Just Compensation

by Robert N. Charrette

  “Don’t be absurd, Rocquette.” Jordan rubbed the side of his cheek with a finger. “You’ve made your point about Markowitz.” he conceded. “Take him and get out of here. You’ve lost on Walker. He’s staying here.”

  Andy grabbed Tom’s arm. Tom didn’t need the cue. “If Andrew Walker doesn’t leave now, I intend to observe your interrogation.”

  “You’re overstepping your duties.” Jordan said.

  “All my concerns regarding Mr. Markowitz obtain with regard to Andrew Walker. Therefore, I must insist that I remain. If I see or hear anything that goes beyond the bounds of standard procedure, I will file complaints with the Judge Advocate General.”

  “Don’t push this too far, Rocquette.” Jordan warned.

  Tom figured he already had. What was a little further? “Also I expect that Mr. Markowitz will soon be making a call to the International Civil Liberties Union.” Tom said, hoping the man would play along.

  Jordan smiled. “If he does, that would confirm his association with Walker, justifying our need to interrogate the both of them.”

  “Not really.” Markowitz said, taking his cue. “Call it a good deed. You know, helping out those in need with no friends to save them from evil, overbearing governments and militaries? It sounds like the act of a good, concerned citizen to me.”

  Furlann again whispered in Jordan’s ear. Tom wondered how well enhancement would pick up her words on the recording. He really wanted to know what she was telling Jordan. It was probably a hopeless wish; if Furlann was saying incriminating things, she was too smart not to use some kind of distortion spell to shield herself from being recorded accurately. Enhancement wouldn’t cut through that.

  Whatever she said to Jordan made him amenable.

  “Very well, Major Rocquette. I accept the validity of your concerns. Your objections have been noted, but as nothing has been done, no blame need be applied. Both Markowitz and Walker are free to go at this time. Their release is at your request. Let us all hope you have not compromised national security. I trust that you will see them safely off base and ensure that they do not get into further mischief.”

  The parting shot put a burden on Tom while covering Jordan’s butt. Tom hoped he hadn’t completely compromised his career. He didn’t think that was likely, but only time would tell.

  Jordan dismissed them. Holding and stroking one of the surviving rats, Furlann silently watched them leave. The mocking smile on her face left Tom wondering what he’d missed.

  “Did you hear what he said?” Markowitz asked when they were out of the building. “For the moment. For the fragging moment, like civil liberties and constitutional rights were a temporary inconvenience. Which, to him and his masters, I suppose they are. They’ll find their way. Yeah, that’s got to be it! The scheme must already be in play. You watch—any minute now the politicians will be yelping for help to put down the rioting.”

  Tom had been listening to morning reports on his way over, and knew that the outcry was already underway. “And then what?”

  “Trahn is going to make his suppression of the marchers very bloody.” Markowitz predicted. “He’s going to cut loose, given the chance.”

  “Why do you say that?” Tom wanted to know why this man, who had never spoken to Trahn, had gotten the same impression as Tom himself.

  “Maybe he wants to pretend he’s with the rest of the boys in Chicago. Maybe he just wants to play with his toys. I don’t know.” Markowitz shrugged. “But it’s going to happen. Call it a hunch. That’s what I call it when I can feel it in my bones and don’t have the evidence to back it up. I have very reliable bones.”

  “You can’t act on a hunch.”

  Markowitz gave him an evaluating stare. Tom expected another smart remark, but instead Markowitz said, “No, you can’t, can you?”

  Tom nodded. “You’ll need evidence to back up your accusations. So get it, if you can. Until then, you’re just wind trying to tear down a good man’s reputation.”

  “And a smart man doesn’t leave his butt hanging in the wind.” Markowitz said, nodding back. “Maybe I misjudged you, Rocquette.”

  “I’m sure you did.” Tom told him. As if it mattered.

  A smart man didn’t throw his lot in with a bunch of shady characters, even if one was a half-brother, as long as there were other options. What Tom had done for them was already above and beyond. Any debt he owed to his blood was paid. If this was the last he saw of either of these two, he would almost certainly be better off. So why was he considering doing more? Could he really be thinking that Markowitz’s left-viewed paranoia might have a basis in reality?

  Tom made sure the two of them made it to the base’s boundaries. Fort Belvoir was far enough from the downtown troubles that the buses were running. Tom made sure they got on one of them, using his own credstick to pay the fare. Just before he boarded, Andy scribbled out an e-mail drop point and gave it to Tom, saying, “Let’s keep in touch.”

  “Sure.” Tom said with little enthusiasm. With any luck the kid would fall off the face of the earth. He’d already fragged up too much of Tom’s life.

  >WFDC FEED COVERAGE

  -[10:43:57/8-25-55]

  REPORTER: DERRY DALE [DALE-365]

  UPLINK SITE: FREDERICKSBURG, NORTH VIRGINIA

  Dale: “Governor Saul Jefferson, Governor of North Virginia, addressed the General Assembly here this morning. After reporting on the continued turmoil in the Federal District of Columbia, he called for federal authorities to take what he called ‘positive and effective steps’ to restore order in the District. The governor’s comments showed a much higher level of dissatisfaction than that expressed by either Governor Shales of Maryland or Governor Landowne of West Virginia in similar addresses to their state legislatures. Governor Jefferson concluded his remarks with this statement:

  “ ‘Violence is spilling out of the central Districts and into the suburbs. President Steele has tossed a rock into the pond and the ripples are spreading. And as with a thrown rock, the thrower has no control after the rock has left his hand. The UCAS Army is the rock, honorable ladies and gentlemen. It is out of control, causing more violence than it stops. Once again we are seeing a good example of why the federal government has no business trying to govern districts that belong under other jurisdictions. Take a good look at what we are seeing to our north. When you do, I want each and every one of you to stop and ask yourself, “Is this my country I’m looking at?” You’ll find the answer in your heart. I know that I have.’ ” [Standing ovation]<<<<<

  19

  Seeing Andy and Markowitz away from the base didn’t end Tom’s worries. The problem that had thrown the two of them into his lap remained, and he remained disturbed by the twin problem of what was happening on the bridges and what wasn't being done about it. The Army was supposed to have methods of dealing with riots, non-lethal methods. The acknowledgment of the need for such methods had come out of the civil disturbances during the early part of the century. Early Special Resources units had field-tested devices and techniques to deal with those kinds of problems, determining what were suitable for addition to the Army’s inventory and doctrine. Tom had been trained in applying a wide array of technological and magical operations to quell civil disorder with minimal casualties. And he knew the troops had at least received familiarity training with one or another anti-rioting tech system.

  So why wasn’t that training being put to use? Why was Trahn relying on the old brute-force methods? Trahn said it was because the Army didn’t have the equipment and supplies for the tech solutions, and a check of the depots confirmed that nothing was available in local storage. The suppliers hadn’t delivered. It came as no real surprise that the Army didn’t have what they needed; it had been that way too often during Tom’s time in service. The Army shouldn’t have been shorted that way, but they had been. The politicians took no action. They never did.

  Magic should have offered solutions, but Tom hadn’t bothered bringing it up to Trahn.
Neither Furlann nor any of the other available mages were rated for riot-control spellcraft. Supposedly all members of the Thaumaturgic Corps could adapt in the field, but Tom knew the reliability of magical field adaptations—which was to say that relying on the mages wasn’t an option.

  So what could be done?

  As a Special Resources officer, Tom’s job description was more widely and loosely defined than most military specialties. In some ways, he had even more latitude than military intelligence. His job was intended to cover the development of new technologies, both natural and arcane, and the employment of those technologies in both conventional and unconventional environments. Creativity and innovation were watchwords in SR units.

  The situation in Washington wasn’t conventional, by any stretch; neither was riot control the Army’s conventional service. So was it a reach to believe that doing something about the mess downtown might fall to an SR officer? When the commanding officer wasn’t asking for SR to provide an end run, it sure was. Whether a reach or not, such a justification might be enough, if the person needing justification had succeeded. The Army rarely asked anyone to justify success.

  To Tom’s mind, what was happening in the streets was what really needed justification.

  The other thing that needed justification was his not doing anything he could think of to improve the situation. Unfortunately, the only angle he could figure to try was well outside of channels. Good soldiers didn’t jump channels. Well, it wasn’t as if he’d been a model soldier all day.

  Using the commo unit in his command car, he patched into the local telecom network. “This is Major Rocquette from General Trahn’s headquarters.” he told the synthetic secretary who answered his call.

  Without warning, the screen image dissolved, replaced with a Telestrian Industries holding pattern. Pleasant music played behind a sultry feminine voice extolling the virtues of Telestrian Industries. In less than a minute the screen came back to a real image: a plush corporate office with a desk as big as Tom’s command car. The executive behind the desk was the elf who’d come to speak with the general. To Tom’s surprise, the ID feed from the pickup identified the elf as Stephen Osborne. Wasn’t he the fragging head of Telestrian Industries East?

  “Yes, Major Rocquette.” the elf said. “What can I do for you?”

  Tom was caught off-guard. He forgot his planned opening statement. He improvised. “I’d wanted to speak to someone about Telestrian’s failure to perform its contractual obligations.”

  “Has something happened of which I am unaware?” Osborne asked. He sounded wary.

  “I don’t understand your question, Mr. Osborne.”

  “Just what is the purpose of this call, Major—Rocquette, was it?”

  “Tom Rocquette, sir, in command of Provisional Special Resources Battalion 7711. We’re showing an anomaly in our supply depots. The records do not show us receiving shipment on”—he transferred the slew of provision orders—“any of these equipment and supply orders.”

  “Telestrian always fulfills its obligations, Major. A moment, please, while I check.” Osborne consulted a comp built into his desk. “You are correct. We have not supplied any of those items. There is a payment hold on those deliveries. I’m afraid the government has gotten too far in arrears on its bills.”

  What? “We’re in the middle of an emergency! That equipment could save lives!”

  “I’m aware of the situation.” Osborne said coolly. “Perhaps if you would give me some details as to the interest in these supplies, I could be of more help.”

  It was Tom’s turn to be cautious. “Let’s just say the general is reviewing all options. We need that equipment, Mr. Osborne.”

  “Is the general available?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “I see. Well, I’m afraid I have no authority to turn over any equipment at this time.”

  “Why not? You’re the head of the company, aren’t you?”

  “Telestrian Industries East.” Osborne said. “While that makes me the senior Telestrian official in Washington, that does not give me carte blanche. Your supplies and equipment are cost-centered to Telestrian Industries, our parent, and the payment hold was placed by headquarters. That puts the matter out of my control. So you see, I haven’t the authority to release any of what you’re asking for.”

  Tom couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “So you’re saying that Telestrian, good corporate citizen that it is, is content to sit on that stuff while people die who wouldn’t if you shipped what we need.”

  Osborne didn’t look discomfited in the least. “I’m afraid I haven’t been clear. Telestrian is very concerned about the situation in Washington. But like yourself, I am constrained by rules. While I am the head of Telestrian East and my corporation’s senior official in this region, I do not have the authority to release any bindings placed by headquarters. Figuratively speaking, my hands are tied. Unless I hear otherwise from headquarters, none of that equipment will be released.”

  Tom was familiar with passing the buck. Osborne seemed to be a master of the technique, but maybe he’d handed Tom an opening. “You say you’re very concerned about the situation in Washington?”

  “Deeply concerned.”

  “And that you would do something about it if you could?”

  “We are good corporate citizens, Major.”

  “Well, maybe you don’t have to release the equipment for it to do some good.”

  Osborne gave him an appraising stare. “Just what are you suggesting, Major?”

  “What I’m suggesting is this.” Tom said, struggling to get it straight in his mind so his evolving scheme would sound workable. “During civil emergencies, corporate security forces can be deputized to aid properly constituted authorities. Right?”

  “It’s part of the standard extraterritoriality agreement.”

  “Well, suppose Telestrian security was deputized. And suppose Telestrian security was issued the equipment currently held in local Telestrian shipping depots. Telestrian security could employ that equipment—supported and protected by our forces, of course. The rioters would be met with overwhelming, but non-lethal, force. We could win this battle, and there would be no need to violate the delivery hold as long as the equipment remains in Telestrian hands.”

  “An intriguing twist of the rules, Major. Unfortunately, our security forces are rather busy attending to Telestrian properties. Your plan would require reducing our security below acceptable levels.”

  “If there were no rioting, you wouldn’t need enhanced levels of security. The important thing is that the riots get quelled, isn’t it? That way everyone will be safe.”

  “Telestrian is sympathetic, of course.” Osborne looked more annoyed than sympathetic. “I will look into the possibility of implementing your idea. Give my regards to General Trahn.”

  The connection blanked.

  Well, he’d taken his shot. Tom couldn’t think of anything to do but see if the shell landed.

  * * *

  The guy who came out of the back office at Eskimo Nell’s was the biggest norm Andy had ever seen. Some trolls were smaller. He lumbered toward them, his shaggy head nearly brushing the lowest of the ducting pipes that made up the industrial-chic decor of the bar. Markowitz put out his hand and the man engulfed it with one of his own.

  “How ya doing, pal?” the giant asked in a voice surprisingly high for a man his size. “Something must be going south if you be dropping in on me. Heard your office got lifted.”

  “True.” Markowitz admitted. “But I’m not out of business yet.”

  “Glad to hear it. Been touring the monuments?”

  Markowitz gave him a quick rundown, concentrating on what they’d seen of the Compensation Army camps and the rioting. Andy got the feeling that none of it was news to the big man, until Markowitz outlined their encounter with Colonel Jordan.

  “That Jemal.” the big man said, shaking his head like a mother despairing of a child gone bad. “
Comes of keeping the wrong company. Speaking of company ..

  Markowitz picked up on the cue. “Charlie, this is the late Andy Walker. We need to get him fixed up with an ident, which with any luck he won’t lose this time. We also need access to a deck and a telecom.”

  The giant scratched his beard, studying Andy with his cool gray eyes. He glanced sideways at Markowitz, who was going down his list of specs for the machines to which he wanted access. When Markowitz finally ran out of requirements, requests, and demands, the giant raised an eyebrow, “This Cruncher’s kid?”

  “My dad’s name was Matthew Walker.” Andy offered. It seemed a good idea not to cross this man or to lie to him. “Only his friends called him Cruncher.”

  The big man nodded his shaggy head at Markowitz. “Linda’ll take care of you. Standard rates.” He shuffled back into his office.

  Linda was a perky blonde who led them through the bar, chattering about the latest news from the Government Zone and running through the spiel on the origins of Eskimo Nell’s name. The patrons ignored them. She might have been a hostess taking them to their table; but she didn’t take them to a table, she took them through a door and down a flight of stairs to an acoustic-tiled corridor lined with plain green doors. She opened one, reached in to flip on a light switch, and stepped back out of the way with her hand open. Markowitz passed her a credstick. Though she had a reader hanging from her waist, she pocketed the stick and left. Markowitz didn’t say a word; he just put a hand to the small of Andy’s back and urged him into the small room. It wasn’t much more than a cell, with a bunk bed crammed hard up against a plastic table with mismatched plastic chairs. A crapper and a sink filled most of the little space left.

  Andy was thinking about other things. As the door swung closed behind them, he whispered, “Was that Mr. Crick?' Markowitz smiled. “The one and only. Heard of him?” What Washington shadowrunner wannabe hadn’t heard of Mr. Crick and Eskimo Nell’s? Heck, he’d used it as a base of operations in his virtual shadowrunning games. The place was touted on the runner nets as one of the area’s prime hangouts for those in the biz. Andy had checked out the clientele as they passed through the bar and dining area, noting with amazement the amount of chrome, leather, and artfully not-quite-concealed sidearms. Almost every person there had looked like a runner, with an aura around them that said they definitely were not wannabes. There was even an ork who’d looked a bit like Andy’s virtual street samurai partner Buckhead. It was unbelievable. Most unbelievable of all was the fact that Andy was here, doing shadow business. Despite the fact that he’d met the Dodger in the cyberspace analog of Nell’s, he hadn’t entirely believed the physical place really was what it was rumored to be. But it was. And he was here. It was awesome!