Raw Justice

by Martyn J. Pass

  “I'm sure he'd be glad to do so tonight.”

  Turning to us his face became stern.

  “Alice has shared a little of what has occurred between yourselves and Captain Argo. You may not know this but very recently that man has become a thorn in many sides. Perhaps there is a link. I do not know.”

  He reached into his suit pocket and barely creased the fabric before pulling out a slender rectangle of metal.

  “My card. The number is secure and is capable of receiving subspace transmissions with little degradation. I do not wish to know the details of what you intend to do but any information, no matter how trivial it may seem to you, must be passed on to me as soon as possible. It may gain us further time. Bear in mind that the nature in which you acquire this should also be taken into account.”

  He stood up. Then, shaking Alice's hand, he turned to go.

  “Anything, Carter. I mean it. And if I were you I would consider paying your old friend a visit. Good day.”

  With that, he left and as the door closed behind him it opened again to allow two floating trays of food to enter. Behind them, two members of the kitchen staff carried jugs of fruit juice and a rack of plates, knives, and forks. As it passed him by, the granite-featured man reached out, snatched a pastry and grinned. He was human after all.

  “More for us I guess,” said Mason helping himself.

  “I'd hate for you to go hungry.”

  “We need to keep up our strength. Besides, free food always tastes better.”

  “It's hardly free!” cried Alice. “But I reckon you've earned it.”

  We ate in silence and I stared down at the card Aleksei had given me between mouthfuls of toast and sausage. I didn't like the feeling I was getting. Angel's case was looking less and less hopeful and here we were, laughing over a meal she might never be able to enjoy again.

  I put down my plate, wiped my hands and coughed.

  “Right, let's get on with it,” I snapped, perhaps more at myself than the others. “We've wasted enough time.”

  “Wasted?” asked Alice with a flare of anger tipping the edge of her words.

  “What did he tell us we didn't already know? That Angel is screwed unless we can get to the bottom of what exactly happened? That although he's one of the best lawyers we can find he can basically do nothing with what he has?”

  Alice didn't reply. She stared at me from across the desk and folded her hands neatly in her lap.

  “All this is true. Go on,” she said.

  “And we're sitting here, laughing and joking, while she's rotting in a cell. Time is running out and-” She held up her hand.

  “We're not sitting here idle, Carter,” she said very softly. “You almost died out there on Golan IV and again on the way home. Don't you think we both have a right to a few hours together before you rush off again? Do you not think that perhaps we needed to stop being heroes for five minutes so I can see the little brother I thought I'd lost twice over? Is that so selfish a thing to ask?”

  Burning hot with shame I let out a sigh and sat back down. I wanted to sulk, just like old times, but she wouldn't even let me have that. She continued.

  “For us, there aren't going to be downtimes very often. So you go out there and rescue Angel and all is well – what then? Do you think for one minute that you're going to sit down and take a year out? No, I thought not. Neither am I. It's who we are, it's what we do. So in answer to the question you didn't ask – no, I don't feel ashamed to have a handful of minutes with you before you leave. So eat your bloody food and grant me this time.”

  “You're a dick to sisters trying to be sisters, pal,” snorted Mason and the tension broke.

  “You know,” I said, “I think I preferred you on the combat meds. Where did that Mason go?”

  “Disco-dancing Mason? I never heard of that guy.”

  So we laughed and we joked and we ate some more and I realized she was right. In all the carnage and flying around I'd forgotten what mattered most to me.

  When the trays were taken away and we'd settled down with some more coffee, Alice nodded to me and smiled.

  “Now you may start. Let's get to work. What's the plan?”

  “A ship,” said Mason. “Something fast. Light. Ready to set sail now.”

  “That can get us to Argo?” I asked. “How far away is he?”

  Alice tapped on her desk and brought up the Naval dispatch page.

  “If you were to set off tomorrow morning you could intercept him at his current speed the same day.”

  “What about credits?” I asked her.

  “Not a problem. I've already put the wheels in motion. New identities, cards, and comms units which I insist you wear this time.”

  “Weapons?” I said, turning to Mason.

  “We go shopping.”

  “How do we get them through customs without our PRT credentials?”

  “I've managed to secure you...” Here she paused and made a mock shudder of her shoulders. “Employment with another firm. I know, I know, it pained me but Alan over at Hasker & Finn owed me one. You'll be working on his behalf so to speak.”

  “Wow,” I laughed. “That must have hurt.”

  “It did. Caplan's team will be waking up to new orders that I'm sure will result in a nasty communique by around noon. He drew the short straw and will be on loan to Alan for the next six weeks. Let's move on.”

  “What do we have that can send subspace messages to Aleksei?” asked Mason. I shrugged.

  “Damned if I know,” I said. “Ideas?”

  “If we rigged him up, Thor could be kitted out with a transmitter. He can generate the power needed I guess.”

  “You'd take Thor with us?” I laughed. “That'd be a hoot. Probably get us killed or arrested or both.”

  “It would handle a problem I have,” explained Alice. “The Helios will be scoured for evidence and that includes any robotic units. Baz called me last night and expressed his concerns for him. I planned to have him taken off the ship. As it turns out Jack hadn't declared him on the official cargo manifest in the first place.”

  “Oh shit,” I said to myself. “You're both serious aren't you?”

  “Deadly,” said Mason. “I could stow all kinds of kit inside him and customs couldn't touch him.”

  “I want it on the books that I said it's a bad idea.”

  “You haven't said it yet,” laughed Alice.

  “It's a bad idea. There. Make a note in the log.”

  “Done. But he saved your life. Twice in fact.”

  “That doesn't make us friends. It means he's an efficient jack-hammer, that's all. I'm not taking my plasma-wrench with us, am I?”

  “You need to make your mind up, pal,” said Mason. “One minute you like him, the next you don't.”

  “I like my robots at a safe distance, that's all. And you know that as soon as we tell him what the plan is he's going to go loopy again and dress up like it's cosplay.”

  “What?” cried Alice. “What's that about?”

  “Don't ask,” said Mason. “It's a long story.”

  “Speaking of Baz...” she said.

  “I hate to say it but we'll need him. He pissed me off after Angel was taken and I'll have some words with him, but for now, it's best to keep him with the ship. When we're ready to leave can you arrange for the two of them to meet us without alerting the Protectorat?”

  “I can do my best. I'll have Jo begin work on the ship the moment they release it. I've signed off on the modifications you requested and I'll use the time to have her fully serviced.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I mean it.”

  “I know you do,” she grinned. “But there'll be a price to pay once you return.”

  Mason looked at me and shrugged.

  “I really don't like the sounds of that.”

  3

  We left TRIDENT INC. in the mid-afternoon, taking a cab across the city towards the commercial district. The rain began to fall almost as soon as w
e got outside and as the driverless vehicle deftly negotiated the busy ground traffic, our view of the streets blurred in the driving sheets of the stuff. I could see strange shapes through the glass, shimmering forms of people going to and fro, shopping, eating, living. After months in deep space, the feeling was strange. It felt more alien than what we'd seen on Mars or even on Golan IV and I sat back, staring at the NavCom as it worked its calculations.

  “Too long,” said Mason, reading my thoughts. “Alice was right. We go from one job to the next and we've stopped caring for the very thing we signed up to protect. Them.” He gestured to the people out there, on the streets, just doing their day-to-day stuff.

  “What are you saying?” I asked.

  “I'm saying that once we've helped Angel then perhaps we should take that trip to the hills. A few weeks of doing nothing and a chat with an attractive psycho-analyst might do us some good.”

  “Or maybe you'd prefer more time with my sister?” I laughed. He grinned. “But yeah, maybe you're on to something there. I'm staring out of this window and I don't recognize what I see. That can't be good.”

  “No, it's not.”

  “I look and I start to feel fear. Like arriving someplace we're not welcome.”

  “Like homecoming day after Mars?”

  “Kind of. More subtle though, like a faint memory of a feeling. Shit, what am I saying? I sound like I've cracked already.”

  “For a minute there, back at the Magnus Gate when we faced the pirate horde, I thought you had.”

  I turned in my seat to look at him. He didn't move though. He just stared out of the window.

  “Explain.”

  “Things you said. The risks you took. Alarm bells were ringing. For a split second, I thought we were done, that we'd lost our edge. Then, later, when I came out from the op with a new chest, it dawned on me that we weren't indestructible anymore. You with your spine, now me with this-” He scratched it again. “And I'm thinking 'do we carry on or call it a day?'“

  I said nothing. He was only voicing something I heard in my mind more and more often now. It was the drip-drip of confidence being eroded away. It was the first step of many on the road to retirement. It was terrifying to hear him say it out loud. I was just about to say something when he spoke again and that moment, though I wouldn't realize it until many years later, defined everything that came after it. I sometimes try to think what might have happened had I managed to speak first and I shudder at the thought.

  “But then I saw you crawling out of that pit when they fried your spine. I didn't say it at the time, but I could just see you clawing your way up and I thought to myself 'there's our edge'. Where others gave up, we were willing to crawl on, to keep going, to fight on. My chest caved in and I fought on. You had your spine turned to mulch and you fought on. Angel right now is fighting on. I know she's waiting for us to help her, but she's fighting too. She didn't give up when they took her. We've never given up. Not on the mission and not on each other. That's why we'll still be doing this work until the very end. That's our edge.”

  I said nothing. The streets passed us by and blur turned to sharply defined edges and colors. People. Lives. Coming and going and us, setting out again, still fighting, still refusing to surrender.

  He had a point and it was a bloody good one.

  We pulled up outside Vertigo Flyers & Light Craft just as the rain decided to dial it up a notch. Adjusting the cap and the collar of my jacket, I ran into the reception area of the large open court and almost collided with the glass door coming back at me.

  “Sorry!” cried the young man on the desk. “It's playing up. It won't close when the rain starts coming in.”

  “But it will when paying customers do?” replied Mason, shaking off his long leather coat. The man flushed scarlet.

  “How c-c-can I help you today?” he stammered.

  “We'd like to look at your high-end craft, something inter-galactic but favoring speed over payload,” I explained. The young man smiled and revealed a mouthful of shiny white teeth.

  “I'll have one of our staff come and show you around immediately. Would you like to take a seat?”

  We didn't. Instead, we stood looking at some of the speeders parked in the window display. Sleek, colorful things that would no doubt crumple in a collision especially given that they were manually controlled and not guided by NavCom. Mason gave his attention to some of the bigger models, the Ford Galactica, a bulky tank-like thing, and I ran my fingertips over the hood of a Tri-Star Rover, the kind only built on Earth these days, but neither of us were buying.

  “Hi!” came a sugary-sweet voice from behind us and we turned. I almost collapsed there and then for, standing in the archway to the outer forecourt, stood O'Shea – or his ghost. “My name is Patrick. What are you fellas in the market for today?”

  “Are you seeing this?” whispered Mason.

  “I'm glad both of us are. It's him, right?”

  “It can't be. It has to be a relation or something.”

  “Or a clone!”

  They were identical. In spite of the poorly fitted suit he wore, that shock of red hair framing that distinctive face was something I would never forget. He came closer, his hand outstretched and a wide toothy grin on his lips.

  “And you boys are?” he said. Even the voice was the same, that annoying Irish lilt.

  “Wes,” I said. “And this is my business partner, Tom.”

  “A pleasure,” he replied and shook both our hands. He had feeble, clammy fingers and it felt like I was shaking a dead squid. “My colleague over there says you're in the market for space travel, am I right?”

  “Yeah,” I managed to say, steadying myself by grasping the rails of the Tri-Star Rover. “High speed over payload.”

  “Looking to cover some ground eh?” he laughed – if a noise like that could be considered 'laughter'. It sounded more like a dozen grinding gears. “Come this way.”

  He set off through the arch and, reluctantly, we followed. Outside a shimmering forcefield crackled against the rain overhead, forming a massive dome over the entire forecourt. The size of vessel we were looking for would never have fitted inside that space, large as it was, so I assumed he had something else in mind.

  “Here we are,” he said, reaching the middle and standing still. “If you'd care to step inside the circle we can begin looking at what we have to offer.”

  We did so and noted that there was a glassy blue ring set into the concrete floor about ten meters in diameter. Once inside O'Shea's ghost touched his wrist and the forecourt vanished into darkness.

  “Fancy, eh?” he chuckled. “Fools everyone. It's the latest in holographic imaging. Best on the market.”

  “You'd better hope that your product lives up to it then,” growled Mason. If he was shaken by this, Patrick didn't show it.

  “Oh, it will. Don't worry.”

  He touched his wrist again and suddenly we were standing on a metal platform that floated in the deep dark void of space. Even the air went cool, almost too cool, and there was nothing but eerie music far off, almost imperceptible.

  “Let's start with some basic models and refine just what it is we can sell you today,” he began. “Here at Vertigo Flyers & Light Craft, we hope that it's the brilliant investments that will make you dizzy and not our prices.”

  “Nice pitch,” I said.

  “You think so? I made it up myself.” He pressed some more on his wrist and there was a brilliant flash of light. A ship sped into view, turning at the last minute to float before us displaying its port side.

  “Here we have the Darkstar, a class D light craft capable of inter-galactic travel up to twelve pargams. It can hold a class E and F payload or below and requires a crew of twelve persons of rank 6B or higher. We also offer to outfit any of our ships with NavCom guidance units and auto-crew consoles should you wish to sail with less of a compliment.”

  It was nice and Mason seemed to agree but twelve pargams was slow and limit
ed between jumps. We needed at least sixteen or higher given that our time frame was only three weeks.

  “Something faster,” said Mason. “Sixteen to twenty pargams.”

  “And the payload?”

  “E and F are fine. We'll have a limited crew so factor in the guidance units if you please.”

  “Sure,” he grinned, no doubt hearing the cash box rattling already. “I've got just the thing.”

  He tapped again and the Darkstar shot off into outer space. From where it went came another ship, long and elegant with bluff bows and a fine line. It almost slid into view, turned sharply and drew up before us.

  “This, my friends, is the Hikane. Beautiful, isn't she? I can see you boys aren't messing around here so I've jumped right to a class A light craft. She boasts no less than twenty pargams of travel and a B rated payload. A crew of thirty-five is needed but we can offer you two FARGO control consoles which would reduce that to just three operating pilots of rank 4A or higher. How does that sound?”

  I looked at Mason and he was grinning. It was a fine ship, there was no doubt about that but we would be parting with a serious amount of credits. What the hell would Alice say?

  “Go on,” I said. “Hit me with the figures.”

  “Wouldn't you like to take a look around her first?” He smiled again and I felt a cold shiver run down my FARGO spine. For a split second, I was back in that tunnel, running again.

  “Sure,” said Mason.

  “Be my guest,” said Patrick and the Hikane was suddenly closer now with its port cargo door beginning to slide open. The next thing we knew we were inside, staring at glossy bulkheads and standing on a plush carpeted floor. It looked more like a pleasure yacht than a starship.

  “All that you see can be changed,” he explained. “But this is our most popular theme. We call it the modern adventurer.”

  “We're looking for a quick sale,” I said. “We expect to leave in her tomorrow. Is that going to be a problem?”

  “Well, I...” Patrick blanched and tried to regain his composure. “If you were able to hold off on your trip until, say, next week we could be sure to have her in ship-shape condition and to our Vertigo high standard – get it? Vertigo?”