QUANTUM MORTIS: A Man Disrupted

by Steve Rzasa

  Baby was silent for a few moments. Then she spoke up. “Tower, I have confirmation of your appointment with the Morcharder Embassy at eleven hundred hours. You will be meeting with the envoy. He is a registered shareholder by the name of Willem Daendels and controls 45,000 shares in the new government. He is also one of the original revolutionaries, a graduate student turned pamphleteer who was imprisoned by the former regime for three months after publishing an unflattering critique of the then-heir to the throne, Crown Prince Pons-Zoltan.”

  “Only 45,000?” That didn’t seem like much, not when alien corporations held more than a thousand times that many. He tried to run the numbers again in his head. Several thousand times that many.

  “It is a serious point of contention on Morchard of late. Most of the original revolutionaries have been considerably diluted, and some have even been entirely bought out. There are also widespread rumors, which I am presently unable to confirm, that the royal family has been buying shares in the government through a series of front corporations.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past those bloody royals. I’ll bet that chaps Mr. Daendel’s backside.”

  “Indeed, Tower. As a matter of fact, Mr. Daendels recently co-published a paper entitled Direct and Indirect Exo-Investment in the Corporate Republic of Morchard: Issues, Problems, and Crimes.”

  “Sounds fascinating.”

  “The abstract is as follows: In this paper, we have attempted to identify the issues and problems associated with the corporate republic’s current exoplanetary direct investment regime, and more importantly, the other associated factors responsible for Morchard’s present attractiveness as an investment location and the concomitant imbalances created thereby. Despite the corporate republic offering a large planetary market, rule of law, low labor costs, and a functional political system based upon the most current scientific theory, the government’s performance in attracting DIExI flows has been far from satisfactory. A permissive DIExI regime, high income taxes, export regulations for planetary corporations, stringent labor laws, poor quality infrastructure, centralized decision-making processes, and the failure to recover stolen exoplanetary asserts have combined to make Morchard an overly attractive investment location for alien corporate investors to the detriment of the planetary population.”

  She paused. “Would you like me to read more? It might be helpful in better understanding the envoy’s mentality.”

  “I’d rather have you smash this var into the nearest skytower without slowing down,” Tower told her sincerely. “Or listen to you sing that whole book of Christer hymns all the way through again. How long is it.”

  “101,370 words. And you shouldn’t whine so much when you lose a bet.”

  “A hundred thousand words? Deep space!” Tower swore. As far as he was concerned, the King of Morchard hadn’t gone far enough in jailing the man. He should have shot the lunatic. If there was one thing worse than a revolutionary, it was a revolutionary with a recording device and an endless supply of big words.

  Then he reconsidered. Every cloud really did have its silver lining.

  “Yeah, that’s a great idea, Baby. Go for it!”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really.”

  “Introduction. The corporate republic’s economic policy reforms have played a critical role in the performance of the post-revolutionary economy since 3400. Among other things, the reforms have involved opening the economy to direct and indirect investment from a wide spectrum of exoplanetary entities, making it more competitive, removing the government from the huge morass of regulatory complications, empowering the common people to take more responsibility for economic management, and thereby creating competition between planetary cities and corporations for alien investors. The GDP growth rate which had collapsed to -7.8% in 3402 rebounded to a near normal -0.3% in 3403, however…”

  Tower’s eyelids grew heavier and heavier as Baby droned on. Before she had even come close to finishing the paper’s introduction, he was sleeping soundly.

  Tower’s confidence that he’d be able to dig something useful out of the corporate republic’s envoy began to fade when Baby set down on the top of the technopark’s tower amidst shabby aerovars that were considerably outnumbered by the single-man scootjets that filled most of the parking lot. He could just barely make out the spire of the Valatestan embassy to the north, and a more distinct contrast between the two buildings would have been hard to draw outside the slums. In addition to Daendel striking him as more a man of words than action, how likely was it that a government that couldn’t afford better accommodations would be throwing away hundreds of thousands of civars on weaponized implants for homeless veterans and unused Mosin-Nyarlas?

  On the other hand, the man wasn’t just a revolutionary, he was a successful one. And he wouldn’t be the first to wield the sword as readily as the pen. He had Baby check Daendels's records for specifics.

  “The envoy is the former commander of the Sanguinello, which I believe is a morbid pun of sorts relating to the colors of the royal house. They were a much-feared guerilla group that is believed responsible for the deaths of two regional governors and three members of the royal house, in addition to an estimated 463 commoners.”

  “So this wouldn’t be the first time he knocked off a prince.”

  “Technically, yes, it would be. The previous royal victims were two dukes and a city-holder. However, if he was involved in the Jagaelleon murder, it would indicate his methods have considerably changed since his revolutionary days.”

  “How so?”

  “The Sanguinello tended to favor beheading their victims and mounting the heads in public places, with long treatises that delineated their grievances nailed to the foreheads.”

  “Sounds like a lovely guy,” Tower said. He found it astonishing to observe how many of the most violent killers were highly educated. But Baby was right. Disruptors probably weren’t Daendels’s style. On the other hand, he had been the guerilla group’s leader, not its hatchet man. “Well, let’s see if it looks like the envoy is up to his old tricks again. Are the Sangria-whatevers still around?”

  “No, they and all the paramilitary groups were disbanded three years ago at the direction of the new governing board. Some of the members were subsumed into the military forces, others deemed unfit for post-revolutionary life were exiled or executed.”

  Smart, violent, lucky, and almost certainly bitter. Tower wondered that MCID hadn’t flagged the Morcharder as a potential troublemaker already. The envoy might not have the late crown prince’s blood on his hands, but Tower estimated the chances the guy wasn’t up to something problematic as somewhere between naught and zero.

  He took the stairs rather than trust the ancient lift and descended the eighteen flights to a small door that was adorned with an etched brass plaque that said Corporate Republic of Morchard underneath a logo of a stylized fist holding a broken crown. There was no buzzer or cam that he could see, so he awkwardly knocked on the false wood of the door.

  The door was opened by a small man who barely came up to Tower’s chin. He was podgy, prematurely balding, and squinted as he peered at Tower. “Ah, you must be the gentleman from the planetary military. I’ve been expecting you. Come in, come in!”

  The Morcharder seemed genuinely pleased to see Tower, which Tower found mystifying. His offices were two small rooms, with collectively less space than Tower’s apartment. One room had a couch that looked as if it doubled as a bed, and with the exception of a modest screen in the room with a desk and two chairs, the walls in both rooms were covered from floor to ceiling with shelving containing thin rectangular objects. Books, Tower realized, as he leaned in closely to look at a blue one decorated with silver scribbles, marveling at it. It wasn’t the sort of thing you saw everyday, or much at all outside of museums.

  “I have a weakness for antiques,” Daendels confessed. “Forgive me, I am rude. I am Willem Daendels, the Corporate Republic of Morchard’s envoy to Duke Rhys-Mere
th. I presume you are Officer Tower?”

  “Graven Tower, Chief Warrant Officer, Military Crimes Investigative Division, Excellency.” Tower took the man’s extended hand and was unsurprised to feel it was soft and puffy. “Thank you for taking the time to see me.”

  “Am I correct in assuming you are here in regards to the recent death of Mr. Jagaelleon?”

  “You are, Excellency. I hope you don’t mind if I ask you a few questions.”

  “Not at all, not at all.” The Morcharder offered Tower the larger of the two chairs in the office, then took the other himself. “I realize that my government, if not my person, must be considered one of the leading suspects in Mr. Jagaelleon’s murder.”

  “That doesn’t appear to bother you,” Tower observed.

  “His death or the fact of my being a suspect? I am not troubled by the latter. I know for a fact that neither my government, nor myself, was responsible for it.”

  “A fact?” Tower studied the little man. “And I noticed you only mentioned the latter. So his death bothers you?”

  “It does indeed. And yes, although it is said to be difficult to prove a negative, in this particular case I can do so. Furthermore, in doing so, it should explain why I do not rejoice in the death of another royal.”

  “That would be impressive,” Tower said. “Go ahead, Excellency, impress me.”

  The Morcharder reached into his desk and withdrew a folder. He opened it and Tower could see that it contained paper inside. “Here is your proof. It is my government’s plans for dealing with the fugitives from the people’s justice that call themselves royal.”

  Tower took the folder and glanced at the papers. Instead of reading them, he held them up to the screen behind him, one by one, and let Baby scan them. As far as he was able to tell, it was mostly a reiteration of the death sentences given in absentia.

  “Tower, these contain plans for assassinating the entire royal family! There are three plants in the household staff; the envoy is to activate them via a public statement.”

  “I don’t understand, Excellency. You’re admitting to plotting to kill them?”

  The envoy smiled affably, unperturbed. “Not at all. I’m admitting that the governing board was plotting to kill them. Now have your augment look at this.”

  He tapped his desk, activating the big screen, but nothing happened. On the screen, an image of a planet, presumably Morchard, appeared and slowly began to rotate.

  “I’m getting a stream of data from the office brain. Tower, Daendels was in communication with the murdered prince! He even let him know about the plot and the planted staff members. It looks as if they were secret allies!”

  The envoy from the new regime and the heir to the old one?

  “Yes!”

  “You betrayed your own revolution,” Tower said, staring at the little man with surprise. “Is that your defense, that you didn’t merely lack means, but motive too?”

  “I didn’t betray the revolution, Officer Tower.” The Morcharder was still smiling, but his eyes were hard. “The revolution was betrayed by the Board members. The Board used we true revolutionaries and sold out the people in favor of exoplanetary interests. As for the royals, unlike his father and his elder brother, Prince Arpad was a reformer. He understood the mistakes of his forebears and he was determined to rectify them. We met in secret twice, at his lover’s apartment. We came as enemies and departed as allies, perhaps even co-conspirators. Who can say what would have come of it, but there is no question that his death is a tremendous loss to Morchard and the true spirit of the revolution.”

  “So after fighting the royal house for years, you were willing to turn around and support it on the basis of two meetings?” That seemed unlikely, but Tower knew stranger things had happened. “Is it possible you just found yourself flattered by the royal attention? My understanding is that can be a pretty heady experience for a commoner.”

  “It is possible.” The envoy smiled. “Then again, I personally hammered the nails that attached declarations of the people’s accusations against the crown into three royal skulls, so it wasn’t my first encounter with the house of Jagaelleon.”

  Tower stared at the balding little man with a feeling that was akin to awe. He had known a few hard men in his day, Marines’ Marines, ice cold killers, and men who carried out their orders, however terrible, without hesitation or regret. His job brought him into regular contact with mercenaries and assassins; he had tracked down fourteen killers-for-hire in the last three years alone. He had interrogated triggermen as well as their employers, who never got even the smallest particle of human blood on their immaculately tailored clothing. But he felt certain that he had never encountered anyone as perfectly ruthless as this owlish, mild-mannered academic.

  “Who contacted who? Did you contact him or did he get in touch with you.”

  “The latter. I recently wrote an academic paper on alien investment on Morchard and its effect on the economy, which attracted considerable attention both here and back home on Morchard.”

  “I read it.”

  “Oh, did you now?” Daendels raised his eyebrows. “I did not expect that. Well, then, you understand the depth of the sea of corruption in which the present corporate republic is swimming. In retrospect, it was a terrible mistake to permit off-planet entities to purchase government shares. We were far too naïve in that regard. We dethroned a king and crowned a corporation in his stead. Prince Arpad must have read it and recognized a potentially useful ally; he contacted me about three rotations ago and set up the first meeting in Trans Paradis.”

  “How did he contact you? Through his girlfriend?”

  “No, a courier. On paper.”

  Tower nodded. That made sense. Both he and Hildy had checked over Mara Tanabera’s comm records and he’d found it hard to imagine they’d somehow missed a call to the Morcharder consulate. And they’d only run face-scans of visitors to her building floor for the last two weeks.

  “Your last meeting with him was more than two weeks ago?”

  “Yes, it was last rotation.” The envoy grimaced and shook his head. “I will not pretend that Arpad Jagaelleon was the optimal choice, but you have to understand, Officer Tower, that between him and the corrupt corporatists who betrayed the revolution, there was no question that he was the better option.”

  Tower nodded, but he wasn’t really listening. He had already reached a conclusion. Despite his harmless appearance, Willem Daendels was a killer without conscience who had already helped hurl his world into violent upheaval once in the last decade. It was clear that he wouldn’t hesitate to do it as often as he deemed it necessary. Daendels was dangerous, and he bore close watching by MCID if not the immediate revocation of his diplomatic credentials and his residence permit. But it was also apparent that the little man didn’t have anything to do with the crown prince’s death or the subsequent assassination attempt on his brother.

  “What did the crown prince do with the information about the corporatist plants on his staff?”

  “I do not know. I would assume they have all met with unfortunate accidents by now.”

  They certainly would have if Daendels was in charge. But that wasn’t necessarily how a reformer prince would have reacted. Tower made a mental note to check on the fate of the three Morcharders and decided it was time to return to Trans Paradis. Either the corporatists on Morchard believed in redundancy or they were simply another dead end.

  “Thank you for your cooperation, Excellency. If you happen to come across information that your government is attempting more attacks on the Morchardese embassy or the royal family, I would appreciate it if you would contact me immediately.”

  “I will do so,” Daendels promised. Tower assumed he was lying, but given the man’s fluid loyalties, it couldn’t hurt to ask.

  “One last question. Now that Arpad Jagaelleon is dead, will you support his brother if he makes an attempt to reclaim the planet?”

  “That entirely depends upon
Prince Janos.” Daendels shrugged. “My commitment was to his brother, not to the royal house. If he endorses Prince Arpad’s program of reform, I expect he will find many supporters both here and at home.”

  Tower nodded. “That’s a fair answer. Now, let me give you a piece of advice, Excellency. I believe you didn’t have anything to do with the attacks on the two Jagaelleons. But the government you represent was planning attacks here on Rhysalan. That’s not acceptable. If you want to fight it out with corporatists or kings or giant star goats, I don’t care, so long as you don’t do it on this planet! The Duke prides himself in providing a place of refuge to everyone who requests it, and he does not take it lightly when his hospitality is abused. Do you understand?”

  “Perfectly.”

  Tower had never seen a man who looked less intimidated. Feeling frustrated and vaguely defeated, he left the shabby little consulate and ascended the stairs to the roof of the building. Once he was in the aerovar, he saw that Hildy had called him twice. He had Baby ring her back.

  “Good morning, Tower. How is Rhys City?”

  “More interesting on screen than in person. I just spoke with the Corporate Republic’s envoy. Looks like we can cross off the new regime.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “I wish I were. They’re every bit as bloodthirsty and homicidal as we imagined, maybe even a bit more so. But they’re short on means, they don’t have motive for reasons I’ll explain in person, and their methods don’t even come close to matching. I’m not ruling them out entirely, but I’d say it’s less than a five percent chance that they were involved.”

  “Hmmm…” Hildy mused. “That’s disappointing. Well, I’ve got better news for you.”

  “Lay it on me.”

  “Mr. Dunn finally woke up. As it happens, you were right. He lost an eye and an arm on Syranecus.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN