by R S Penney
Well, the new intelligence officer was certainly a breath of fresh air. Jack was just pleased to be in the presence of someone who still felt that Leo was a solvable problem. After ten minutes of chatting with her on the way to Jena's office, he had come to realize that Gabrina Valtez had a way of putting you at ease.
Of course, it was a little annoying to be dismissed so curtly, but he had gotten used to it. Life as a young Justice Keeper was very much like every Thanksgiving dinner he'd ever experienced: sure you were technically part of the family, but when certain topics came up, you'd be shooed away so the adults could talk.
He caught sight of Ben coming around a corner. The man was striding down the hallway with his head down, ready to barrel through anyone in his path. “Praise to the Holy Companion,” he said when he noticed Jack. “I was looking for you.”
Crossing his arms, Jack looked up at his friend. “Where have you been?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “You missed one hell of a spectacle. Things have gotten pretty crazy around here.”
Ben wrinkled his nose, then turned his head to stare at the wall. “You don't know the half of it,” he muttered. “We need to talk. I'm sure anything you have to tell me will seem tame compared to what I've got.”
“What's wrong?”
Ben stepped closer.
He kept his head down and spoke in a voice so soft it was barely audible. “Not here,” he insisted. “You'll probably think I'm crazy, but I'd rather have this conversation somewhere private.”
“Okay.”
They made their way through a series of nearly identical corridors to a conference room not far from Jena's office. Jack could already feel the tension churning in his gut. After everything that had happened in the past week, the last thing he needed was some new catastrophe. It was starting to feel as though the whole damn galaxy was falling apart.
A long, narrow table took up most of the space in the conference room, and beyond that, slanted windows looked out on a vast expanse of stars. He caught sight of a shuttle zipping by before it jumped to warp.
Ben approached the table, keeping his back turned. He lifted a small, cone-shaped device and pressed a button. “There,” he said. “That ought to disable the cameras for a few minutes.”
“I don't like where this is going.”
The other man set his hands upon the table, hunching over as though exhaustion threatened to knock him off his feet. “I haven't had a good night's sleep in days,” he said. “I was attacked by a Justice Keeper.”
Elation surged through Jack. Proof! They finally had proof! Maybe people would listen when he and Jena voiced their suspicions of traitors among the Justice Keepers. Those good feelings died before he could so much as twitch, swallowed up in a wave of ice-cold dread.
Now that he had proof, the reality of the situation became clear. Could he trust any of his superiors? His apprehension was echoed by Summer's growing unease. Nassai were supposed to be incorruptible. The idea that one of her own people would knowingly aide a fallen Keeper would not sit well with her. “Are you sure it was a Keeper?”
Ben glanced over his shoulder so that Jack saw him in profile. His face was haggard. “I'm sure,” he barked. “I emptied half my clip trying to shoot her, and she just blurred out of the way.”
Closing his eyes, Jack took a deep breath. “We've come up against enemies who possess symbionts before,” he said. “This woman you fought might not actually be a Justice Keeper.”
Ben sighed.
Jack leaned against the wall with arms folded, shaking his head. “We have to tell Jena,” he said. “If anyone will know how to deal with this, it's her. She's been watching Slade for months.”
When Ben turned, the dark circles beneath his eyes were noticeably visible in the bright light of this room. “Can we trust Jena?” he asked. “For all we know, she could be in on it.”
“She's not.”
“How can you be sure?”
That left him with a lump of ice in his chest. Could Jena have been playing him this whole time? He didn't know her that well. Probing Summer for her thoughts produced a strong negative reaction. Clearly she was pro-Jena. “Just a feeling,” Jack admitted. “But I've seen her take Slade down a peg or two.”
Ben sat on the edge of the table, folding hands in his lap. He let his head hang, then sighed again. “Are we sure Slade's the problem?” he asked. “Your dislike of him aside, has he done anything wrong?”
“He defends Breslan.”
“Right. But you don't have anything substantive on Breslan,” Ben shot back. “At best, you can say that Breslan is incompetent.”
Jack strolled around the table with fists balled at his sides, pausing at the window. The stars were twinkling, and he thought he could see a tiny streak that might have been a shuttle. “The only way to win,” he began, “is to refuse to play their game. I am not willing to invent justifications for why men who commit an obvious dereliction of duty are actually saints.”
He turned, glancing over his shoulder with a tight frown. “Nor am I willing to start distrusting people who have done nothing wrong,” he added. “We talk to Jena. That's the best option we have right now.”
Ben shut his eyes tight, exhaling. His shoulders slumped as though someone had strapped a boulder to his back. “Fine,” he said. “We'll tell her. I just hope it doesn't blow up in our faces.”
Me too, Jack thought. Me too.
Chapter 17
Wind gusted through the treetops, causing leaves to flutter and fall from branches. They landed on a wide asphalt path that stretched through a small patch of forest where sunlight streamed through in silver rays.
Anna pressed her lips together, turning her head to survey her surroundings. She blinked once or twice. Nice place, she thought. Not the kind of setting you'd expect to find a criminal.
She wore a pair of old gray pants and a matching t-shirt, her red-blonde hair done up in its customary ponytail. It could be worse, she noted. I could have to infiltrate yet another dingy warehouse.
Not far ahead, a small cart drove up the path toward a clearing in the distance, its engine giving off a soft whirring noise. The driverless contraption had come from the secondary landing pad where Anna's ship was currently docked.
She had a ship now.
Well, not really. The ship was an old cargo-hauler the Keepers had requisitioned for missions such as this. When you planned on procuring illegal weapons, it was generally a good idea to appear able to transport them.
The woods gave way to an open field where small blocky buildings stood on either side of the path. These were temporary structures, erected quickly to serve a purpose and easily disassembled.
In the distance, she saw another landing pad where a cargo-hauler sat with its bay doors open while carts brought supply crates inside. It was a small, fat ship with large curving wings.
A man in dark pants and a windbreaker stood in the street with hands on his hips, surveying the whole thing. “Useless,” he said, shaking his head. “You'd think automated carts could go faster.”
He turned at the sound of her approach.
The man was pale with a thin, hollow-cheeked face and red hair that he'd parted to the side. “Oh it's you,” he said. “The woman who made an impromptu landing on my secondary pad. I take it you're here to pick up cargo.”
Anna smiled, closing her eyes tight. She nodded to the man. “Yeah, I was told that I could pick up a batch of the new X-7 microchips,” she said. “I head out toward Petross Station tomorrow.”
“How many do you need?”
“A couple hundred.”
The man crossed his arms and backed away from her with his head down. “I trust you filled out the right requisition forms,” he muttered. “I can't just release that many chips to anyone.”
Chewing on her lip, Anna winced. She shook her head and grunted her displeasure. “Why do I need to fill out forms?” she asked. “These things can be fabricated in half an hour once you have the specs.”
“So go home and fabricate them yourself!”
This wasn't working. Well, to be perfectly honest, it was working – her goal was to appear a little clueless – but now she'd have to convince him to hear her out. “Maybe we should speak privately.”
He turned quickly and stormed off toward one of the box-like buildings with a growl. “Follow me,” he said. “You get exactly five minutes of my time, and then I want you gone.”
Once inside, she found metal shelves with crates made out of bioplastics lining every one. The young man stalked over, pulled the nearest one off the shelf and set it down on the floor.
He pulled off the lid to reveal hundreds of little microchips in white biodegradable wrappers. “The X7s are a new processor for the latest generation of multi-tool,” he said. “Most people can fabricate them in their own homes, but ships on deep-space missions lack the necessary raw materials. So we build them, and we ship them.
“However, these units are held on reserve for officers serving in the space-corps. Now, are you going to present me with the proper requisition forms, or are you going to stop wasting my time?”
Anna frowned down at the floor, her brow furrowing. “Something I can't wrap my head around,” she said, backing away from the crate. “If you hate this job so much, why are you doing it?”
The man regarded her with a tight-lipped frown, blinking at the ignorance in her question. “I love logistics,” he replied. “It's foolish cargo haulers who don't know how to follow procedures that I hate.”
Crossing her arms, Anna smiled down at herself. “Well, I'm not really here to pick up microchips,” she said, shaking her head. “I was just hoping to get a moment alone with you so I can discuss my real purpose.”
The man kept his expression smooth, arching a thin red eyebrow. “Hoping for a bit of late-night company, are we?” he asked. “You'd have an easier time if you just came out and said it.”
“I want guns.”
“Guns?”
“Yes.”
“What makes you think I've got guns?” He watched her with a guarded expression. “I work at a miserable little supply depot that ships microchips.”
Pink-cheeked, Anna closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and tried to maintain her composure. “I've heard a few rumors,” she explained. “A few indiscreet words from some pilots out on the Fringe.”
The man bared his teeth, turning his head to snarl at the wall. A soft hiss filled the air. “Idiots,” he muttered. “Now what would a little girl like you want with a cache of military-grade weapons?”
The thrill of victory surged through her with such intensity, her Nassai tried to offer calming emotions to keep her balanced. It was important that she not look too eager. So it seemed the smugglers that Harlan had brought in had been telling the truth when they named this depot as one of their suppliers. “I plan to take them to Terra Prime,” she said. “I've got a buyer there.”
“What good is Earth currency to you?”
“Not Earth currency!” she insisted with enough irritation in her voice to make him flinch and back up against a shelf. It really was a stupid question. “Some terrans have come across a bit of Overseer tech, and they can't make it work. They're willing to part with it in exchange for weapons they can actually use.”
The man began to pace through the narrow space between the shelves and the crate that he had left on the floor, scowling at the walls. “I might know someone who can give you what you need.”
“Is that so?”
“But the question is what's in it for me?”
That was a very good question, one that – she regretted to say – she couldn't answer off the top of her head. Her people had stopped using money centuries ago. It was not a decision ratified by any governing body. Rather, constant improvements in technology made goods available in such abundance that paying for them became unnecessary. The supply of any given commodity was high enough that demand was small to nonexistent.
Many people who had lived in that time had anticipated an end to crime within a generation or two. Sadly, those predictions had been overly optimistic. Crime rates had dropped, but in some ways, criminals just became more subtle. Weapons dealers out here on the Fringe made it their business to supply colony worlds with things they could use against raiders who came across the Antauran border. It was a matter of pride for them. The people of the Fringe worlds would defend their homes even if it meant dragging Leyria into a war with the Antaurans. Anna wasn't entirely sure how she felt about that. She sympathized, of course, but war would mean a lot of dead bodies.
If she couldn't pay this man, she would have to offer him something else to make the transaction worth his while. “All right,” she said with a curt nod. “When I make the trade, I'll give you a sample of the Overseer tech and all the data I can find on it.”
He smiled up at the ceiling, shutting his eyes and shaking his head. “I don't want a sample of Overseer tech either,” he muttered. “No, if you want my help, you will have to make the pot a little sweeter.”
“What do you want then?”
“You.”
Anna felt her face heat up. “All right,” she whispered. “You want me? I'll give you a night you'll remember to your dying day.”
“Now that's more like it.”
“After the guns are in my possession,” she insisted. Of course, she had no intention of going through with her end of the bargain. By that point, this asshole would be rotting in a prison cell. “Do we have a deal?”
He leaned against the shelf with arms folded, appraising her in a way that made her skin crawl. “Yes, we have a deal,” he said. “But I'm just the broker. My friend will likely want some of that Overseer tech.”
She turned and left the small building, stepping into the narrow street where several automated carts were driving toward the ship parked on the landing pad. “How will I get in touch with you?” she asked.
A silhouette approached from behind, visible to her mind's eye. She was careful not to let him get too close. “You won't,” he said. “I will get in touch with you if and when I have something to tell you.”
“And how will I know you?”
He stood there with his head turned, no doubt frowning at the ground. There were some Keepers who could extrapolate facial expressions from a silhouette, but she wasn't one of them. “You can call me Karl,” he said. “When I contact you, it will be using that name. Now, let's get you on your way.”
She provided him with fake contact information that would forward his messages to her multi-tool, then set off on a leisurely walk back to her ship. The whole time, she kept scanning the forest with her Nassai's spatial awareness, searching for any trap that might be sprung on her. Luckily, there were none to be found.
When she finally made it back to the secondary landing pad, she found her ship – a small, box-like cargo-hauler that flew like the brick it was – sitting undisturbed upon the concrete.
A quick check of the ship's sensor data and a scan with her multi-tool revealed that no one had tampered with any of her instruments. That was always a concern in places like this. Cargo-haulers didn't have the same security measures as Justice Keeper shuttles; a little extra care went a long way, but even with all the precautions, she was in the air in less than five minutes.
Now all she had to do was wait for Karl to make contact.
The crime lab in the bowels of the RCMP's office was a room with white tiles on the walls and bright lights that shone down on long metal tables. One of those tables supported a dead man's corpse. The smell of harsh chemicals was hard to ignore.
Jack stepped through the door in jeans and a black trenchcoat that fell halfway to his knees. “Dr. Bhardwaj?” he called out, scanning the room. “I'm Agent Hunter with the Justice Keepers.”
A man in a white lab coat stood facing the back wall. By the sudden shiver that went through him, it was clear he had been startled. “Yes…Detective Carlson told me you'd be coming.”
&nbs
p; He spun around.
Pradeep Bhardwaj was a slim fellow with olive skin and dark hair that he wore cut short. A small birthmark just above his right eye was his most distinguishing feature. “He said you had some questions.”
Biting his lip, Jack shut his eyes tight. He nodded slowly. “I wanted to discuss the party,” he said, moving into the room. “I'm told you've completed an autopsy on the guard who was killed.”
The dead man was lying face-down on the table with a blanket pulled up to his hips. His back was marked by a hole about the size of a golf ball with dried blood spread out in a corona around the wound.
Dr. Bhardwaj frowned, glancing over his shoulder at the corpse. “Yes, we do,” he said. “But as you know, we've been instructed not to share our findings with the Justice Keepers.”
Oh, Jack knew all about that! The prime minister's recent proclamation that all law-enforcement agencies would withhold information from the Justice Keepers had caused him all sorts of grief.
Stupid, reactionary politicians! If there was ever a better example of the 'busy hands fallacy,” he couldn't imagine it. Even if Keepers had been involved in getting Leo through the door, it was foolish to think that the entire organization was culpable. They'd be better off pooling their resources, but giving Leyrians the boot was doing something, and it was better to be proactive than to look helpless during a crisis. “Detective Carlson said you'd speak with me,” Jack replied in the mildest tones he could manage.
Pradeep Bhardwaj scowled, bowing his head to stare down at the floor. He let out a grunt. “Yes, I will,” he said. “But only at Detective Carlson's request. I used to work with him some years back.”
Jack found himself looking at the corpse and noted his lack of queasiness when he inspected the wound. After several years, he'd seen his share of dead bodies, and though the sight still brought a flare of rage to his chest, he no longer felt the urge to empty his stomach every time.
“This man's name was Victor Hanson,” Bhardwaj said. “His wounds are consistent with a high-velocity round from a Leyrian X-7 pistol. Examination of the point of entry reveals Kevlar fibres embedded in the man's skin, suggesting that the culprit used a high-impact setting.”
