Schematics on Clara’s canopy flashed yellow at irregular intervals along the elliptical warship, signifying weakened defenses on its bulging, rounded hull. A broad and imposing command tower surmounted by wings climbed above the stern engines.
“Twin Moons Squadron on approach for attack,” said Leader.
Batteries lining the Wraith’s length erupted in a withering, effusive torrent of plasma. A blinding detonation flared beyond her starfighter as a Twin Moons pilot succumbed to the hail of fire, her voice little more than a shrill wail over the squadron channel.
“Don’t break formation.”
Clara tightened her grip on the control stick and felt the Stiletto trembling against near misses and shrapnel from downed Elathan starfighters striking her hull. A direct hit connected with the Marauder nearest to Clara on the starboard side, engulfing the fighter in an incandescent fireball.
“Hold position.”
Blue plasma shrieked within meters of Clara and singed her port wingtip as Twin Moons Squadron dived on a shallow trajectory and skimmed the Wraith’s bulbous hull. Gunnery stations, observation posts, sensor arrays, cannons and communication antennas hurtled beneath as though a miniature city of skyscrapers.
“Target acquired,” affirmed Squadron Leader. “Hit them with everything we have.”
Clara depressed her triggers and launched Vanguard missiles on a trail of burning propellant, joining a sweeping wave of torpedoes from the assembled Marauders. Explosive projectiles streaked toward the Wraith’s undefended command tower and hammered through graphene armor plating and viewports, igniting in a fiery blaze that left the bridge a smoldering ruin.
Wings stretching outward from the structure buckled and collapsed as the sundered tower was ejected into serrated, twirling pieces. Clara veered between wreckage drifting above the crippled battlecruiser and flew beyond corridors and facilities exposed to cold vacuum. Cheers from the victorious squadron filled her helmet.
“Destruction of Wraith command tower confirmed,” announced Twin Moons Eight.
Clara ascended into a starboard roll and consulted her sensor screen, which showed a persistent and welcome ship trailing her Stiletto. “You still with me, Six?”
His voice returned in shaky, enthusiastic breaths. “My starfighter’s a little charred but I’m flying.”
“Good to hear. Think you’re fit for combat?”
“Try and stop me, Lieutenant.”
Clara smirked and switched to the squadron frequency. “Leader, this is Twin Moons Thirteen. Request permission to engage Triaxus Sandstorm Squadron.”
“Permission granted,” came the reply. “Happy hunting, Thirteen.”
Chapter 33
“The warrant for your arrest was officially issued less than one hour ago,” Alessandro explained. “Detectives are on their way now to take you into custody. I don’t know how long you have.”
Winston faced the wall screen displaying Alessandro while he purged his virtual intelligence program Evie from the hotel interface and deleted all files. The entire situation was in shambles, a monumental disaster incapable of being remedied. Winston had never experienced such seething rage and frustration during his life. He fought against the impulse to scream and pound his fists into the floor, knowing unfettered outbursts would do nothing to solve his predicament. Only a cold, calculated response could serve his interests and ensure Winston remained free.
“Thank you, Alessandro,” he replied. “Have the arrests targeted you or other members of senior management?”
“My sources claim I’m not yet a subject in the investigation, though they’ll undoubtedly try to detain me for questioning to build their case against you. From what I can ascertain, they’re interested in having one public face for this criminal investigation.”
“Then I think it best you also left Jiaolong.”
“Forgive my impatience, but I’ve already departed Alishan. I’m on the Qu Yuan continent in a city I won’t name, with passage booked offworld first thing in the morning.”
Better that Alessandro die to ensure his perpetual and unremitting silence, though if he succeeded in fleeing Jiaolong the damage would be minimized. Did he refuse to disclose his location for fear of the authorities intercepting this communication, or owing to suspicion that Winston might have a subordinate eliminate his Vice-President of Operations? The choice was prudent either way, proving Alessandro’s foresight once again.
Winston disconnected from one hotel console and consulted the progress in wiping all data. “I’ll contact you once I’m safely on Shangdi and can access my various accounts.”
“Do you know how many of your assets were seized by law enforcement?” Alessandro asked.
“Not yet, though I plan to conduct a thorough inventory once I land and claim asylum.”
Winston spent years diversifying his holdings, spreading them between non-aligned worlds beyond the jurisdiction of Confederacy agencies and investigators. Independent governments often tacitly allowed their planets to be used as tax havens, since tolerant, loose regulations brought wealth from the Confederacy. Winston also had the wherewithal decades ago to purchase land and several estates on Shangdi, a non-aligned world of moderate affluence whose government refused to sign an extradition treaty. With his riches and influence, Winston would be untouchable within systems and spacelanes controlled by Shangdi.
“You don’t anticipate difficulties in leaving Jiaolong?” questioned Alessandro.
“Our starship registration has been changed and the proper agencies received generous incentive to disregard us. We’ll reach orbit without trouble.”
“Then I wish you all the best, sir. Good luck.”
Alessandro faded from view and the screen transitioned to transparency, revealing the Alishan skyline beyond his hotel suite. He felt a special kinship with this city and planet, known as a place where wealth and authority opened doors and a person with resources need not be burdened by regulations.
Winston activated a personal communicator with a direct link to his starliner Dreamscape. “Margaery?”
“I read you, sir,” she answered.
“Where are you?”
“Touching down on the roof as we speak. I’ll keep all systems running and ready to depart when you arrive.”
“I’ll be there in two minutes.”
He closed the channel and crammed storage devices, hard copies of files and his UpLink into a cheap, untraceable duffel bag. His clothing and other accoutrements would remain in the hotel to be confiscated by police, though nothing could be done about that. New wardrobes could be purchased, new lifestyles acquired.
Finally Evie’s voice drifted through the penthouse. “All data was successfully purged from the localized network.”
“Have you connected to the Dreamscape ship computer?”
“I have, Mr. Vanderlin.”
“Then destroy the local copy of your software. Leave no traces.”
“Understood, sir.”
Winston closed the bag and flung a jacket over his shoulders, crossing toward the elevator while Evie finished. A gentle chime sounded before he arrived and the doors parted to reveal two dignified men waiting inside, each wearing a modest suit and compassionate expression teeming with insincerity.
One detective smirked through a scruff of gray-streaked beard. “Fancy meeting you here, Mr. Vanderlin. My name’s Detective Lawson, this is my partner Detective Mansouri. Alishan PD Major Crimes Unit. Looks as though you’re in a hurry.”
“I’d certainly hope not,” remarked Mansouri. He watched the elevator doors close and faced Winston, one hand ruffling a mop of hair drooping from his head. “In fact, here’s hoping you don’t have plans, because we’ve got an arrest warrant instructing us to bring you back to our station.”
“I’m innocent of all charges,” Winston affirmed.
“If that’s the honest truth you’ll be exonerated in a court of law. We don’t factor in a suspect’s innocence or guilt when making an arre
st. Leave that to the jury you’ll face.”
“A jury of my peers, I presume.”
Detective Lawson shrugged, a gesture of indifference. “Of course.”
“My peers aren’t a pack of bottom-dwelling, shunned hyenas eager to watch their betters fall from grace. If you believe I’ll receive a fair trial then you’re a simpleton.”
“Gosh, it breaks my heart seeing you feel that way. Poor old rich man who’s convinced he deserves special treatment to protect himself from the general populace and their anti-elitist agenda.” Mansouri turned to his partner wearing a sympathetic frown. “Maybe we should let him leave. You know, all in the interest of fairness.”
Winston disregarded their snide jabs and loosened the bag on his shoulder, taking several tentative strides closer. “If you do, I can offer more money than you earn in ten years. All for looking away and claiming my suite was already empty when you arrived.”
Lawson pursed his lips as if contemplating the thought before throwing Mansouri a lopsided grin. “Guess I owe you that beer. Here I thought Vanderlin had too much pride to try bribing us within five minutes. Clearly you know these highbrow douchebags better than I do.”
“It’s a talent,” Mansouri admitted.
“So, Winston, what does a snooty prick do when he can’t buy his way out of an uncomfortable situation? Start promising more? Maybe an end to all our debts and worries? Or do you spout vague threats in a sad attempt to intimidate veteran officers?”
“I have a less pleasant solution,” Winston admitted, “though you’ll regret not accepting my initial offer.”
“Why’s that?”
“The alternative option is more permanent.”
Winston snapped his right arm higher, releasing the holdout pistol secreted in his sleeve, and yanked the firearm higher to squeeze the trigger. His first shot caught Lawson below the left eye and pitched his head backward like a taut elastic. Mansouri cursed and scrambled to retrieve his holstered sidearm, hunching his shoulders and retreating as Winston leveled the smoking gun and fired twice more. The rounds struck Mansouri’s chest, hurling him against one countertop and shattering a ceramic vase holding an amaryllis. Spinning shards danced over the surface and landed on the floor to be enveloped in a red puddle spreading from Mansouri’s prone figure. A regrettable shame; Winston always admired amaryllis.
“Most of the people I deal with are clever enough to accept the bribe,” he muttered.
Winston tossed his smoldering weapon into the duffel bag and hurried to the elevator, riding it only one level to the rooftop. His Stella-Astrum Consortium corporate starliner waited on the primary landing pad, its wing-mounted thrust chambers emitting a shimmering haze that distorted the surrounding air. Winston hurried closer and climbed stairs into the cabin. He dumped the bag onto a chair as the steps retracted and the cabin was sealed.
Margaery leaned around in her seat and stared at him from the cockpit. “Are you okay, Mr. Vanderlin?”
“Fine. Just get us airborne and off this world.”
“Yes, sir.”
Winston passed through a conference seating area and reached his private chamber, closing the door as he sagged into a chair. With his damp forehead cradled in one palm and eyes closed, he felt the Dreamscape lift from the rooftop and ascend through the sky toward cold, dark space.
They passed through customs and immigration checkpoints and soared between orbital weapons platforms, yet the starliner received no communication and faced no warning fire. The proper employees in each department proved susceptible to bribery and merely ignored the lone vessel, unlike those dimwitted, knuckle-dragging detectives. Their obstinacy served each man poorly in the end, yet the decision was theirs alone to make. Winston could not be blamed the officers chose such a ruinous path.
Blue skies darkened to black when their vessel cleared Jiaolong’s atmosphere and traveled through the final planetary defense ring. The moon Mizuchi was visible beyond starships waiting to be granted landing vectors, dotted with naval facilities and restricted to military personnel alone. No civilian had ever set foot on the most heavily guarded surface in the Astraea Cluster. Mizuchi soon drifted from sight until only the distant starfield remained.
Winston braced himself for faster-than-light acceleration and closed his eyes. A fleeting sensation of pressure on his chest weakening made him realize the starship was slowing. His eyes snapped open as discomforting dread settled in his stomach.
“What’s happening?” he demanded. “Why are we decelerating?”
Winston craned his neck toward the window and glimpsed a military starship drifting alongside, its hull painted white and blue in the colors of the Federal Reconnaissance Agency. Responsible for all external investigations involving matters and operations beyond the Confederacy’s borders, their personnel did not have jurisdiction on member worlds. Jiaolong and other Authority planets were the purview of the Directorate of Espionage and Counterintelligence.
“Margaery?” He climbed to his feet and opened communications with the cockpit. “Margaery! Answer me, damn it!”
Flight systems on the Dreamscape quieted and the engines deactivated until only the faintest reverberating hum rippled through the vessel. Winston peered through the window in time to catch sight of a boarding tube extending from the FEDRA starship and coupling to the Dreamscape’s airlock.
“Evie, tell me what’s happening,” he instructed.
One screen brightened as his software appeared. “FEDRA operatives have been granted permission to dock with our starliner and come aboard.”
“I’ve given no such authorization. Decline and seal all entries.”
“I cannot comply.”
Virtual intelligences could not be programed with audacity or impudence, though for the briefest moment Winston pondered if Evie was malfunctioning. “What did you say?”
“I cannot comply with your request. Your security clearance has been revoked. You no longer possess the necessary seniority to issue commands.”
“Who did this?”
“I’m not at liberty to tell you. Refer to my previous answer in regards to your revoked clearance.”
Winston exhaled breaths in a hiss and grasped the door handle, wrenching with straining muscles yet finding himself unable to open the entry. “Unlock the door to my cabin.”
“You are invited to remain in your private quarters,” responded Evie. “My instructions on the matter are non-negotiable. Visitors will be arriving soon.”
Winston whirled and searched for his duffel bag, only to remember throwing the sack onto a chair in the main passenger section when he entered. His vision became awash with blinding red and he hammered balled fists against the door in impotent rage until his hands trembled. Fury bled away as a sense of inevitability flooded his mind and Winston slumped forward, one palm still whacking the door’s surface in a futile gesture of defiance.
“Please step away from the door,” Evie cheerfully instructed. “Your visitors have arrived and request that you stand several paces back with both hands placed behind your head. Failure to comply will result in swift violence to your person.”
Left dumbfounded and reeling from the betrayal of his faithful virtual intelligence and numb with pain, Winston withdrew and clasped both hands at the base of his skull. Several moments passed while Evie presumably informed the FEDRA agents of his condition before the entry slid open. Four operatives waited beyond, two with firearms drawn and fixated on him. The others slipped inside and restrained Winston with shackles, not bothering to show care or be gentle, all while he remained under the barrel. Only once he was manacled did the waiting agents holster their sidearms. No one offered their name or rank, and no one showed an inclination to recite his charges or rights. This was not a public forum under the watchful eye of society, and the people taking him into custody did not have a mandate to serve and protect the general populace.
One woman grasped him by the arm and led Winston from his private cabin into the main are
a beyond while her compatriots assumed flanking positions.
As his despondency retreated in the face of mounting ire, Winston faced one agent walking alongside him. “This constitutes an illegal detention. You have no jurisdiction in Jiaolong orbit.”
“True enough,” he conceded. “Though you’re only partially correct. We have no jurisdiction within fifty thousand kilometers of a member world’s surface. A fortunate stroke of luck that your pilot powered down fifty-one thousand kilometers from Jiaolong, wouldn’t you say?”
Winston felt his hackles rise and glanced toward the cockpit, where his favored and trusted pilot waited. This was no mere coincidence of fate. Her face held neither surprise nor sympathy at his condition, but anger that simmered below the surface, waiting to be untethered with the slightest provocation.
“Margaery?” He heard how softened his voice sounded, its tone devoid of vitality and fleeting like an evening breeze. “You betrayed me. How could you?”
“I have family on Delbaeth, you sick son of a bitch. Family I haven’t heard from in three weeks.” She strode closer and Winston found he almost flinched as the diminutive woman stood mere inches from him. “I believed your promises to end the war and help make life better for those who’d suffered and lost their homes or loved ones. I thought you and this company were honorable. I trusted you. Then I learned how depraved your true ambitions were. I could never work for a man as cruel and evil as you.”
“I gave you everything. You never wanted for anything while in my employ.”
“This isn’t about me, you selfish bastard. You’re destroying families for the sake of your damn shareholders and ruining lives for revenue. You are a vile, malicious, foul criminal, and I hope you rot.”
“Is that why you arranged to turn me over to FEDRA?”
“The Alishan Police are bound by laws. They’re monitored and held accountable when inmates are abused or neglected. You’d be treated fair and according to regulations. But you don’t deserve kind-hearted care.” Margaery stepped still closer, her mauve eyes a writhing storm of fury even though she needed to stare upward at him. “FEDRA is under no such obligations. They have facilities beyond Confederacy space, beyond the watchful lens of human rights tribunals and the media. Where inmates answer for their abhorrent crimes and are stripped of their humanity. That is the fate I wanted for you. The alternative was too merciful.”
Outriders Page 46
