Bonds of Resolve (Cadicle #3): An Epic Space Opera Series
Page 17
“What is this?” Wil asked.
“These are the food supplies for the rest of the month,” Mila said.
“What about the shipments from Makaris? Orino is one of the recognized—”
“These are the shipments from Makaris,” Mila explained. “First, the price started going up. Then, the quantity declined. Now, we’re lucky if we get half as much as we need.”
“I don’t understand. It should be subsidized.” Something is seriously amiss here.
“Akka happened.”
“Akka? Is that a person?”
Mila hesitated. “You will help us, right?” There was desperation in her eyes. She was strong, but she had her limits.
“That’s what I’m here to do,” Wil assured her. “Tell me everything.”
CHAPTER 17
Kaldern, at last. Haersen stepped off the gangway from the cargo freighter. The station was surprisingly nice, given its location. But, he knew the TSS was one source of funding. He would need to be on guard.
Finding someone who could take him to the Bakzen would be tricky. No one would openly advertise their traitorous allegiance. Fortunately, Haersen’s telepathic skills gave him a distinct advantage.
It was no trouble to look the part of a weary traveler after spending so much time without proper facilities. He had allowed a beard to grow, helping to mask his face from recognition by the cameras found throughout every spaceport. Coupled with his sunglasses and mussed hair, he doubted he would even recognize himself had he not witnessed the transformation.
Haersen set out toward the main mall of the port. He needed information and there was no better place to ask questions than in a bar. His funds were limited, but he had enough to cover a drink—especially since his travels were almost over.
There were several establishments to choose from. Haersen waited along the wall of the corridor, sending out a subtle probe to get a feel for the type of clientele at each bar. He needed to keep the reading to general impressions, just skimming the surface of consciousness. Too deep a sweep and he risked accidental interception by any Agent that may be stationed nearby.
Quieting his mind, Haersen focused on the thoughts of those around him. Most were complaints about present circumstances, reflecting on one loss or another. Hearing the pathetic weakness and sorrows of so many people at once would have been a nuisance if Haersen’s own troubles hadn’t already consumed him. He tried to focus in on those with the rawest hurts, attempting to glean any hint about a recent Bakzen raid.
If Haersen could place himself in an active zone, he could arrange an encounter. It was a risky move, but he had no other way to get in touch.
After listening to various internal monologues for several minutes, Haersen eventually cued in on a man at one of the bars farther down the corridor. He was more withdrawn than the others, but an anger burned just beneath the surface of his mind. There was hurt there, loss—directionless and all-encompassing. Few things could fuel such emotions.
Haersen moved closer to investigate.
The man was sitting alone at the back end of the bar. He was disheveled like many of the other travelers, but his clothing also bore several dark stains that resembled dried blood. He had nothing with him, and his stare was one of someone who had nothing left to lose. His hand shook as he went to pick up his glass.
Haersen took a seat at the bar one chair away from the man, tucking his bag between his feet as he sat down. The other man didn’t acknowledge his approach. Haersen kept his eyes down, but sent his probe deeper into the man’s mind.
The vicious anger immediately pierced Haersen’s own mind as he reached out to the man. The image of a horrific explosion looped over and over, the cry of a woman holding a dead child amid the ruins of a town, other explosions drawing near. The image and visceral feeling of grief overtook him. Haersen tried to dive deeper, but the man’s mind was so occupied with the thoughts that any further exertion from Haersen might give away his position. But if only he could get a little more—
“What can I get for you?”
Haersen was jolted from his telepathic assessment by the bartender, a larger man who looked well suited to keeping order if any of his patron’s overindulged.
Haersen shook off the cries he’d heard in the other man’s mind. “Whatever is the cheapest and will get me drunk the fastest.”
The bartender nodded and grabbed a bottle of a light amber drink. He poured it into a square glass. “Three credits.”
“Thanks.” Haersen grabbed the chips from his pocket and set them on the bar.
The bartender collected the chips and scowled when he saw that there was no tip. He brushed it off and went to tend to his other customers.
Haersen took a sip of the drink. It was strong and vile, but it fit with his specifications. He waited for a few minutes, watching the other man. As he waited, he kept his more general telepathic sweep active in the background, looking out for potentially useful thoughts from other passersby.
When he saw that the man’s drink was getting low, Haersen looked directly at him and tried to catch his eye. “What brings you to these parts?”
The man didn’t acknowledge him at first, but then noticed Haersen watching him. “I’m from near here,” he replied, his voice faint. “Not that there’s anything left.”
“What do you mean?” Haersen asked, already well aware of a recent tragedy.
The man shook his head. There was a sheen to his eyes, on the verge of tears. “It all went to shite, just like everything else in my life. Every last good thing is gone.”
Haersen took another sip of his drink. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He wanted to ask more, but pressing too much wouldn’t get him anywhere. He had learned a long time ago that people were all too willing to talk if he just sat back and let them speak their mind.
The man finished off his drink. “I just don’t understand how they could let it happen. They knew our shield was down, but they left us there to fend for ourselves, completely helpless.”
“Who’s ‘they’?”
“The TSS.” The man sniffed back tears. “Shite. What were we supposed to do?”
It was a more perfect scenario than Haersen could have imagined. “Can’t trust any of them. What happened?”
“The Bakzen came, and the TSS stood back and let them take our world. They offered relief to the teenage kids after it was over, but they left the rest of us to clean up the dead.” The man took a pained breath. “I had to bury my little girl, right next to my wife. I watched them die. They were my whole life.”
Haersen feigned horror. “Where was this?”
“Aleda, next system over.”
“I didn’t realize the Bakzen had ventured out that far.”
“They’ve been all around here, raiding everything they can. As soon as a shield goes down, which they’re prone to do in these parts, the Bakzen are there before you know it. It was only two hours… Stars! I couldn’t save them.” He buried his face in his hands.
Taking out a planetary shield—that would be an easy way to draw the Bakzen’s attention. But which planet? Haersen swirled the contents of his glass. “The authorities keep pretending like the Bakzen aren’t a threat, but they can wipe us all out. Tararia should be afraid.”
“The leaders don’t care about anything until it’s on their doorstep.”
Haersen smirked. The Bakzen would be there soon enough. “Eventually there won’t be anywhere to run.”
The man’s despondent gaze turned to Haersen. “Where do you go when you have nothing left?”
Haersen sighed inwardly. The poor man actually thought he cared. He was about to dismiss himself, having gathered the information he needed, when his background telepathic probe suddenly struck a wall of silence. Haersen froze. An Agent was nearby.
Without hesitation, he stopped the scan and secured his own mental blocks—leaving just enough trivial thoughts on the surface to give the illusion of daydreaming. He cursed under his breath.
The man hung his head. “As it was, we were barely getting by on the supplies from Makaris Corp. Now, the whole world is burned.”
“Then it’s time find to find a new home.” Haersen covertly looked to the side, eyeing the hallway through his sunglasses in an unsuccessful attempt to spot the Agent.
“I barely have enough money to cover this drink. Everything was wrapped up in my farm. The evacuation ship dropped me here, but with no fare for passage, I’m stuck.”
Haersen groaned under his breath. The man was clearly asking for help, but he was asking the wrong person. “I’m in no better a position. Find a ship that will let you work.”
“Just forget any of this happened?” The man was still close to tears.
The conversation was going nowhere, and the Agent’s location was still unknown. Haersen couldn’t take the waiting anymore. “If that’s too much for you, then help yourself to an airlock.”
The man looked appalled. His face flushed and eyes narrowed. “You’re a monster.”
It likely wouldn’t be the last time he was called that. Haersen could only imagine what they said about him within the TSS—all the more reason to get as far away as he could. “I just do what I must to survive.” He stood and grabbed his bag from the floor.
Slinging the strap of his bag over his shoulder, Haersen set off toward the main corridor. The empty void of the Agent’s mind was still close. He had to risk it.
The crowd of travelers in the corridor had thinned, and those that remained bore expressions of wonder and apprehension. Haersen skimmed their minds, gleaning variations of, “I’ve never seen so many of them,” and “What do they want?” Haersen tensed. Only one “they” would solicit that kind of reaction: TSS Agents.
On guard, Haersen slinked along the wall of the corridor, ready to flee down a side passage if needed. As he approached the corridor’s intersection with the central hub of the space station, he spotted the source of the passersby’s wonder. Not one Agent, but four. Haersen felt the power emanating from them—they were sustaining a telepathic link with other Agents elsewhere in the station.
His pulse raced. The directionless void he had detected was only the secure conduit for their communication, not one individual’s mind. He was surrounded.
Haersen ducked behind a bulkhead. “Fok.”
He bolstered his mental blocks and the decoy thoughts on the surface. The persona was a homeless traveler with a broken mind—thoughts jumbled and incoherent. He already looked the part, so with any luck no one would pay him any notice. It just needed to be enough to buy him time to find a transport to a planet near Aleda. The Bakzen would still be nearby.
To keep with his persona, Haersen took up a shuffling step through the corridor and began muttering nonsense to himself. It was a thin disguise, but without fail people would always try to avoid a seemingly crazy person.
His eyes hidden behind his sunglasses, Haersen scanned the overhead signs to locate directions to the nearest computer terminal so he could access the docking log. The signs indicated there was one thirty meters up ahead.
Haersen continued his shuffling stride for the remaining distance. It was agonizingly slow progress, but his plan to be given a wide berth worked perfectly.
When he reached the docking manifest access station, he took the kiosk farthest from the corridor in his usual fashion. He brought up the list of ships, keeping careful eye for any approaching Agents.
He sorted the outbound ships by destination to search for local traffic that would take him the final stretch to his objective. Only two eligible ships were scheduled to leave that day. He groaned when he saw their docking locations. Both were in a separate wing of the spaceport, and the only way through was past the checkpoint of TSS Agents.
“Bomax. Foking TSS,” he muttered while shuffling away from the kiosk.
His likelihood of getting past the Agents would be largely dependent on their reason for setting up the checkpoint. If they were searching specifically for him, he didn’t stand a chance. But if it were a routine exercise, then maybe. He considered trying to find a place to wait it out, but it seemed too risky. Knowing how the TSS operated, they would likely conduct a thorough sweep of the port before leaving, and anyone trying to hide would immediately be taken into custody for vetting. Trying to blend in seemed like the better option.
Haersen shuffled back toward the central hub of the port. As he approached, interference from the Agents’ telepathic network formed an oppressive hum in his head. Maintaining his multi-level mental guard was draining enough without the added pressure. On his final approach to the hub, the first level of mental guards started to slip.
Up ahead, the Agents snapped to attention, recognizing the presence of another telepath nearby.
Haersen strained to maintain control, perspiration on his brow.
The Agents continued to scan the crowd, but their concealed eyes passed over Haersen without recognition.
Blockades in the corridor funneled travelers toward the waiting Agents. Haersen shuffled closer, driven straight toward them. Only steps away, the telepathic net was stifling. His mental guards were meant to conceal, not stand up to a full-on assault.
“Sir, could we have a word with you?”
Haersen froze. There was no doubt the Agent was speaking to him. “Me? Uh...” His mental mirage wavered.
“Please step over here,” the Agent directed. He was older than Haersen and exuded the authority of someone with command experience.
Haersen prepared to run. Other travelers were allowed to pass by without any acknowledgement from the Agents. He had been singled out. They had found him. He needed to get away. If he acted quickly, he could catch the Agents by surprise—
“He’s symptomatic,” the Agent called to someone beyond the blockade.
Haersen halted his escape plans. “What do you want?” he stammered, straining to speak while maintaining the mental blocks within the heart of the telepathic net.
“No need to be alarmed, sir,” the Agent replied. “Just a routine check-up.”
“I’m fine,” Haersen tried to protest.
The Agent ushered Haersen around the blockade. “This will only take a moment.”
On the other side of the temporary fencing, medical personnel at six stations were tending to travelers. Each station consisted of a monitor, a table with case of vials on top, and a chair.
A female medical attendant came forward from her station to greet the Agent. “What are his symptoms?” she asked.
“Hallucinations, shortness of breath, stiff muscles,” the Agent responded, turning Haersen over to the attendant.
“That sounds like the neurotoxin,” the attendant replied.
“Where are you traveling from?” the Agent asked Haersen.
“Aleda,” Haersen stammered, figuring it would be the least conspicuous.
The medical attendant and Agent exchanged a knowing glance.
“Well, after the attack on Aleda three days ago, we found traces of a neurotoxin in the surviving population,” the Agent explained to Haersen. “Some people were evacuated before the first symptoms appeared. We’re just trying to get treatment to those who need it.”
Haersen held in a laugh. They were so stupid, thinking he was poisoned. Any halfway decent Agent should be able to tell the difference between a telepathic decoy and the effects of a neurotoxin. But, it was the perfect opportunity. He looked at his hands with wonder. “Such pretty colors. I want to taste them.”
The medical attendant looked to the Agent. “I’ll take care of him.” She led Haersen back to her station and sat him down in the chair.
The Agent returned to his post by the blockade.
“I’m sorry about
your planet,” the attendant said as she prepared a swab. She held it toward Haersen’s mouth. “Open.”
Haersen eyed the swab. He knew she wanted to check for presence of the toxin, but if the test included any genetic identification, he’d be flagged. The Agents were only four meters away. He gripped his head. “It burns.”
“Sir, this won’t hurt. Just a quick test.”
Haersen shook his head and whimpered as he rocked in the chair. “My home. It’s all gone. The burn...”
The attendant paused. “I’m sorry.” She set down the swab. “I’ll give you something to help you feel better.” She loaded one of the vials from the case on the table into a metal syringe with a finger trigger. She placed a fresh needle on the tip. “Turn to the side, please.”
Haersen swiveled to the side in his chair.
The attendant pulled down the collar of his jacket to expose the back of his neck. She cleaned a patch of skin at the base of his skull with a sanitizing wipe and readied the syringe. “This will sting.”
With a squeeze of the trigger, the needle pierced between Haersen’s vertebrae. He grit his teeth.
“The injection should alleviate your symptoms within the next two hours,” the medical attendant said. “We’ll get you on the next transport to Grolen with the other refugees.”
“Where’s that?” Haersen asked.
“It’s the closest colony to Aleda, so you won’t be far from home,” she soothed. “Don’t worry, you’ll be safe there.”
Haersen nodded. Grolen. It wouldn’t be safe for much longer. Not once he arrived.
CHAPTER 18
Wil looked around the circle of village leaders. Their meager meal was complete, leaving only business to discuss. Everything he had been told by Mila and over dinner with the village council about the situation on Orino pointed to a massive breakdown of the control systems. Akka, the representative from Makaris Corp, was operating outside of the corporate system and the people of Orino were suffering.