by DC Bastien
[Ashroe: Uhm... yes. Not sure why, though, because I'm an infrequent updater.]
[Sianor: Must be your stunning wit.]
[Ashroe: You mean: shining wit.]
[Sianor: There's a difference?]
[Ashroe: Look up 'spoonerism'.]
[Sianor: ...and there's another example.]
[Ashroe: Can't count that one, I totally stole it.]
[Sianor: But knowing when to apply theft, and when to twist it, is an art in and of itself.]
[Ashroe: Said one fanfic writer to the other!]
[Sianor: But he is one actor that sounds wonderful. If I did meet him I'd probably just squeak and jump up and down and want a hug!]
[Ashroe: Next time you think I'm stuffy and unapproachable, remember that once I got hit on by a recurring guest star and was reduced to mumbling.]
[Sianor: WHAT? Who?!]
[Ashroe: This guy]
[Sianor: I'm laughing so hard right now.]
[Ashroe: Shut up! I was a young and impressionable waif.]
[Sianor: I doubt you were ever impressionable.]
[Ashroe: Fine. I was a young and headstrong bitch, but I didn't expect a TV guy to use awful chat-up lines on me.]
[Sianor: Next time I feel intimidated by someone, I am going to picture them using corny lines.]
[Ashroe: And doing the sleazy wink. It's essential.]
Chapter Seven - Mission: Abduction
Getting past the initial access was easier than Vadim had even dreamed of. He'd found a sight-seeing crowd of schoolchildren, hung around until they were almost checking in, and then brusquely pushed past them, growling at the imposition of them getting in his way.
No one batted an eyelash. Ur-Enforcers were, after all, known for their short fuses. He tutted at the Kior-Dhalia manning the entrance, laughing at her solicitous cooing over his 'injured' state, swiped his pass and walked in without waiting for the all-clear. Evidently Enforcer arrogance over their passes hadn't faded over time.
Vadim had worried that Avery would have noticed the theft and reported it, but he'd been counting on the same communications backlog that meant Judge Peters' Whale-and-xenophobia reports had gone missing would keep him in the clear.
Once inside the court, Vadim made a beeline for the elevator. He used the pass to press the button - not wanting to leave evidence, no matter how trace - and nearly jumped in shock when the doors opened because inside - stepping out - was a Banker.
Bankers did not stray very far. They spread all across the universe, but everyone assumed they only ever used their own ships, because you rarely met one on any transportation. They mostly stayed in their bank buildings, and never socialised. If they slept, no one knew where. They were faceless, hidden forever behind the flat, bronzed plates across their face, and the suits they wore were uniform brown leather and brass. There were no easily distinguishable access points for ingestion or even respiration, and even less chance of excretion by conventional means. Every Banker spoke with the same lilting, distant voice, so you could be speaking to any member of the race and not know if you'd ever encountered them before.
They knew. They never forgot a face. Or a line of credit.
"Afternoon," Vadim said, to cover his shock.
"It is," came the faint, soft voice. The Banker waved non-committally with its gloved hand, a perfect triangular counterpoint of three, identical digits. "I must go."
"Yep. Well. See you around," Vadim replied, shaking his head as the door closed between them with a metallic shush. It was a dumb thing to say, but he'd been utterly taken aback.
Why would a Banker come here? Did it want to report a crime? Or was it asked to give testimony? Perhaps appraise stolen goods? He'd never heard of one being called in before, but maybe a High Judge had more clout than a run of the mill one.
"Please state the floor you wish," the lift reminded him, jolting him from his daydream. Right. Yes. Rescue mission.
"Where's Judge Peters?"
"There are twenty-seven Judges named Peters. Which would you like me to locate?"
"The one in the building," he said, pressing his lips together and trying to dampen down his irritation. Messenger's AI wouldn't be as awkward as this, and she was just a ship, not a freaking building run by one of the biggest interstellar organisations.
There was a pause. It was noticeable, and people like Vadim didn't survive as long as they did without noticing things like that.
"There are three Judge Peters in the building, Enforcer Avery."
"...I want the one that came in today. Simeon. Simeon Peters. Where is he? I picked up some Roq thugs he'd sent a communiqué about. Want to run them in for bounty, maybe."
The more Human (or Sianar, or Hleen, or whatever) interaction you threw at such a lifeless AI, the less likely it would be to process your personal data, and the more likely it would be flustered trying to keep up with the nuances of your speech. Largest law enforcement agency they might be, big on emotional intelligence the Ur-court was not.
"That information is classified."
Shit. If he was asking for things they'd hidden, then it would put a flag on his interaction. No amount of flirtatious or ornery behaviour would get him past that.
"Alright, take me to the cells. There's a known associate flagged as in custody. Maybe I can shake him down instead."
"There is no such inmate in our detention centre," the AI replied, its voice never once betraying anything other than mechanical politeness and efficiency.
"So why'd the High Judge not know about them, hmm?" he mused aloud. "Open the doors. I'll go myself."
"I regret to inform you that I cannot--"
Vadim drew his side-arm. They knew he was here, now. Or knew someone was here. He shot out the voice panel, and then shot out the emergency access panel too. The light went immediately to a soothing blue, the Hleen colour for alarm. There was a low, shrill sound which was there for the races with lesser colour-distinction, and he pulled out the small scrambler from his pocket. A few wires were tugged out and stuck into the right holes, and then he braced his feet on either side of the small room, climbing straight up so he could flick his fire-stick into life under the smoke detector.
Sure enough the scrambler coerced the lift to lower slightly, so it was no longer lined up perfectly with the exit; then the smoke plus the scrambler confused the system enough for the doors to open. Vadim snatched the small box of tricks back and then grabbed hold of the roof of the lift, hoisting himself and kicking off from the frame with enough force to flip up, through the gap, and land lithely on the top of the lift.
The scrambler gone, the lift's alarm went louder, brighter. The elevator started to move back to right itself, and Vadim waited just a second to see if it kept moving, but when it locked into place, he hauled himself higher still and kicked out one of the vents. There would still be some form of monitoring in the maintenance shafts, but to a lesser degree, and they might not think to turn it on straight off.
One of the Ur-court's strengths was in uniformity. Every single building followed the same base layout, only varying in size and additional functions. It meant that any Judge or Enforcer could walk into any of the many and varied buildings and know precisely where to go, or who to address. It was also their weakness, because it meant that Vadim could count the floors, and the ventilation inlets, and work out where he was. It was cramped, but not impossibly so. He was built a little too widely for this, and he banged elbows and head more than a few times, before he was over the sensitive side of the 'debriefing' area.
It was an area no Ur-Enforcer liked. If you were in there, then bad shit had happened. Either you were up for disciplinary action, or you were asked to give testimony at a colleague's investigation. The last time he'd been in one, it had been unpleasant to say the least. If Judge Peters was being interrogated (sorry, 'debriefed') it would be in here.
It was also the most heavily fortified part of the building. Vadim knew he was crazy for doing this, but he owed Peters.
The man had saved his life countless times, and he was a genuinely fair Judge. So if there was something fishy going on, then he would be the best person to bring it to light when they worked out precisely... what it was. That was if he'd agree to being bust out in the first place. It would be illegal, and he would be - well - defrocked. But what option did they have? Vadim couldn't leave him in there to face... something.
"Well," he muttered to himself, "...here goes nothing."
When he was in the right place, he looked down through the air vents. It was about the right size for him to fit through, and it was deliberately so as a contingency plan in case there was ever a hostage situation and they needed to send a rescue team in. Which meant he could use it, as well. The knife came out, and he prised open one of the grilles, twisting out the screws. Sometimes the low-tech answer was the way to beat the high-tech addicts. The grille was going to fall to the floor, but there was no one in the room below so it wouldn't matter. His head started to feel a bit light, a bit woozy, and his fingers slipped. He knicked the side of one finger, hissed and stuck it into his mouth to stem the little spurt of blood.
Shit. They were pumping in loopy gas - he should have thought of that. It was only the shock of the pain that brought him to, so he pulled out a pocket respirator and slipped it between his teeth. It would last half an hour, and if he was here that long, he'd be strapped to a chair himself, he knew. Air through these little beasties tasted foul, but at least it would keep him from passing out... or worse. It was the 'or worse' he was really worried about. When the fugitive was dangerous enough, there'd be no second-guessing making him or her bleed from every orifice, and that was one of the tamer interventions.
The grille dropped down and Vadim with it, and he hit the ground with a roll, to break his fall. Everywhere was now flashing blue and the low, insistent chiming was irritating beyond compare. He ran straight to one door and slapped instant sealer over the locking mechanism, striking his fire-stick against it to flash it to melting point. It fizzled quickly then set hard as cement, meaning they'd need to bring some cutting tools or one hell of a ramming rod. That done - side-arm drawn - he slammed himself against the wall next to the other door, then tossed a weighted rag in front of the transparent, reinforced panel at head height.
Sure enough the door was kicked open and gunfire burned through the air. Vadim waited for the first pause as the guns hit overheat all at once. Rookies! What were they teaching them? Didn't they remember that - even in the heat of an incident - you staggered your gunfire so there wasn't a lull? Apparently not. He grabbed the nearest arm and snapped it. It was a Hleen, and she screamed piercingly shrill. Whilst she was still reeling, he stepped in front of her, using her back as a shield to cut through the remaining two - also Hleen - with a shot to first shoulder then knee. He cold-cocked the one whose gun he'd stolen, and then stood over the two who were now writhing on the floor.
"You going to play nice and lie still?" he asked. "No one will judge you for it. Promise."
One nodded, but one of the others reached for her weapon. Vadim didn't even blink, shooting her wrist. It was a glancing hit, but it was enough to incapacitate her hand for some weeks. "I think you meant to say: 'Yes, Sir'," he prompted.
Neither of them did, though, and he just knelt to take their guns and comm-chips, pocketing them all.
"I'll pretend like I heard you. I'm a generous man." Quick ties went around their wrists, and gags around their mouths.
More ID cards were swiped, and it was one of these that he used to get in deeper into the debriefing area. The one he'd entered the building with would doubtless be utterly defunct now (and Avery would be locked out of all government offices until he answered his own 'debriefing' on the secure keeping and loss-reporting of sensitive access rights) and the ones he'd got were clearly high up in internal security, so would give him more than Avery's access would.
Shocking, really, how their gross sense of self worth left them so open to exploitation by someone with the skills.
Vadim strode into the next room like he owned it, and found himself in a long corridor. He knew that the holding 'rooms' (not cells, not when they held your own people) would flank the passageway, so he glanced from side to side, looking for the ones with the tiny light indicating they were in use. There were two. The first one held a young woman who cringed when he entered, then shrieked when he left. He didn't have time for her. The next one had Judge Peters in.
"Son, you mind telling me why you're here?"
"I'm here to break your sorry ass out of jail," Vadim replied, without a pause. He swiped over the panel on the wall, tapping in the release codes. "Come on."
"I'm not in jail, Kip."
"Sure you're not. Or you won't be, if you get off your honourable behind and follow me. I've just broken damn near every intergalactic law to get you, so the least you could do is be sharpish about your abduction."
By now, Peters had risen from his seat. "Abduction, hmm? You reckon that I'll be able to swing that if we get recaptured?"
One side-arm was levelled at his forehead. "When they see I frogmarch you out of here down the barrel of this stolen weapon? Yeah, I think you'll be able to sell it. Now come on, I've given the bird a deadline and we're going to miss it and wind up in the slums at this rate."
"The man with the gun is king," Peters said, hands up for the camera, stepping out into the corridor. "But the king might need to protect his kingdom from usurpers to his throne."
Vadim got the hint, shooting around the door in the direction the Judge had vaguely indicated. He heard a yelp that confirmed he'd hit someone in the foot like he'd tried for, and as Peters pressed himself against the far wall, he shot again.
"If I was you two, I would take this opportunity to surrender," the Judge said. "And believe me, no Judge in their right mind would object to you doing that when one of their colleagues was being threatened."
"We're supposed to bring the hostile down," one of them hissed.
"And you did a grand job trying, but maybe you'll be up to it in a couple more years, sonny. You're up against one of the best."
"Hey, wait, 'one of the'?" Vadim sounded angry, stomping out into the corridor. "I am 'the' best, you old coot."
"If you were 'the' best, you'd never have triggered the security systems."
"It was part of my plan."
"It is an interesting plan."
"Are you two colluding?" one of the men on the floor asked.
"No," said Vadim and Peters in unison.
"This here is a hostage situation," Vadim explained, gesturing with the gun that he'd almost forgotten he was holding. "So I'll be taking my hostage and going."
"More of a kidnapping, than a hostage situ--mmf!"
Vadim gestured with the still-warm gun he'd put inside the man's mouth. "It'll be kidnapping when we're out of here. But if you want to argue semantics with me..." he tapped his finger against the trigger.
An emphatic shake of the head said: no.
"Good boy."
The flex cuffs went on them, as well, and guns were kicked out of reach.
"You two hold up tight. Be sure to tell them of the imminent threat of violence, murder, mayhem and so on that I represent. In detail. Especially the violence. Understand? Good."
That done, Vadim pulled out more wires and put his ace in the hole into the system: an electromagnetic pulse powered by the building's own power source. The fail-shut doors failed open, instead of closed, thanks to his earlier hacks, and they were out of the building and into stashed clothing outside the office in minutes.
"I have to ask you," Peters said, shrugging on a dirty smock. "How did you get your first foot in the door?"
Vadim smirked, flicking up Avery's pass between two fingers, before tossing it over his shoulder. It was useless, now, and doubtless would be tracked, too.
"I see. You are aware that he will attempt to kill you the next time he sees you?"
"And how will that be different from any other
time?"
"I see your point. Where are we rendezvousing with Messenger?"
"In the seediest part of town I could find. She'll blend right in."
***
[Sianor: Whoo, I think that was our longest scene to date.]
[Ashroe: Yeah I got a bit carried away.]
[Sianor: No! It's good. I like.]
[Ashroe: I always try to be a bit... vague or generic on hacking and stuff, considering how dated you can seem.]
[Sianor: God, I know. When you see the stuff from way back when and it's soooo unrealistic how fast or visual it all is.]
[Ashroe: I guess they never thought the general public would get to know computers enough for it to look as awful as it does. Plus it's kind of boring watching someone brute force hack, or put a decryption tool up and play an MMO while it does the hard work.]
[Sianor: I've always known computers, though, they've just been everywhere.]
[Ashroe: I forget you're younger. When I was... oh god I now sound old don't I!]
