multiplier.’ ”
“In what way, exactly?” Rika asked.
Dasi took a deep breath. “I have a sophisticated machine learning program installed in my internal computer. It’s possibly the galaxy’s most advanced artificial intelligence, and it’s exceptionally good at cyber-security.”
“I don’t like it,” Jacque said, shaking his head. “Not that I don’t trust you, Miss Apter … I know you and Paisen go back a ways. But I’d be worried you’d be a liability.”
“Same,” Huawo agreed. “Why would we need a hacker?”
Dasi cocked an eyebrow at him. “How about this: I know that one of you is
wearing your real, natural face right now. I know that three of you have been viewing District Attorney Hawken and me in infrared, in an attempt to judge whether or not we were lying. I know that there’s enough fuel on board to take this ship to one of seven different destinations, but in all likelihood, your intended destination is Bellislas, figuring that Interstellar Police would never think that you’d return there after they’d already raided it once. And I know that this ship’s swivel cannon is armed and pointed at the cockpit of the ship we flew in on, ready to fire on Paisen’s wireless signal, just in case. At least it was pointed at the other ship. I took the liberty of aiming it elsewhere when we boarded.”
The Arclight team members traded looks.
“Okay, I could see that being useful,” Jacque admitted.
Hawken laughed. “What were you saying earlier, Miss Oryx? You have to keep an eye on Dasi?”
“Mm,” Paisen said, pensively. “And clearly the best way to do that is to keep her close. Welcome to Arclight, Officer Apter.”
Dasi smiled and shook her hand. “Happy to be here.”
Paisen turned to Hawken, and put her hands on her hips. “Well, Mr. Hawken, it looks like you’ve got yourself a team. All we need now is a mission.”
41
Jaymy took a deep breath, steeling herself. The doors to the elevator slid open, revealing the lobby of her apartment building. Through the glass entranceway, she saw a mob of reporters waiting for her. They caught sight of her, and the cameras came up, snapping photos and video, and the crowd began jockeying for position nearer the doors. Jaymy sighed, and then headed outside, wheeling her luggage behind her.
“Miss McGovan!” a reporter shouted, shoving his microphone near her mouth. “Jaymy, have you heard anything from Rath?”
“No,” she said, pushing past him.
“Do you have any idea where he might be?”
“You guys were with him yesterday at the courthouse,” she shot back. “When you last saw him, where was he headed?”
“Jaymy, is it true they want to make a movie based on your story?” another reporter asked.
She ignored him and made her way to the curb, where the air taxi she had called was idling, thronged by more photographers. The driver stood waiting for her, holding the door open. She smiled gratefully at the man, and handed him her suitcase.
