by James Cox
“Go home,” said the shadow, “Enjoy the rest of your evening. Things will be better soon. Oh. You didn't see me and this never happened.”
The boy and girl nodded and vanished quickly. The shadow turned to Adamson.
“Well, Francis. Still at your games, I see. Don't you think it's time to grow up?”
***
Micah stood rock-still as recognition slowly crept across Adamson's face.
“Stone!”
“You remember,” said Micah, “I do believe I'm flattered.”
By no small effort Adamson levered himself to his feet.
“You sonofawhore! I'll...”
“You will shut your mouth.” The ice in Micah's voice silenced Adamson. “And you will listen with both ears, meat. Know this, Francis. The only reason you,” Micah gestured at the other two, “and your trash are still alive is because I want you alive. When I was in Hell's Sewer I learned two hundred thirty-seven ways to kill a man. Since then I've learned more than your feeble brain can comprehend.”
Adamson hissed as he tried to straighten further. Behind Micah Michaels tensed for a jump.
“Don't, Lom,” said Micah without looking, “Unless you're feeling stupider than usual. Fred's out cold and he'll stay that way. The two of you aren't because you still have the brains to listen to me.”
Michaels rushed. Without looking Micah elbowed hard. Michaels screamed at the nerves Micah found, then gurgled to relative silence as Micah struck a few more. Another light tap had the man mewling on the ground at Micah's feet, total agony ripping through his body but voice too paralyzed to scream it.
“So what do you want, prollie?” Adamson spat the word in an attempt to distract Micah.
“It's very simple,” said Micah, not flustered at all, “First of all your games stop. This night, this minute, this second. Second, you stop harassing these fine League citizens. You patrol your beat and you leave everybody you meet alone. Whether they deserve it or not, you let them be. No fun, no games, nothing. Finally, you will stop stealing, pardon, 'confiscating' other people's property just because you have a club and badge and they don't.”
“Absolutely,” said Adamson acidly, “I got a better plan. I say we beat the feces out of you again and see if you still like equatorial! Maybe you can take me but you can't take the whole force!”
“You might be right,” said Micah, “or not, but either way they won't be here for a long time. If you look closely you'll find your transponder doesn't work.”
Adamson checked. A cold finger of fear crept down his spine as he verified Micah's words.
“Now,” continued Micah, “Lest you think me unreasonable I have an offer for you. In return for doing what I said.”
“Yeah?”
“Absolutely, Francis. I'll let you all live.”
“Heh,” coughed Adamson, “That's so mighty nice of you, prollie.”
“More so than you know, meat!” Micah let all emotion drain from his voice. “Have you heard what happens when you mix pandream and emerald ecstasy? I'm told the high is second to none. Unfortunately it's also addictive, I'm told. So much so that if you take more than one or two doses, then try to stop, your nerves start to deteriorate. Without regular doses, I'm told, you die slowly, painfully and unstoppably.”
Adamson spat at Micah. “You think we're that stupid, prollie? Even Fred has more sense than that.”
“For truth, Francis?” Micah reached into his pocket.
All of the arrogance drained from Adamson's body as it filled with cold, hard terror.
“I do believe you confiscated this once,” said Micah, tossing a familiar necklace at Adamson's feet, “And you traded it for... What was it? Pandream?”
“You didn't,” hissed Adamson, “You prollie meat bastard you didn't!”
“Are you telling me or asking me? Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. You'll all be finding out soon, I suppose.”
Micah let Adamson sweat.
“Fine, prollie. What do you want?”
“Why, Francis, I've already told you. Just remember this: all it takes is one word to the right highcarder, one who doesn't like you or your father, and you'll be in rehab. Depending on who I tell you might also be stripped of your Status and given a stipe somewhere. How many drugs will that buy, Francis?”
Adamson tried for words but found none.
“One last thing, Francis. Remember this. You cannot touch me. If you try, you won't even find me. If you step one millimeter past the lines I've set... I won't kill you. You will live. You will live and every day you will regret with everything you are that you crossed me. Do you understand?”
Adamson nodded numbly. Micah faded back into the darkness. It took Adamson and Michaels a long, long time to find the courage to drag Karris back to the hover.
***
A short distance away Micah waited until Adamson and Michaels finished and drove away. He wanted to bend over and vomit but held himself steady. What he'd done sickened him. That it felt good sickened him more.
After a while Micah started back to his hotel. He stopped at a public 'fresher to destroy and flush the three self-injecting hypos he recovered from Adamson and the others. Micah doubted they'd think to find them and analyze them but he wanted to cover even the low probabilities. He hadn't tainted the pandream with em-ex or anything else.
***
Micah slept late the next day. Collins wouldn't be off-duty until lunch and Micah had plans for the afternoon, so he lazed about a shower and did some work on the terminal. Though not Ferrel, Micah had skill enough for what he needed.
Collins was just as glad to see Micah again and, after a bit of convincing, willing to let Micah buy his lunch.
“Yeah,” reminisced Collins, “Pete transferred out last year. He got the family feeling and a spot opened up near his home system. But I'll write to him, plus-plus. Rumor told us... Quite a few things. A good Marine like you doesn't just disappear and fade away but that's exactly what you did. Maybe Protocol is more than just protocol, eh?”
Micah shrugged and Collins nodded.
“Polar, my friend. We'll slosh down a few for old times and new, eh?”
“Cryo by me,” grinned Micah.
“But that's not why we're talking. At least not the only why.”
“I wanted to thank you for helping my folks,” said Micah, “In advance.”
Collins grinned extra-wide at this. “Negative problem, brother. As long as I'm here I've got your six. If I leave I guarantee I'll find a dozen others to replace me. Anything else?”
“One thing. You remember what got me in the soggy forces here in the first place?”
“Double-plus. Kinda makes me want to go break some soggy skulls open.”
“Well, I gave some of the local prettyboys a taste of education last night. If you could, well, keep an ear toward the low side of the 'port. Maybe make sure my teaching doesn't fade with time?”
Collins bit down on his grin to keep his eyes dry.
“Heaven bless you, Micah Stone, you sure do know how to make an old jarhat smile!”
Collins raised his glass.
“Here's to the League, here's to the Corps.”
“Pizzle their enemies that ain't no more!!”
Slammit down!
***
Donald Adamson contemplated his day's appointments. With his duties at the 'port delegated to an assistant, a competent one, he could concentrate on his position on the Quorum. By careful use of Status, position and power he'd maneuvered himself to the Board, then the Council, now the Quorum and soon beyond. After he consolidated a good power base it would be time to move upward again. Then, by the stars, he'd set his sights high! His Status increased regularly now but he treasured the perks. Favors and benefits he could trade to others to pave his way even higher.
Two-thirty. As if on cue his door beeped and opened to admit Tim McIntire, Dean de Gau and Perry Watkins. After greetings and beverages de Gau put aside his datacaster without activating it.<
br />
“Gentlemen,” started Adamson, “As to our main business our investments are doing well. With the next round of budget at the 'port we should be able to increase our intrinsic labor by twelve percent. You can extrapolate what that will net us.”
The others made glad noises. Twelve percent! The best part: they'd not be caught! Only those above them or with more aggregate Status even stood a chance. De Gau had them covered, though. The ones not bribable were blackmailed and the others were too incompetent to act effectively. They took the time to discuss contingencies before moving on to other business.
A noise in the outer office irritated Adamson. His secretary, by request a shapely stipe with minimal mental skills, knew better than to disturb his meetings. He was ready to dress her down when the door opened and a stranger walked in.
“Good afternoon, Donald. I see you've come up in the world. This is not a bad thing since I have several things you need to do.”
“Just who are you,” demanded Adamson, “Speak now before I have you in chains! This is a private meeting and you have no business here!”
“Oh, but I do. You still don't recognize me? I suppose I should be insulted but no matter."
Adamson's face darkened.
“My name is Micah Stone. At one time, Donald, I was your most productive worker. Until your son assaulted me and tried to rape a dear friend of mine.”
Adamson's eyes widened but he lost no bluster. “Stone. Yes, I remember you. You escaped justice twice. Twice! You should be dead on the equator now; by hades I'll see you there before this day is finished!” He reached for the 'comm.
“I wouldn't do that,” said Micah mildly, “It won't work and you might just upset me.”
Adamson pressed a button. Then again, then harder. The others began to fidget uneasily. Adamson tossed down the 'comm.
“No matter. I can have a Constable here within minutes.”
Adamson tried to step around Micah. Micah two-fingered a particular nerve, exactingly and hard. Adamson gasped and stepped back.
“Also a bad idea,” said Micah, “I learned how to fight and how to kill in the hardest training this planet has to offer. Then I learned more, as your son discovered.”
Adamson paled, then fury rose within him.
“If you've harmed Francis...”
Micah laughed. “Threats, Donald? I almost wish you'd try! I can kill you slowly, quickly, efficiently, or painfully. Or I can make you beg me to do it! Go ahead! Try me!” Micah stabbed another nerve and walked Adamson backward until he flopped into his chair.
“Donald, who is this,” asked one of the others.
“A criminal,” said Adamson, “A lowcard stape with delusions of ability! Stone, you may have mishandled my son but I do not bluff! If he is upset you will hang! If he's harmed you'll hang slowly! Once the Constables know you're here they will have you in irons and we'll all see justice done!”
“Justice,” asked Micah, “Justice. How interesting that you use that word. Justice. Shall I tell you about it?”
Adamson started to speak but Micah stopped him by slamming a datacube on his desk.
“Let me tell you about justice! You gentlemen,” Here Micah faced the others as well, “should fear justice! You should tremble at the mention of it! You should quiver in your hearts to be in the same room where it is mentioned!
“Adamson.” Micah faced the man. “You are embezzling government and commercial resources, services, labor and funds to pad your own pockets. You are using them for your own projects and profit. You have cajoled, blackmailed, extorted and bribed your way into more Status than your entire family tree should hold!
“De Gau.” Micah turned. “Your 'port customs agents are very, very lenient toward your friends and much less tolerant toward those you dislike. That may be minor but the contraband you are importing and exporting is not. I know for truth the Commonwealth does not approve the export of Flame and several other chemicals. Nor chemicals used to clear blood toxins. As to what you're importing, well, more than just the Commonwealth counts that a crime.
“McIntire.” Micah faced the man contemptuously. “You are almost competent enough to be juvenile! Do you actually believe that restricting yourself to skimming interest only from lowcarders makes you invisible? Or that diverting stipe money through an external 'port account can't be traced?
“Watkins. Double-charging in your company stores is almost legal but neglecting the extra tax is not. Your company also fails to allocate sufficient budget toward benefits for your miners. That, along with the obscene mortality among them, suggests you are working them to death to avoid paying them. I know they're just prollies and stipes but all of that non-allocated benefit funding is shorting the Commonwealth of quite a few taxes. How happy would they be if they found out, eh?”
Micah leaned back and examined each man in turn. Their expressions ranged from deathly pale to sickly green.
“All of my information,” continued Micah, “and the evidence to support it is there. And on copies, of course. The only real question is what to do with it?”
Micah helped himself to a drink.
“I could send it to the Commonwealth.” Micah visibly considered this. “That would cause you together and individually a great deal of trouble. Still, you limit yourselves to lowcarders so you could probably get out of it.
“On the other hand, each of you has enemies. Powerful enemies, some of whom have Status and authority enough to bar you all. To null all your Status and bar you for life. And then let the Commonwealth have its way with you.”
Micah met each man's gaze until the other dropped it.
“Think about it, gentlemen. Status Zero, no perks, no privileges. Perhaps even a nice equatorial stipe to end your days.” Micah let a touch of cruelty into his smile. “Consider it, gentlemen. To spend the rest of your days stripped of all wealth and power, the sport of those you despise and use. Better still, coughing your life out in bloody spurts until you rot painfully away from the inside. I've seen that and it's not pretty.”
The expressions around Micah turned ashen grey.
“There is, however, an alternative.” Micah let his words sink in. “I might, with sufficient motivation, be persuaded not to reveal this information. If the offer is adequate.”
“You rutting bastard...” started Adamson.
“Quiet, Don.” This from de Gau, “Stone, is it? Name your price.”
“My price, gentlemen, is quite simple. You have Status. You have power. You can, in a small way, influence the direction in which the Commonwealth travels. Before long your influence will grow, provided none of you makes a mistake. My price is this.” Micah again fixed each man with a hard gaze. “From this day forward you will, each of you, work with all your effort and diligence to dismantle and destroy the Status system. You will cease abusing those you deem beneath you. You will begin a program of treating them with no less dignity and respect than you yourselves desire. And you will work to spread this throughout the Commonwealth.”
Several of the men showed anger at this.
“You will do this for more reasons than mine,” continued Micah, “Someday, eventually, even without my disclosure all of your crimes will come to light. One or all of you will step in error and your enemies will have you by your short assets. No secret stays that way forever, gentlemen. It is inevitable. You will be discovered and your Status will be nulled.” Micah paused. “Your only hope of surviving with anything you hold dear is to make certain that the loss of Status means less than the paper on which it is written.”
Defeated but ignorant of it, Adamson played his trump.
“The League will not permit this, Stone. They have laws! I will yet see you face their justice!”
“The League,” repeated Micah, “The League? You simple fool I am the League! Since I left this sorry, soggy excuse for a world I have seen and known things that would pop your tiny skulls to shards! I've made and lost fortunes that would shrivel your livers with envy! I have
gone to worlds where your sun is not even a speck and I have changed the course of history there! I have gone through and survived more hells than all of your highcarders could conceive existing. Since I stepped off this world I have seen horizons and depths so vast your minuscule minds do not have the capacity to dream them! Look to the League! You'll find me staring back at you!” Micah let his voice go silky soft. “If you don't believe me, try it. Step into my world and see what happens!”
Seeing truth but not admitting defeat, Adamson dropped his gaze.
“I'll be leaving you now,” said Micah, “But I'll give you one last thought. You may look for me but you won't find me. You cannot touch me and you cannot harm me. Try and you will fail. I, however, need not even be here to totally ruin each of you. You will never know where I am or what I plan. I, however, can and will discover every single thing you do and every single thing you try.” Micah made a mocking bow. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. I believe you have work to do.”
***
Micah left the building feeling considerably better than he did the night before. Exactly what the men could accomplish Micah didn't know but he felt they would at least try. No doubt they'd make some progress, much more than nothing at all. After a quick change of face Micah found the nearest datamart and settled in for some serious work.
Quorum security was tight but Micah had ample tools to deal with it. He set in place the structure necessary to monitor Adamson and his cronies along with the tools necessary to do so from offplanet. By the time Micah got the information it would be just over a week stale but that left him ample room to work. With nothing pressing left to do Micah burned the 'port net and searched its work schedules. When he found the one he wanted he memorized it for the next few days, logged out and powered down.
Micah wandered through the 'port crowds evaluating them and noting persistent concerns. Though still early for his treatment of Francis Adamson and his cronies to show Micah still felt tension and concern. Overall, he decided, things hadn't changed much since he left.
***
Jennifer Harling walked the not-short distance to her billet cautiously. She kept her eyes sharp, alert to all around her. She considered a trip to the 'port, she felt the need sharply, yet Constable Adamson's latest depredations still weighed heavily on her mind. She opted to go straight and quickly home. Rosie Fernwell, a lady with a billet in Jen's complex, had been accosted, robbed and raped by Adamson and his friends. She went so far as to lodge a complaint at the local Constabulary but only received a heavy fine for it.
