by Michael Rose
“Right. But even if he does planet-hop for a while, we’ll catch up to him eventually. In a few months, every planet’s local Bureau office will have him on their watch lists.”
Allen inserted the data chip into his tablet and uploaded the files on Jones. He removed the chip and handed it Wagner, who did the same. “Anything else, Leo?”
Blanco stood and Allen and Wagner followed suit. “Just be careful.” He shook both of their hands.
“We will, Leo. See you in… eight months, at the earliest.”
THE INTERSTELLAR PASSENGER ships were among the largest of the space-faring vessels. There were, of course, larger cargo vessels operated by a few corporations, but most freight was transported by smaller ships. Due to the vast distances and long travel times between markets, a system of small-fleet operations, or even individually-owned cargo ships, had developed. A corporation, no matter how organized, simply couldn’t keep track of its ships and cargo on such a large scale, especially when news of any problems or delays took months to reach headquarters.
Passenger operations were a little different. Flights didn’t have to be arranged on short notice to fulfill the varying demands of the interstellar marketplace. The passenger flights were scheduled years in advance. Every Monday, a flight left Earth for Faris, every Tuesday, for Oceanus and so on. And with an estimated sixty billion people spread out across forty-six inhabited worlds, there was never any shortage of passengers. Often, those who needed to make last-minute plans would have to book passage on the much more frequent and flexible freighters. Allen had no doubt that Blanco had pulled some strings and paid some generous compensation to secure the two cabins aboard the ship bound for Calandra.
Liz Wagner was on the phone to her mother. A shuttle had transferred the agents and all their luggage and equipment to the ship as it orbited the planet. Allen, Takemitsu and Ives were rechecking their gear. The four of them had each been issued bulletproof vests, bioscanners, medical kits and energy rifles. They each had their standard-issue solid projectile sidearms, of course, but there was no knowing what might happen on a planet as lawless as Abilene. The “full cooperation” Abilene’s ambassador had guaranteed them wouldn’t mean much four months from Earth if the local authorities decided otherwise.
“I have to go, Mom,” Wagner said. “We’re about to jump to hyperspace, and we’ll get cut off. I will, Mom. I know. I love you, too.”
She pressed the button on the side of her earpiece and turned to look out the window of the cabin. The Earth hung blue and brilliant against the darkness. Allen went and hugged her. They had dropped the pretense for Takemitsu and Ives. The other agents knew the two of them were together and didn’t seem bothered by it.
“We’ll be back in a year, tops,” said Allen.
“Her birthday’s next week,” said Wagner. “She’ll be sixty.”
“I’m sorry. Tell you what, the four of us will have a celebration for her here on the ship, and you can tell her all about it when we get back.”
“Yeah, and I’m going to miss the game next weekend,” said Ives with a smirk. “I had court-side seats.”
Takemitsu downed his coffee, crumpled the paper cup and threw it at his partner. “Catch this, smartass!”
Ives caught it and playfully hurled it back. Takemitsu batted it aside. He looked toward Wagner and Allen, grinning. In the reflection of the glass, he saw Wagner wipe her eyes. He gave Ives the time-out signal and went to pick up the crumpled cup.
A musical chime filled the cabin, followed by a pleasant female voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, we will depart for Calandra in five minutes. If you are currently connected to Earth’s planetary network or engaged in a call, you will lose contact once we jump to hyperspace. Please take a seat in the stationary, forward-facing chairs in your cabin. Be sure to fasten your seatbelts, as you will feel a slight jolt as we accelerate. Parents, please ensure that children are securely fastened before taking your own seats.”
“We’d better get to our cabin,” said Takemitsu. “We’ll meet up with you for lunch.”
Allen nodded as Takemitsu and Ives left, closing the door behind them. Allen let Wagner pick a seat then sat beside her.
“Here we go,” he said, taking her hand and rubbing it.
They watched the countdown clock on the small display in front of them. When it reached two minutes, the voice returned to the ship-wide PA system and began verbalizing the countdown. When the clock reached zero, a whirring sound came from the aft of the ship as the massive engines fired. They were forced back into their seats as the ship accelerated away from Earth. After a full minute of acceleration, a blue flash of light from outside the window briefly lit up the interior of the cabin. Allen peered out, but there was no longer anything to be seen. They were in hyperspace. There were no stars here, no planets, no asteroids or other debris that could tear a ship apart during the long journey. There was only the void outside of—or, depending on whom you asked, between—normal space-time.
7
FOR THE FIRST month, Sullivan and Jones didn’t talk much. Jones hadn’t asked Sullivan for information about his past, and he hadn’t volunteered it. Instead, they talked of trivial things: sports, movies, books. But this conversation soon grew tiresome. Sullivan had never been one for exchanging pleasantries. After his parents’ deaths, he hadn’t had any significant long-term relationships. At the orphanage, he’d become withdrawn, kept himself apart from the other children. When he’d turned eighteen, he’d gone into the military, focused on his training and the routine of military life and had still led a predominantly solitary existence. But when he found himself eating a simple meal across from Jones, his supply of small-talk depleted, he decided to take a chance on the man.
“Don’t you wonder why I had to be smuggled off of Earth, Jones?”
Jones looked up from his plate. “None of my concern.”
“Sure, in the beginning it wasn’t. It was just business. But now that we know each other….”
Jones arched an eyebrow. “It’s not that simple, Rick. It’s in my own best interest not to know. Plausible deniability and all that.”
Sullivan turned his attention back to his plate. “You’re right, of course.”
Jones grunted his agreement and took another bite of food. “Nothing personal, of course. If it makes you feel any better, I don’t have that much to say.”
Sullivan yielded. He had a feeling the next three months would seem like an eternity. And they did. Beyond greetings as they changed shifts and light discussion over meals, Sullivan and Jones spoke little.
Instead, Sullivan’s thoughts turned inward, as they had so often done during trying times. The main thought was a comforting one: he thought of avenging the deaths of his parents and the countless others who had lost their lives during the rebellion. But that hadn’t been the end of the killing. The atrocities during the rebellion had only been the most visible of the government’s crimes. As a soldier in Edaline’s special forces, Sullivan had taken part in operations against civilians. He had killed civilians whose only crime was wanting a better government. But that wasn’t the worst of it. For years, he’d been able to justify it to himself. A stable government, he’d reasoned, kept the majority of the people safe. They were allowed a great deal of freedom, considering the alternative. They were generally free from want, from hunger, from persecution.
But the night they’d raided that apartment block west of the stadium, the night Lieutenant Price had ordered Sullivan to execute that teenaged boy… that was the night everything had changed, the night the justification had ended. He’d seen himself in that boy’s eyes; he’d seen a boy whose parents were dead at the hands of Edaline’s government, a boy who was innocent of any wrong-doing himself.
“He’ll grow up to be just like them,” Price had said. “Do it, Sullivan.” Price had placed the barrel of his sidearm against Sullivan’s head. “Do it, or I’ll do both of you.”
Sullivan had raised his rifle, taken aim at the
boy’s chest and pulled the trigger. If nothing else, he would get justice for that boy. He’d find Price and execute him the way that boy had been executed
AFTER FOUR MONTHS of travel, Abilene’s star system drew near. Sullivan was asleep when they dropped out of hyperspace but awoke upon hearing Jones enter the cabin.
“Time to get back in your hole. Abilene’s perimeter ships have asked for my cargo and passenger manifests. They’ll only expect one life sign when they scan us.”
Sullivan got up from his bunk, went forward to the ship’s cockpit and waited as Jones pulled back the panel to reveal the crawlspace. He got in, and Jones replaced the panel. The next sound he heard was the whirring of an electric screwdriver as Jones secured the panel in place.
Sullivan waited. An hour passed, then another. He felt changes in acceleration and felt the gravity shift as the ship entered Abilene’s atmosphere and Jones switched off the artificial gravity generator. Abilene was a smaller planet than Earth and Sullivan felt lighter, which gave some relief to his aching back.
The landing was smooth. Sullivan heard Jones talking with some men and assumed these were Abilene’s port authority inspectors. Abilene was generally considered lawless, but the government that it did have did its best to make sure they got a percentage of every cargo that came in. This, not security, was the real purpose of their port authority.
Sullivan didn’t hear any sounds for twenty or thirty minutes. He worried that Jones was having some problem with the inspectors. Finally, he heard footsteps. He hoped Jones was coming to let him out. Those hopes were dashed when he heard a second set of footsteps, then a third.
Sullivan heard someone step up to the panel. The next sound he heard was the electric screwdriver. Were these friends of Jones or were they the inspectors? He waited in anticipation as he heard the first screw clatter to the floor, then the second, the third, the fourth.
The panel lifted off, and Sullivan was blinded by a strong light shining in his eyes. He brought his hand up to his face. “What’s the idea, Jones?”
A firm grip pulled him from the cubby, and as his eyes adjusted, he saw that it wasn’t Jones. It was a large redheaded man. He felt a sharp prick at his jugular, and the last thing he saw before losing consciousness was a thick red beard sitting atop a thick neck. A heart-shaped tattoo on the side of the neck enclosed a single word: “Mother.”
IT WASN’T UNTIL he awoke that Sullivan noticed the matching tattoo on the other side of man’s neck. This heart enclosed the word “Fucker.” Sullivan was bound to a chair, and the burly redhead was sitting across from him, a gun resting on one knee. When he saw Sullivan stir, the man looked past Sullivan and shouted a gruff, “Hey!”
Footsteps approached from behind him. Sullivan turned his head. A tall, dark-haired man in a reflective blue suit smiled as his eyes met Sullivan’s.
“Your friend is awake, Jones,” he said.
Jones came around and stood behind the tall man. He briefly looked Sullivan in the eyes then looked away. “Nothing personal, Rick.”
Sullivan struggled against his restraints. “What is this, Jones?”
“Like I said, nothing personal, but you’re worth money.”
“To who?”
“You think I’m stupid, Rick? You think I don’t watch the news? I knew who you were the minute I first laid eyes on you. I know the Assembly doesn’t pay rewards except to licensed bounty hunters, but I figured Edaline’s authorities wouldn’t be as particular.”
“And Mr. Jones,” said the tall man, “has convinced me of that as well. I’ve bought you from him.”
Sullivan narrowed his eyes at the freight captain. “God damn you, Jones!”
“Nothing personal,” Jones mumbled again. “I’ll take my leave.”
Jones stepped out of Sullivan’s sight. A moment later, he heard a door open then close.
The tall man smiled. “So what do you think Edaline will pay for the return of their prodigal son?”
“Nothing,” said Sullivan. “As soon as we set foot on Edaline, we’re both as good as dead.”
“Oh, I think they’d show a little more gratitude than that. I have a great deal of influence on these planets outside the purview of the Assembly, and I’m a useful man for a corrupt government to have on the payroll. Anyway, I’ve already sent a message to an acquaintance who happens to be a member of Edaline’s parliament. I’ll hear back in a few months. Until then, welcome to your new home.”
Sullivan scanned the room. It was about three meters wide and, based on how the door sounded when Jones had closed it, he guessed four to five meters deep. There were no windows and no furniture save the two chairs that he and Red were currently occupying. A few filthy-looking blankets were piled in one corner. The other corner held a bucket. My bed and bath, Sullivan thought to himself.
Red got up and produced a syringe. The tall man crouched down to Sullivan’s eye level. “I apologize, but we’re going to have to put you out again. When you wake up, you will be unrestrained, and these chairs will be gone. When you see the door, you’ll notice that there is a hinged access hatch in it just large enough for that bucket. Each morning you will place your waste bucket on the ledge outside of that hatch. Your waste will be disposed of for you, and in return you will be given food and drinking water as well as a wash bucket and rag. When you are finished, you will place the wash bucket on the ledge, and it will be exchanged for your waste bucket.”
The tall man gestured to the room. “There is space enough to exercise and move around. The lights will be turned out at night so you may sleep, and during the day you may, if you behave, be given a tablet so you can read or watch movies.”
The tall man leaned in closer. “You will find that I am not a cruel man, Mr. Sullivan. I am simply a business man. Wilson, however,” he said, indicating the redhead, “is a very cruel man indeed. Do not test that assertion.”
Wilson leaned in and injected the syringe into Sullivan’s neck. Sullivan tried to speak before he lost consciousness, but “mother” was the only word he managed to get out.
8
THE PLANET OF Calandra was a member of the Stellar Assembly. Despite this, Allen found out soon after arriving that law and order meant something different to the Bureau agents there. The planet was still young and rough, and like the non-SA planets in the neighboring star systems, sloth, corruption and kickbacks were a way of life.
Allen had worn himself ragged trying to get Calandra’s Bureau to secure passage to Abilene. They complained of budgeting restraints, questioned his authority to make such a request, but Allen knew the real reason was that there was nothing in it for them. They had hinted that Allen might give them some of the credits the Bureau had allotted him to cover their operational expenses, but he refused. He would take no part in enriching these corrupt agents.
Allen and Wagner eventually resorted to loitering at the commercial spaceport, trying to find a cargo ship on its way to Abilene. After a week of this, they finally secured passage aboard a ship that was loading a cargo of Dacian whiskey. Dacia had grown rich exporting their unique twist on standard grain whiskey, which included a slightly toxic extract from a plant native to the planet. The numbing effect of the extract was popular among a certain segment of the population, and shipments to Calandra and Abilene were frequent.
In exchange for passage, they’d had to barter the four bulletproof vests, two of the bioscanners and most of the drugs from their medical kits. The freighter pilot had refused to take their SA credits. It became clear that he was often on the wrong side of the law and didn’t want a digital trail linking him to the Bureau.
As Allen boarded the freighter, he took with him the vow that he’d see the agents in charge of Calandra’s Bureau office fired for their corruption and non-cooperation. Still, it irked him that it was likely to be a year or more before his report was filed, a decision was reached and word was sent from Earth to Calandra. For all that time, they’d be collecting Bureau paychecks and further enri
ching themselves by taking bribes.
It was about a month from Calandra to Abilene. Allen had long ago come to resent this mission. So what if Sullivan got away? His actions had exposed corruption at the highest levels of government and led to dozens of arrests. He’d talked to Wagner, Takemitsu and Ives, and they were all in agreement. The mission was a wild goose chase. They’d make their investigation on Abilene as quick as possible and get home.
The trip from Earth to Calandra had done wonders for Allen and Wagner’s relationship. With little to do for three months, they had enjoyed all the benefits of interstellar travel aboard a passenger liner: the spas, the nightly entertainment, the five-star restaurants. But now, in the cramped quarters of a slow and outdated freighter that smelled distinctly of yeast, Allen grew tense and impatient. Their host was curt and unaccommodating, and the crew berths were small and uncomfortable. He never imagined he’d look forward to landing on a planet like Abilene, but when that day came he pushed past the captain to breathe the air of Abilene’s atmosphere and clear the smell of yeast from his nostrils.
It wasn’t much of an improvement. Allen surveyed the surroundings. Abilene was a small, hot desert planet less than point eight astronomical units from its star. The heat seemed to radiate both from the sun above and the ground below. What passed for a spaceport was little more than a three-kilometer-long stretch of cracked asphalt lined with warehouses. Row upon row of dumpsters lined the walls of the warehouses, and it was from these that Allen guessed the stench was emanating.
Wagner exited behind him and held her nose. “Jesus, no wonder these people drink a lot,” she said as the ship’s freight door slowly opened, revealing the stacked crates of Dacian whiskey.
Allen nodded. “Let’s get the hell out of here and find Abilene’s security chief.” He turned to the freighter pilot. “Hey, how do I get to the planet’s security headquarters?”
The man shrugged and returned to his work, scanning the code on each crate as it was unloaded.
