The Falken Chronicles

by Piers Platt

  “Fine,” Locandez said, annoyed. “The minute we can extract Falken from the simulation with minimal disruption to Mr. Weaver or the other inmates, we will.”

  “And once Falken is out of the simulation?” Arkanian asked.

  “I’m open to suggestions,” Locandez said. “And I confess, I’m reluctant to release him for this transgression. Not without some form of punishment.”

  “We didn’t punish Peshai,” Arkanian pointed out.

  “We fired him, and took away his pension,” Locandez said.

  “If Peshai doesn’t deserve additional jail time, I’m not sure Falken does,” Arkanian argued.

  “I agree,” Huginot said. “It seems inconsistent.”

  “Again, I’m open to suggestions,” Locandez said, testily.

  “Alter the conditions of his parole,” Arkanian said. “Restricted travel for five years, weekly check-ins with a parole officer.”

  “Tack on a thousand hours of community service, and I’ll go with it,” Locandez said.

  “Works for me,” Ojibwe said.

  “So be it. But,” Locandez said, raising a finger in the air, “if he breaks his word and does something to jeopardize the simulation, if he steps one foot out of line before we pull him out of Oz … I’ll have no trouble sending him to the permanent facility for life.”

  Chapter 25

  Falken sat down next to Weaver, on the sandy earth atop Lookout Hill.

  “I’m sorry,” Falken said.

  A breeze ruffled the slate-gray surface of the ocean, then sighed in the trees above them. With the sun fully down, the chill of dusk began to set in. Weaver remained quiet.

  “There’s something else you should know,” Falken said. “About the ship.”

  Weaver pulled his knees up to his chest and set his arms across them, resting his chin on top of them. But he did not look at Falken.

  “There’s an escape pod,” Falken said. “It can carry one person back up into orbit, and back to Earth. I know – you’re probably thinking this is one of those miracles again. And you’re right. I can’t explain why it’s here, it just seems too far-fetched. But I promise you, it exists. I can show it to you. And I think you should be the one to go back in it.”

  Weaver turned to look at him then, and Falken met his gaze. “Why? Why me?”

  “Because you deserve it more than I do,” Falken said. “Regardless of what you did or didn’t do back on Earth, you’re a good man, and your family needs you.”

  Weaver thought for a moment. “There are others that deserve to go back as much – if not more – than I do.”

  “Who?” Falken asked.

  “Archos,” Weaver said. “He’s not a convict, you know. He was born here, as the child of corrections officers, back when the facility was still operational.”

  Falken sighed. “I know. He told me his story once, too. But I think he’d be the first to admit that while he’s not a convict, he’s by no means innocent. And I wonder if he’d actually want to leave here. This has been his home for a long time. On Oz, he’s the warden, a leader of men. On Earth … I’m not sure what he’d be.”

  “You found the ship,” Weaver said. “Maybe you should be the one to get out of here.”

  “I’d like to,” Falken said. “But this is bigger than me. Everyone here is depending on whoever goes back to tell people the truth about this place. If I go back, I’m just a convicted murderer who escaped from prison. If you go back, you’re an innocent man wrongfully separated from his family for close to ten years. Who’s going to get more attention?”

  “I thought you said I was guilty?” Weaver said.

  “Are you?” Falken asked.

  “No,” Weaver whispered.

  “So go back,” Falken said. “Tell people about Oz. Save us all. And when the dust settles, you can get a retrial, and be with your family again.”

  “How do you know the pod works?” Weaver asked.

  “I don’t,” Falken said, with a shrug. And that’s true. I have no idea what will happen if I try to launch him up into orbit before Oz thinks he’s ready. But I’ve got one last idea I can try to get him to confess. “But if it doesn’t work, what’s the worst that could happen? You’re just still stuck here.”

  “If we’re talking about a rocket capable of launching someone up into orbit, I imagine the worst case scenario is significantly worse than just being stuck here,” Weaver observed.

  “True,” Falken said. “Are you willing to take that risk?”

  “Yes,” Weaver said, without hesitation.

  “Well, then,” Falken said, standing up. “Let’s get things prepped.”

  He descended back into the Khonsu’s airlock, grabbed the shovels and the handsaw, and passed them up to Weaver, who set them on the ground outside the hatch. Then Falken climbed back up the ladder.

  “Falken?”

  “Yeah?”

  “How do we know it’s real?” Weaver asked.

  Falken pulled himself out of the hatch and stood up. “We don’t,” he admitted.

  *

  They spent the night digging in the dark, uncovering the circle on the Khonsu’s hull that marked the escape pod’s silo. The digging took nearly ten hours, and they rested often, walking down to the water’s edge for a drink when they were thirsty. To be safe, instead of creating several tall piles of earth around the hole, Falken had Weaver spread the dirt out across the top of the ship, so that only someone who walked to the top of the hill would be able to tell they had been digging there. Then, just before dawn, they felled two trees that were close to the hole, sawing through the trunks just above where the white armored bark ended. Falken climbed a third tree to saw off branches overhanging the pod’s launch trajectory. Then he climbed down again, set the saw on the ground, and wiped the dirt from his hands on his uniform. Weaver hauled the cut branches to one side, clearing them away. He returned to find Falken staring down at the beach, lost in silent thought.

  Last time we did this, Archos showed up right about this time, and Weaver sacrificed himself to let me escape.

  “Everything alright?” Weaver asked.

  “Hm?” Falken said. “Yeah. Just déjà vu. Sorry.”

  “I get that all the time here,” Weaver said. He shivered, and in the first light of the morning, Falken could see dark circles under his eyes. He’s exhausted, Falken realized. He’s not as young as he was, or as fit. I worked him too hard.

  “What now?” Weaver asked.

  “I need to get something from the colony,” Falken said. “You stay here. Take a nap in the ship’s lounge. I’ll be back soon.”

  “Okay,” Weaver said.

  Falken watched him disappear down through the hatch, and then he set off toward the colony.

  *

  The sun had risen above the trees by the time Falken reached the edge of the fields surrounding the colony. None of the inmates were in the fields yet, but he knew they would be soon – already, the chimney above the Great Hall boasted a thick column of gray smoke, evidence of the morning meal being cooked. Falken’s whole body ached, but he forced himself to jog across the fields.

  You’re not really in pain, anyway. It’s all in your head.

  He swung the door to the infirmary open, and found Saltari washing his face with water from a wooden bucket. Ngobe was lying on a sleeping pad – the astrophysicist blinked at him and yawned.

  “The prodigal son,” Ngobe said. “Where have you been?”

  “The facility,” Falken said.

  “The facility?” Saltari asked. He wiped his face dry on his uniform shirt. “What on earth did you want to go there for?”

  “I found Weaver,” Falken said. “He didn’t drown, he spent almost two years sailing around Oz, looking for other land. And he’s been at the facility ever since, trying to cobble together a working radio transmitter.”

  “Another hare-brained scheme?” Saltari clucked his tongue.

  “Did he have any luck?” Ngobe asked.
r />   “Some,” Falken admitted. “But it doesn’t really matter. I need—”

  “You need to see Mayor Luo, immediately, and apologize profusely,” Saltari interrupted him. “He’s going to start docking your food rations as punishment for missing not one, but two work shifts. And I can’t say I blame him.”

  “I’ll make it up to him next week,” Falken said. “Ngobe, do you still have that keycard I gave you?”

  “Of course,” Ngobe said. He reached into a pocket and pulled it out. “Now will you tell us where you got it?”

  “Come on,” Falken said, opening the door, and gesturing at them to follow him. “I’ll show you.”

  “You’ll show us?” Ngobe asked, frowning. He scrambled to his feet, and hurried to the door.

  Saltari sighed. “Why do I have the feeling this is going to end with all three of us having our rations docked?”

  “Come on, Salty,” Falken called, heading off down the steps.

  “I’m coming,” he grumbled.

  *

  “This whole mound?” Ngobe asked incredulously, as they climbed the side of Lookout Hill.

  “The whole thing,” Falken said. “The Khonsu’s been buried for hundreds of years, and we never even knew it.” As they walked, Falken pointed at the keycard in Ngobe’s hand. “That’s the captain’s master key,” he explained. “And you know how back in the old days, some ships had built-in escape pods, capable of achieving escape velocity so that the captain could get back to Earth, and organize a rescue party?”

  Ngobe’s eyes went wide. “You’re kidding …,” he said.

  “Nope,” Falken said. “There’s one on board.”

  “This is quite the discovery, Falken,” Saltari said, panting as he followed them up the hillside. “We’ll need to tell Mayor Luo about it. Perhaps now he’ll forgive your recent absences.”

  They reached the top of the hill, and Falken pointed toward the ship’s bow. “This way,” he said. “There’s an open hatch leading down into the ship.”

  “I feel like a schoolboy, about to crack open my first physics textbook of the semester!” Ngobe said, grinning with excitement.

  “You and I had very different experiences at school,” Falken said, chuckling. “But I think we’ll be able to put all that studying you did to … good … use …,” he trailed off, frowning.

  Through the trees ahead, he caught a glimpse of Weaver, standing upright against a tree trunk. As they drew closer, Falken realized his friend had been tied to the tree with some kind of electrical wiring. Then a figure stepped out from behind the trunk, and held a knife to Weaver’s throat.

  “Hello, again, Falken,” Auresh said, smiling.

  Chapter 26

  Vina stepped out of the maglev terminal in El Paso, stopping to slip on a pair of sunglasses against the bright sunlight. Her wristpad buzzed at her – she glanced down at it, and an arrow appeared on the screen, along with a picture of an orange auto-cab. She looked up, and the auto-cab pulled into the curb next to her, unlocking the passenger door. She climbed in.

  “Global Investigations Office,” she said.

  “Yes, Miss Weaver. City routing algorithms report light traffic on our route – we should be there in less than ten minutes.”

  “Great,” Vina said. She typed on the wristpad briefly to confirm her appointment, and then settled back into the seat, closing her eyes to review the case in her head.

  The car slowed down and stopped nine minutes later outside a large building with a brown stone façade and darkened windows. A gold-plated GIO seal was mounted over the entrance. Vina paid her fare, then stepped out and crossed the sidewalk, striding through the revolving door into the building. In the lobby, in place of a reception desk, Vina found only a fingerprint scanner. She looked around for a moment, but seeing no one, placed her finger on the scanner.

  “Welcome, Vina Weaver,” the scanner told her. “Agent Niebold has been notified of your arrival. Please have a seat while you wait.”

  “Okay,” Vina said.

  She took a seat on a nearby couch, but a young man appeared on the far side of the security gate a moment later and then stepped through into the lobby. He was tall and slim, with close-cropped black hair and a crisp white button-down under a tailored suit.

  “Miss Weaver?”

  “Yes,” she said, standing quickly.

  “Agent Niebold.” He held out a hand, and Vina shook it. He spoke with a heavy Texas drawl. “Come on into my office.”

  She followed him through the security gate, and felt the hairs on her arm stand up as it scanned her with some sort of invisible field. Then the sensation passed, and they headed through a set of doors into a standard office space, with cubes and desks arrayed around several large, glass conference rooms. Investigative agents worked at many of the desks, and a few looked up at her as she walked by. Vina felt a flutter in her stomach.

  He’s going to think I’m crazy, she thought, doubting herself for the first time since arranging the meeting. He’s going to be mad at me for wasting his time.

  “Okay,” Niebold said, pushing open a door to an outer office. “Have a seat, please.”

  Vina sat down, and Niebold took a seat at his desk. Behind the desk, Vina could see the city through the darkened windows – the tinting colored the view to a brownish-gray hue, despite the bright sun, as if a sandstorm was passing through. Niebold had a picture of his family on the desk, and a framed pistol target on one wall, next to an award and a picture of a group of young GIO agents posing in front of some kind of obstacle course.

  “You want anything – water, coffee?” Niebold asked.

  “No, thanks,” Vina said. “I just had breakfast.” She cleared her throat, trying to ignore her nerves.

  “For some reason, your name’s ringing a bell for me,” Niebold said. He frowned slightly. “Have we met before?”

  “No,” Vina said. “But I was one of the survivors of the Olympus crash a few weeks back. You might have read about it on the colony newsnets.”

  Niebold snapped his fingers. “Yes! That’s it. Wow, that must have been some experience. You must be glad to be home.”

  “It was a relief to get out of there,” Vina said, nodding.

  “Are you here about that?” Niebold asked.

  “No, actually,” Vina said. “I’m here about my father. He’s currently serving life in prison for murder, and I’m not sure he did it.”

  Niebold raised an eyebrow. “It’s been a long, long time since we got a murder conviction wrong,” he said. “A long time.”

  “I know,” Vina said. “But I think the local sheriff and the public defender might have framed him.”

  Niebold nodded slowly. “Well, okay. You’ve got my attention. But you better start at the top, I think.”

  “The top,” Vina repeated. She took a deep breath. “Okay.”

  *

  Through the office window, Vina could see a steady stream of agents and employees leaving the building, heading out for lunch. Niebold, leaning against the windowsill, straightened up and paced the room for a moment in thought.

  “Okay, let’s review,” he said. “I think I’m straight on the evidence against your father, but let’s go over what we have against the Buckniels. For starters, we’ve got Sheriff Buckniel’s reprimand. But if I’m being objective, that’s not relevant here – we don’t have any evidence your father was assaulted.”

  “No, we don’t,” Vina said.

  “Then, we’ve got a possible connection between the murder victim and this defense attorney.”

  “They were both Drifters,” Vina said, nodding.

  “That’s really tenuous, though,” the agent said, shaking his head. “And they’re both dead now, which doesn’t really help us at all. Let’s assume, for a minute, that they were Drifting buddies, or that Tevka supplied – what’s his name? Turpin?”

  “Tarpon,” Vina corrected him.

  “Okay, so Tarpon and Tevka get into a fight over the drugs or
some money, and Tarpon ends up killing Tevka. He calls his brother, the sheriff, who comes out to the crime scene. They talk it over, and decide to pin it on someone else, so they use Tevka’s wristpad to send your Dad a message to meet at that location. Why would they pick your Dad, though?”

  “Because they both knew he would come without telling anyone,” Vina said. “Whether they knew that Tevka had kidnapped us or not, it doesn’t matter – they definitely knew that my dad was waiting for a call from the kidnapper.”

  “Right, I keep forgetting about the kidnapping,” Niebold said. He rubbed at his temple. “Honestly, Vina, this is getting complicated. In my experience, major felonies are a lot simpler to explain.”

  “Is it enough to look into it more, though?” Vina asked. “Are you allowed to?”

  “Do we investigate local law enforcement? In general, yeah, sure,” Niebold said. “But I’d have a hard time convincing anyone to put resources on this case with what you have right now.”

  “What more do you need?” Vina asked.

  “Some evidence that the brothers were conspiring together,” the agent said. “Right now this is all possible … but very much hypothetical.”

  “What about Tarpon’s conviction rate?” Vina asked. “He lost most of the cases where he defended someone his brother arrested. Almost two-thirds of them. Other public defenders only lost forty-eight percent of their cases.”

  Niebold frowned and sat down at the desk, and pulled the keyboard over to him. “Yeah, but you’re comparing him to other lawyers, there. That might be misleading. How does he compare to himself?” He typed for a moment, and then twisted the screen so Vina could see it. “Look: he lost sixty-five percent of the cases where his brother arrested someone, and sixty-two percent of the cases where he defended someone his brother didn’t arrest. That suggests he’s just a crappy lawyer, not a crooked one.”

  Vina pursed her lips. “Damn it. I didn’t think about that.”