by OJ Lowe
Part of him felt that he’d know if Sharon had died. Theirs was a special connection. It sounded corny and cliched but that was the way he’d felt for a long time. There was something keeping them together beyond mere attraction. It felt like fate. He didn’t always believe in fate, the idea of being out of control didn’t do much for him, but if some higher purpose wanted them to be together, he was all for it. He didn’t feel like she’d died. He felt like the future was theirs to seize. Nothing like your own near-death experience to put things into perspective.
His summoner buzzed, he quickly glanced down at it, wondering if it was going to be her asking where he was or a rebuke from Mallinson for skipping his suspension. It would have been fast but that hadn’t stopped the Inquisitor before. At the very least, he expected some sort of rudimentary curse onto his stupidity for falling for Carling’s plot and failing to stop it.
It was neither. He saw the name Aldiss; the message was just two words, but they were enough to fill send his heart soaring with joy.
She’s awake.
The gravity of the situation around him was enough to force him into keeping some sort of composure yet inside he wanted to punch the air and cheer. Lysa. She’d come around. She’d made it over the worst of it. Relief flooded him. He hadn’t gotten her killed after all. Aldiss had left no word on what sort of state she was in but if she’d awoken, she had to be better. You didn’t wake up dead after all. He chuckled at that, didn’t realise just how much he'd missed laughter. It felt like months since he’d felt this good despite the horrors around him.
He felt her before he saw her, the unsettling sensation of being watched, he looked up and saw her stood several feet away, her hands on her hips and relief on her face.
Nick couldn’t help himself. Raced forward and swept her up in a hug. The way things had gone tonight were forgotten. Any Unisco matters on his mind, he couldn’t care about. They weren’t important. They were the past and a possible future he wasn’t entirely sure that he wanted to be a part of.
The present was the only thing that mattered now. The present which in that moment was solely dominated by the woman in front of him. He loved her, the box in his coat pocket felt hard against his chest. He pushed the sensation down. Now wasn’t a good time. He could pick a better moment than this. He didn’t want to ask her amidst scenes of unbearable chaos, didn’t want to take advantage when she was feeling all too mortal and might be pressured into an answer they could both regret. He knew how he felt right now. He could have died several times over tonight. That he hadn’t was nothing short of exceptional.
Right now, he held her in his arms, he decided that he just wanted to savour being alive for long before he went about making changes no matter how much for the better or worse they might be.
She looked down at him, narrowed her eyes. He was aware of how he had to look, covered in blood and muck, his entire body feeling like one big bruise. Her body against his hurt, he’d done what he felt was an admirable job in swallowing down the winces.
“I thought you were dead,” she said.
I bloody thought I was as well, he wanted to say. Instead he smiled, and all the troubles of the kingdom felt so far away.
Carling had made the decision swiftly. He needed to run. It had all come crashing down and he hadn’t had the time to waste in cursing his bad fortune. He would have liked to have cursed Roper. Would have liked to have cursed Hobb. Could even have cursed himself for the way things had turned out. They’d run so differently in his head. He’d had the plan ever since he’d known Roper was coming. He’d seen the memo in the office that he’d been suspended, that he was returning to Belderhampton. Mallinson might be a weed but he was a useful one.
That gave him the opportunity. A chance he wouldn’t have had. It wouldn’t have worked with anyone else in the office. They’d have known too much. An independent outsider with no connection to the Belderhampton office of Unisco? He’d run the calculations, the possible permeations and decided it workable. With a bit of luck, he’d pull it off.
Hobb had always had that over him. Had the evidence of one bad night some years ago. How he’d gotten it, Carling didn’t know. He just had. He’d placed it in front of him, told him how it was going to be from now on. From that day on, Carling was the property of Lucas Hobb. He’d worked to further the aims of Lucas Hobb. He’d make credits for Lucas Hobb. He’d arrange jobs for him. He’d help him avoid captivity. It was either that or his darkest secrets become exposed, his career ruined and likely end up in jail.
More than once, Carling had considered killing him. Just like he’d told Unisco he had. The bastard had his contingencies and Carling hadn’t been happy to discover that. If the job had failed, Carling would be ruined. Hence his gambit in declaring Hobb dead. Whatever else could be said about the dearly departed Hobb, he was damn good at his job and would remain out of sight. He’d never told Hobb that Unisco thought he was dead. One day, he might need those seeds to sprout. It was easier for a man whom nobody was looking for to avoid detection. If they’d thought Hobb was alive, there would be constant reminders. Internally, Unisco sent out reminders of everyone under a silent hunt every week. Sooner rather than later, Hobb would have been caught if they’d kept on looking for him.
More than once, he’d gone over the contingences. If Hobb was compromised, Carling would be ruined. The client was always sent the evidence to release themselves if Hobb failed to carry out the duty. Upon completion, it was sent back to Hobb who would reset the password and cancel the transfer of data to every media company in the five kingdoms.
He’d guessed the passwords on Hobb’s summoner. All he’d needed was Roper to kill Hobb, have his agents arrest Roper and confiscate the device. Roper was a professional, he’d have brought it in as evidence. Even if he hadn’t, wouldn’t be hard to get to it from the body with time to spare.
He hadn’t banked on the inquisitor showing up. Roper had some history with her, it was in his file. Natalia Larsen, a fucking Cant-Serr half-breed with more heritage than a travelling folk melting pot. She’d been attached to his jurisdiction for too long, he’d never been able to manipulate her out of a position despite subtle efforts. She did the same job as Mallinson but wasn’t quite regarded in the same way. People liked her, no doubt because she was half-way attractive. Yawley and Musgrove had been in touch, told him what had happened, and he’d decided to run. He couldn’t take the chance. Those two were inept faecal matter at the best of times and if Larsen decided to interrogate them, they’d spill in minutes. She’d cracked them before, it wouldn’t take much for her to do it again.
Carling was walking away from the job, in a strange way he hoped that his replacement fired them as fast as they could be urged out the door. When he’d told Nick Roper that newly minted Unisco agents these days weren’t what they used to be, he’d meant it. He’d meant a lot of what he’d said. There weren’t many lies in there. He’d just omitted some of the details, hadn’t thought Roper was going to be too keen to help a traitor.
Hobb was dead. That much he knew. The target wasn’t dead. He’d managed to tamper with Hobb’s rifle, had snuck into the warehouse when he was sleeping and loaded it with blank projectiles, archaic weapon that it was. That had been the sole risk to him in this whole situation. He’d left too much to chance. Hobb could have discovered the fault beforehand. He could have woken up and found him sabotaging the rifle. He’d gotten away with it, had planted the explosives as a back-up plan so even if Roper got to Hobb before he discovered the error, the target could still be wiped out.
Just as he hadn’t banked on the Inquisitor showing up, he hadn’t banked on Roper being the hero before he went for Hobb. He’d paid the travelling folk heavies to go for Roper in hopes that they’d focus his mind on what needed to be done, make him act out of desperation. The smoke bomb had been the one variable he hadn’t considered.
The client would be releasing the information very soon. His time was up. He wouldn’t have any joy a
t the aeroport, the security there would be too tight. He might as well walk back to his office and wait for someone to come and arrest him. Hence, he’d found himself in the back of a speeder heading towards the city limits as morning approached. It wasn’t the best way to travel for a man of his needs, the pilot was not a fantastic one and he was jerking the transport about the place too much for Carling’s liking, a crate had already cracked him in the ribs, leaving pain shooting through him every time he moved.
All of this, it had been for nothing. He lay on the floor amidst the crates, considered what had driven him to this point. As lamentations went, he felt it was entirely justified. He’d had everything until that night years ago. It hadn’t even been his fault but that was the way things had panned out. The accident might not have been something he could be blamed for entirely but the way he’d acted ever since then would drag him to the depths of the hells. He couldn’t face the consequences for his actions. He’d run first, he’d run and run until they found him and then he might as well fight until he died. He still had his blaster, wasn’t running without that. It was the weapon he’d claimed to have killed Lucas Hobb with. The irony there wasn’t lost on him.
Around him, he heard the engines dying down into silence, no longer running as the speeder came to a halt. He didn’t know what it meant, maybe it was a security checkpoint, maybe they’d already gotten the evidence against him and were searching every speeder going out of the city. Carling tried to scrunch himself down even further behind the crates. This speeder had been Hobb’s escape route, he’d arranged for it himself, even if he never had expected to be the one using it.
Ahead, the rear door slid open with an ominous scrape and he braced himself. A hand slid into the waistband of his trousers, drew the weapon. Safety off. If it came down to it, it wouldn’t be him. He heard voices, couldn’t make out what they were saying but it didn’t sound entirely good. Heard someone get up into the cab, heard another person say something to them with laughter. I’ll teach you to laugh, you bastards.
The man that came around the corner was wearing a Unisco jacket, Carling vaguely recognised him before he put the shot through his face and jumped to his feet. He could see the other speaker at the door, he put two blasts into him and watched him go down.
Outside, he heard a sound he hadn’t wanted to hear. The sound of two dozen blaster rifles being readied for use, firing pins locked into position, power packs hot. He was sure he could smell the gas.
“Nigel Carling.” He recognised that bitch Larsen’s voice in an instant. His heart fell somewhere down between his feet. “We know you’re in there. We know everything. Throw down your weapon and surrender now!”
He almost laughed. No chance of that. He wasn’t going to do it. If she wanted a swift resolution, she was going to be disappointed. Didn’t know how quickly she’d mobilised here. Didn’t know how she’d found the exact speeder.
The horrible sense of suspicion ripped through him. Unless…
Once again, it was time for him to curse. She’d broken into Hobb’s summoner. Had to have done. She knew the escape route. She was right, she knew everything. He had nothing left but his life and he had to make a choice on what to do with that. Living in prison with the shame of his actions wasn’t something he wanted to do. Hobb had always had the right idea about being unwilling to be taken alive.
Blaze of glory, it was then. He didn’t want to kill anyone, these people might have been ones he’d worked with for years, but he wouldn’t have to live with that guilt for very much longer. If he came out shooting, they’d shoot back fast enough. It was human nature. Carling stood up, gripped his blaster in steady hands and took off running for the exit. He jumped the step between speeder and ground, already had his weapon up in search of a target. Even if he just took out Larsen, he’d go to his grave satisfied…
He never saw the punch coming as his feet hit the ground, didn’t see the woman in question step out from beyond his field of vision. She wasn’t a big woman, but she’d put plenty of force into her blow and off balance, he crumpled to the road. She kicked out with a heeled shoe, knocked the X7 far out of his grip.
“Nigel Carling,” she said. “You are under arrest for treason and conspiracy to commit several acts of murder. Believe me, you are in a whole mess of trouble right now.”
He didn’t need the reassurance. Didn’t say anything as two of what used to be his men slapped restraining cuffs on him and dragged him towards a speeder. In a way, it felt good on his conscience. He’d bottled up the truth for twenty years, trying not to dwell on it. There’d been nights when he’d lain awaken thinking about it, felt it eating him up inside. Now? He felt nothing but relief it was all over.
She’d been at the centre of the very chaos she’d sought to reap, had been less than impressed with the way that things had panned out. She’d paid out a considerable amount of credits to ensure that her obstacle was dealt with and that deal had not been honoured. More than that, had she not been evacuated, her own life would have been in danger from that blast that had ripped up the stage. To say her ire has been inflamed was an understatement. That ire was being currently directed towards the holographic figure of the man on her desk, a man who was taking her tongue-lashing with almost arrogant indifference.
It wasn’t entirely his fault, she supposed. Yet he had been the one to arrange it, the assassin had come with a highly earned reputation and that he had failed could not realistically be brought back onto her Unisco contact. He’d already stated that things had happened beyond his control. She expected too much from him sometimes.
Or maybe, just maybe, she didn’t expect enough for the credits she was paying to him every month. He’d made the grandiose statements about how he could ensure that Unisco would not be a problem to her going forward. He’d failed utterly to back them up here.
“Mistress,” he said. “As much as my error displeases you, I feel repeated apologies are going to do as much to irk you. Therefore, I’m only going to say it one more time. I’m going to mean it. I apologise wholeheartedly for what happened at the carnival. Or rather what didn’t happen. You don’t have to accept it, but I will bear my part of the responsibility in dignified silence. Cease paying me, terminate me, or let me move onto the next venture, the choice is yours. Screaming at me isn’t going to change what has happened.”
She didn’t know whether to give him a pay rise or take him up on the suggestion of having him terminated with lethal intensity. Either option appealed, it would just be a case of working out which would be more profitable long term. After the lashing she’d given him, most of her employees would have been cowed into submission. They’d have grovelled and begged not just to keep their jobs but to be permitted to keep breathing. His lack of fear was certainly a change of pace.
Common sense won out. Highly placed Unisco insiders did not grow on trees. Killing him and cultivating someone else did not appeal right now. Not with what was coming. It would be an inefficient use of her time. Not when there were so many other important things she could be getting on with.
“I’m just as upset as you,” her contact said, nodding his head sympathetically. “Hobb and Carling. Neither of them knew that they danced to my tune. I gave Hobb the means to control Carling. Through Carling I had the means to keep tabs on Hobb. Who is the greater threat, the assassin or the man who controls him? This was bad fortune, but I don’t see how we can’t get around it. I’ll take care of your problem myself. Least I can do.”
She’d made the right choice. She knew that much. “See that you do. I don’t tolerate repeat failures within my organisation.”
“I’d lose a lot of respect for you if you did.” He didn’t sound impressed. Bollocks went so far. Insubordination was nowhere near as much of a quality she admired.
“Remember who pays for your lifestyle,” she said. “Think on that and remember your place. I do not desire your respect. Only the results that you can bring me.”
He bowed his head, aver
ted his eyes from her. “He will die, Mistress. Be sure of that. If he has been marked for death, then it will come for him in the end. It comes to us all.”
“I’m forgiving you this time,” she said. “If you make it right, we’ll say no more on the matter. My forgiveness is fleeting. If he does not die, somebody else will.”
His lips curled, she expected another droll comment from him that mercifully never came.
“Your will shall be done, Mistress. The prince will die.”
Five Months Later.
“We’ll return to the finale of the Thomas Kettle Invitational in a few minutes where David Wilsin is facing Jay Hopper in a final attempt to gather up the points to attend the Competitive Centenary Calling Challenge Cup on Carcaradis Island in a month. But first, our news headlines. And the top story today is that the death of Matthew Prince four months ago while he holidayed in Vazara has been deemed an accident. Prince, the CEO of Commissariat Enterprises had been an active mover in several business arrangements across Canterage, named second most powerful individual to Claudia Coppinger on a frequent basis. You might remember that Prince was found collapsed in his hotel room, in a death that the coroner later judged to be a result of venom from an indigenous serpent. Prince had narrowly only escaped death a week early when he attended the carnival at Belderhampton, an event marred by an explosion that devastated the VIP area where he, along with many others, had been sequestered. With luck like that, the business world is perhaps grateful that they no longer need to do business with a man that Claudia Coppinger’s right hand woman, Alana Fuller, described as ‘impossible to do business with.’ In the aftermath of his death, Reims moved to swallow up Commissariat Enterprises. In other news…”
