Visions of Peace

by Matthew Sprange

  ‘You think we will find him . . . here?’ asked Tilanna, a little concern in her voice.

  ‘Maybe, maybe not. But I should still have friends here.’ He looked at her again. ‘Keep your hood up though.’

  Shaw soon found what he was looking for, and he walked across the avenue, leading Tilanna to a small bar whose neon sign proclaimed it as the Little Green Man. Like most other bars of the area, the interior lighting remained at a level suggesting early evening, a common ploy to give drinkers the feeling that their night had just begun, no matter the current time. Rapidly acclimating his eyes to the gloom, Shaw walked to the bar without any hesitation. Just another traveller looking for a drink to fuel him before tackling one of the more expensive clubs.

  As he waited for the bartender’s attention, he became aware of the eyes of many patrons upon him, and though he first put it down to his unusually dressed companion, he inwardly groaned and mentally kicked himself. As strange as Tilanna might look, he was far more identifiable in his Anla’Shok robes, which anyone would easily recognise after seeing ISN documentaries filmed on the Rangers. So much for blending in like any other Martian.

  The bartender, a balding, middle-aged man Shaw knew as the proprietor, looked the Ranger up and down with some surprise. ‘Good day,’ he said cautiously, assuming Shaw was not after a simple drink.

  ‘Hi!’ Shaw said with a smile. ‘I’m after Douglas. Usually hangs around here, though it may be a little early.’

  ‘Ranger business, is it?’ the bartender asked.

  Shaw’s smile dropped a little, expecting resistance. ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Well, I am afraid you are out of luck, friend. Douglas died, more than a year ago.’

  ‘Oh? I am sorry to hear that,’ Shaw said, a note of genuine concern in his voice. He had got to know Douglas through a friend of a friend, and they had hardly been tight. However, Shaw had spent more than one night with Douglas and other companions, steadily drinking one another into oblivion, and he was sorry to hear of the man’s demise.

  ‘Got himself killed in the civil war,’ said the bartender, quite matter-of-factly. ‘Got worked up about what they were doing on Earth and signed himself up with one of those resistance groups. Couldn’t be talked out of it, though many of us here tried.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘What were you after him for? Come to arrest him?’

  ‘No. No, nothing like that. Rangers don’t arrest people,’ said Shaw. ‘He and I knew each other a while back. I just thought he could help me with something.’

  ‘Ranger business,’ stated the bartender. ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘Lots of things said about you Ranger-types. Hear them everyday. Everyone seems to have their own thoughts on what you are really up to.’ He looked Shaw up and down once more, as if weighing just what to think of the Ranger. If he thought Tilanna’s presence seemed strange, he did not show it. ‘Seems to me that Sheridan was the one who made sure Mars got its independence, even if Luchenko wasn’t keen. I guess if Sheridan says you guys are okay by him, I can see my way clear to helping where I can. You know, doing my bit for the galaxy and all that.’

  ‘That is appreciated. We are looking for a man called Shiritori.’

  Even though Shaw had lowered his voice and leaned forward a little, the bartender gave him a sharp look of alarm and nodded his head to the empty end of the bar. Going through the motions of serving Shaw some random cocktail, he raised an eyebrow as he spoke quietly.

  ‘What business have you Rangers got with a man like that?’ he asked. ‘Not being nosy mind, I just thought you concentrated more on, you know, the big stuff. Wars and the like.’

  ‘We need to talk to him--his name came up in our investigations. What do you know of him?’ Shaw asked.

  ‘Nasty type. A trader by name, he began as a thief. Grown up now though, and he finally figured more credits were made buying and selling stolen goods than risking his neck trying to steal them. That kind of trader, if you take my meaning.’

  Shaw nodded. ‘That fits.’

  ‘He has a set of warehouses in the spaceport, just a mile or so from here. He stays away from the hot stuff like Dust, which means the law here more or less ignores him. They have bigger fish to fry. But everyone round here knows where to go for knocked off goods at half the usual price. Trouble is, I keep hearing he is getting into larger things--espionage for corporations, acting as a middle man for contract killings, that kind of thing.’

  ‘The police are not interested in stopping that?’

  ‘Things are still in a flux here. The government is still provisional, and no one is sure where their jurisdiction starts and stops. Just the kind of place where people like Shiritori thrive, especially if they have a legitimate trading business to hide behind. He has built himself up with the small-time stuff and now fancies a chance at the big score, I reckon.’ The bartender finished playing with cocktail bottles and placed a glass in front of Shaw, filled to the brim with a noxious smelling orange liquid. Shaw wrinkled his nose as he pretended to drink, thankful that he had not been given it in his youth, where it would have been knocked straight back and damn the consequences.

  ‘Any of this useful to you?’ the bartender asked.

  ‘I think so,’ said Shaw. ‘Can you give me directions to his warehouse?’

  The warehouses surrounding the spaceport were a perpetual hive of activity, Shaw knew from experience, having earned a few credits lifting and stacking while he was still at school. In Mars Dome Two, it was either that or serving in one of the many bars, and Shaw had preferred back then to keep his working life separate from his leisure. Small one-man loaders sped around beneath huge wheeled haulers, either stacking them with goods destined for far star systems or unloading necessities and luxuries for the citizens of Mars. Business had boomed since independence and alien trade was flooding into the colony, enriching its economy and enabling Mars to stand as an independent entity, despite constant vexations from Earth.

  The small complex of warehouses where the bartender directed Shaw was typical of its neighbours. Hastily constructed grey pre-fabricated structures formed the basis of the storage areas, with a tiny office centre literally bolted onto the side of one of the warehouses. No security was evident on the perimeter of the complex, allowing Shaw and Tilanna to enter unchallenged. He presumed enough traders and other customers frequented Shiritori’s warehouses that even their out-of-place appearance did not arouse suspicions. If any of the workers struggling with the endless supply of transport crates even bothered to give them a second look, they would presume the two robed figures were eccentrics after goods technically proscribed on Mars, rich dilettantes looking for another fix to relieve their lives of endless boredom. More likely, they just did not care, working long hours for few credits.

  This apathy enabled Shaw and Tilanna to walk straight through the complex and, without breaking his stride, Shaw vaulted up the metal frame stairs that led up to offices. Gesturing at Tilanna to remain a few paces back, Shaw unbuckled his Denn’Bok and, holding it close to his body to conceal the action, activated the pike to bring it to its full length with a metallic hiss. Reaching for the handle of the office’s door, he slipped in quickly, ready for anything.

  Inside the reception area, a Brakiri sat quietly. His ridged face squinted slightly, then his eyes opened in alarm as he saw the Anla’Shok robes and brandished fighting pike. Behind the counter, a burly dark-haired man quickly reached down, coming up with a small PPG pistol.

  Reflexes trained to react unconsciously, Shaw gripped his pike by one end and swung, connecting with the man’s hand before he could squeeze off a shot. The man yelped and looked at his broken hand as the PPG skittered across the floor.

  ‘None of that,’ said Shaw. ‘I am here for Shiritori.’

  The man spat and ran through a door behind him. The Brakiri, witnessing what had happened, began to gibber in fear and raised his hands, eyes pleading with Shaw not to hurt him.

  ‘I sugge
st you leave,’ Shaw said. ‘Quickly. You have no good business here.’

  The Brakiri bolted for the door, nearly knocking over Tilanna as she entered.

  ‘Making friends already, I see,’ she said.

  ‘Stay alert, they’re armed,’ Shaw said as he crossed to the far door. Opening it a crack, he saw a dozen office workers look around in concern, obviously confused at the receptionist running through their work area, cursing as he went. Seeing no immediate danger, Shaw entered.

  ‘Where is Shiritori?’ he demanded of a young girl who shrank behind her desk. Keeping everyone else in his peripheral vision, Shaw noticed all were shocked at his entrance. He deemed none an immediate threat, allowing him to concentrate on questioning the girl.

  The girl stammered in front of him, unable to speak, but a glance at the door opposite the one Shaw entered by confirmed his suspicions.

  ‘Okay, everyone leave,’ he said. ‘Work’s over today.’

  Having no illusions as to the kind of company their boss kept, the office workers dutifully gathered their possessions and rushed out, none meeting Shaw’s gaze as they left. Satisfied any innocents were removed from danger, Shaw crossed to the door the girl had indicated and, again, opened it a crack.

  He immediately sprang back as a PPG shot ricocheted off the doorframe. Glancing back to ensure Tilanna was not in the line of fire, Shaw mentally prepared himself before shoving the door open and diving inside. PPG fire sang above his head as he rolled, dissipating harmlessly with no more than a black smudge against the synthetic walls of the office. Instinctively, he swung out with his pike, connecting with the head of an assailant who hit the floor with a loud thump. He noted the dark-haired man he encountered previously was taking cover behind a desk, another PPG cradled in his good hand tracking the Ranger’s movements. Another super-heated blast of plasma tore past Shaw as he twisted away from the shot, singeing the robes beneath his left arm.

  With a single fluid motion, Shaw crossed the distance between them and heaved the desk upwards with one hand. As the man began to stagger backwards, Shaw placed a booted foot on the underside of the desk, driving it backwards into the attacker’s chest. Completing the manoeuvre, Shaw leapt up and placed his full weight on the upturned desk, pinning the man. A sharp and well-practised tap of the pike to the man’s head made sure he would remain unconscious for at least an hour with no permanent harm.

  A noise behind him triggered Shaw’s instincts once more and he rolled to the side as another PPG blast pierced the air above. Noting only that a third man had appeared at the entrance of what seemed to be a smaller office, Shaw swept his arm and released his pike so it flew straight and true into the stomach of his assailant. The well-dressed man fell to his knees, releasing his PPG as he struggled to find his breath. Seeing no other threat, Shaw crossed the office to retrieve his pike, then grabbed the man by the collar of his suit and peered into the small office to ensure no other surprises lurked there.

  ‘Impressive,’ said Tilanna as she entered the room.

  Shaw did not look back as he answered. ‘Well, I’ve had some training.’

  A click of a PPG being primed caused him to whirl round. He saw another thug behind Tilanna, pointing his weapon at the back of her head. Shaw belatedly realised that allowing the office workers to leave so hastily might well have drawn some unwanted attention.

  ‘Okay, drop the stick,’ said the man, gesturing with his pistol. ‘It’s over now.’

  Feeling foolish for having gotten this far before failing, Shaw looked at Tilanna and noticed she had something of a sparkle in her eyes. He was mystified at what she was trying to tell him but could not do anything but slowly drop his pike and raise his hands. As he did so, Tilanna whipped round with a speed Shaw could only later describe as feline. Her right hand formed into a hard, flat palm, she circled with graceful but terrible force, striking the man in the side of his neck. Her momentum carried through his body, hurling him several feet to one side, though Shaw guessed he was senseless before he struck the floor.

  Shaw stared at Tilanna with incredulity. She returned his look with an innocent smile.

  ‘You perhaps thought that prayers were all we were taught in Temple?’ she asked.

  Apparently not,’ said Shaw, finally remembering to pick up his pike. He looked down at the gasping man at his feet. ‘You Shiritori?’ he asked.

  To his credit, the man refused to answer, but a quick glance up at the sound of his name confirmed the question for Shaw.

  ‘There are some things I need you to tell me,’ said Shaw, almost conversationally as he hoisted the man to his feet.

  ‘I’ll tell you spit!’ said Shiritori.

  ‘We really don’t have time for this.’ Shaw glanced uneasily at Tilanna. ‘I must do something,’ he said softly. ‘I would be happier if you did not see.’

  Tilanna nodded. ‘Mora’dum. I understand. Go. I will make sure you are undisturbed.’

  Hurrying Shiritori through the door he had come in by, Shaw threw the man on the floor. Closing the door behind him, only seconds passed before the screams began.

  July 9th 2263, Mars Dome One, Sol

  With the information they worked so hard to uncover, Shaw and Tilanna returned to Mars Dome One by the same transport tube they had used to leave. This time, the journey was an anxious one for Shaw, as he now had all the pieces of the puzzle in his grasp but dared not risk using an unsecured channel from Mars Dome Two to contact Sheridan with his report.

  A mixture of emotions swirled within him. Elation at surviving his first firefight, however minor it may have been in the grand cosmic scale of things. He realised the truth now of what his Warrior Caste tutors had always tried to hammer into him. No amount of training and preparation can instil just what it is like to fight for your life.

  There was darkness too, mixing itself insidiously into his excitement. Mora’dum, the Application of Terror, was an ancient Minbari discipline, one that focussed on turning a subject’s fears in upon themselves. No physical torture was involved, for the Minbari tended to reject such brutal methods as being a stain upon their souls that would carry into the next generation. It was no less cruel though, for the technique allowed a trained Ranger to subject a victim to their worst nightmares with a remarkable efficiency born of a thousand years of development and practice. However, the user of Mora’dum could rarely walk away from a ‘session’ completely untainted. Some of that darkness and terror passed into his own psyche, where it would have to be managed through careful meditation and reflection. His Minbari tutors warned him of those in the past who grew to relish the use of Mora’dum just a little too much--and of what was done to stop them.

  The mental cleansing necessary beyond Mora’dum would have to wait and, true to form, the Minbari had given him a variety of techniques to bottle emotions for a limited time as well. Gradually, Shaw saw what it truly meant to be a Ranger, to sacrifice oneself for the mission at hand, paying little heed to the personal consequences. Only after victory had been attained could the self be treated, healed and cared for. All Rangers were required to make this sacrifice, and it crossed his mind that, in this, he was no longer so very different to Badeau, who was even now making her sacrifice in some intensive care unit.

  The security checkpoint in the Earth Alliance Support Centre cleared them quickly, which gave Shaw some hope. He expected their trip to Mars Dome Two to draw some suspicion by more than a few officers within the communications hub, but he averted his eyes from the stares of anyone who saw them go back to their small booth. Too much rested on success to risk any intervention, and he felt more than a little unprotected when he realised that Luchenko was no longer present, apparently dealing with her crisis workload in another section of the centre.

  Shaw immediately went to work on the communication link to Tuzanor, engaging the Ranger security protocols as he flagged its attention for President Sheridan. By now, he assumed all his communications were being routinely monitored, but the protocols us
ed by the Anla’Shok were a mutating code whose cipher was jealously guarded and regularly updated. Shaw hoped they would buy him enough time to get his message to Sheridan and receive instructions. Still, he felt someone watching every move he and Tilanna made, and he fought the impulse to turn around and scan the communications hub for likely suspects.

  Minutes later, Sheridan’s strained face appeared on the display. ‘Rangers,’ he said. ‘The White Star fleet is about to jump into Beta III. What do you have?’

  ‘Sir, we have it,’ said Shaw. He quickly relayed the progress of his investigation, from the process of filtering the Earth Alliance’s own files to the apprehension and confession of Shiritori.

  ‘Is that enough?’ Shaw asked.

  ‘It’s enough for reasonable doubt,’ said Sheridan, the relief evident in his voice. ‘Now we just have to convince Earth and the Centauri of its veracity. If I know Mollari, he will accept what you have found, so long as Earth withdraws with good graces from Republic space. The White Stars will broadcast your information to both fleets in Beta III. If nothing else, that should get them to hold fire for a while. What you must do is convince Luchenko. Everything rides on this, Shaw, since only she can pull back the Earth fleets. Tell her we have convincing evidence that must be confirmed before she can go to war. Tell her that if further investigations prove false, the Interstellar Alliance will stand by any action she decides.’

  ‘I will, Mr. President,’ said Shaw. ‘What of the conspiracy we have uncovered in EarthForce?’

  ‘Watch your back,’ said Sheridan. ‘We have no jurisdiction there. It is for Luchenko alone to adjudicate. Talk to her now--let’s try to halt a war.’

  Sheridan signed off and Shaw stood up, about to tell Tilanna to follow him. Instead, he found himself staring into the hawkish face of Admiral Keynes. Her tone was laced with dire threat.

  ‘Been busy, haven’t you?’ she asked.