by C. G. Hatton
He didn’t react when he heard the frantic footsteps closing in from several directions. The clerk backed away from the desk. Hil didn’t move as the sounds behind him got closer and he could hear the distinctive rattle of weapons being readied. The clerk ducked and ran.
Someone yelled, “Get down on the floor,” in his ear and hands grabbed him, pulled him out of the scanner and forced him to the ground. His face hit the cold deck and a knee hit the centre of his back.
They’d found the pistol then.
They yelled at him to get his hands on his head and he played the perfect prisoner, lacing his hands across the back of his head and laying quietly. They yelled people to move back and the weight on his back increased as if they thought he might try to make a break for it. They were probably disappointed that he didn’t. He stifled any cocky comments that came to mind and restrained himself from struggling as they frisked him, taking the small hand gun and his two knives. Then they twisted first one hand then the other roughly behind his back and lifted him up.
They kept at least three automatic rifles trained on him and it was almost amusing to give the orbital security a bit of excitement to liven up their day. They were twitching and hyper as hell so it must have been a while since they’d had an incident to deal with.
The people behind him in the queue had scattered and formed a circle of curious onlookers. He stood quietly, a security agent on each side holding his arms locked in a grip twisted behind his back so he shouldn’t have been able to move an inch. It was a good hold, the guy on the left marginally better than the one on the right. If Hil had wanted he could have taken them both down, either incapacitated or dead, in seconds. It wasn’t just the cold barrel of a rifle pushed against his jawline below the ear that stopped him, he wanted to speak to the people who owned the pistol and the bulky guy who was marching across the concourse towards them, flanked by two nervous looking security personnel, was going to make his introduction. More travellers backed off as they approached, torn between fear and curiosity.
The guy stopped just outside of arms’ reach. His bearing and appearance suggested ex-military, his senior years and short greying hair suggested experience, the weary lines around his eyes suggested active service. His nametag said Dixon and he didn’t exhibit any of the nervousness the rest of the security detail with twitching trigger fingers were. Hil decided he liked the old guy. He looked down at Hil with squinting eyes and a slight incredulous disbelief.
“Who,” he said, “the hell are you and what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Hil glanced sideways without moving his head. The clerk had inched back into position, as if he’d never run away, and was watching. He shrank back again as Hil caught his eye.
Hil smiled and looked back at the security chief. “Run the serial number,” he said softly.
The guy’s eyes got even narrower and he nodded almost imperceptibly to his men. It must have been a sign to hustle because they hustled, clamped his wrists in a set of hefty cuffs, and got him below decks and in a holding cell with impressive efficiency. The door was slammed shut and a guard posted.
The cell was dark and bare except for a plain steel table and two matching chairs all welded to the floor. It was about big enough for him to pace three steps in all directions and was designed to be claustrophobic as hell. On some jobs he’d spent days living in ventilation shafts barely wide enough for him to squeeze into. The psychology wasn’t wasted on him but the desired effect was.
“Well I don’t know who you are,” Dixon said, when he came back four long hours later, “but you’ve definitely got someone’s attention. I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me what the hell is going on?”
“If I did, the guys you’ve just been told are coming to pick me up would probably kill you,” Hil said, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth as he looked up at the security chief from his seat.
“How the hell did you know…? Never mind, I get the feeling this is way above my pay grade. I’ve been ordered to hold you until they get here. Anything you need while we’re waiting?”
“No, I’m good,” Hil said. He brought his arms forward and placed the cuffs, open, on the table. “You can have these back.”
“How…?”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”
The safetycuffs were standard issue on Earth to the civilian police and security services. The Earth Empire, ever conscious of its public image, had introduced the first models years ago after a well-known and outspoken political demonstrator had died while restrained. Supposedly escape-proof, they contained bio-triggered release mechanisms – the idea being that if a prisoner was dying, actually about to die, the bio-feedback would release the cuffs allowing practical access for medics, something about public perception and human rights and all that crap that Earth allegedly still cared about. Mendhel had taught them all how to get out of them. It was one of his first tests for new operatives, figuring that if they couldn’t get out of a set of these then they should maybe think about a different line of work.
It had taken Hil a while but he’d done it. The cuffs hadn’t been fooled easily but he’d managed to slow his heart rate drastically enough, without passing out, that they’d just popped open.
Dixon looked at Hil and shook his head in disbelief. “I will be so glad when you’re out of here,” he said. “Yell if you need anything.”
Two hours later the door opened and the old guy was back, this time flanked by two serious looking heavies in military uniforms. Dixon stepped aside and let the two soldiers past.
Hil stood up. He’d used the time to rest, not quite sleeping but not just waiting.
The soldiers took hold of an arm each and roughly forced him face down over the table, definitely military.
“You’re getting transferred,” came a voice from the doorway. Officer Hil reckoned and noted the lieutenant’s insignia as he managed to raise his head slightly.
“Why is this man not restrained?” the new voice said condescendingly to the veteran security chief.
Dixon looked the junior officer up and down, and with a look of sheer disdain grunted, “You want him, you cuff him” then to Hil, “Watch yourself with this asshole.”
And he turned and left.
Hil watched the interplay with interest and noted the subtle shift in the balance of power. He’d always been better than LC at reading people and he filed away the lieutenant’s lack of experience in dealing with civilians and obvious discomfort for future reference.
He twisted one arm free and as the soldier scrabbled to secure him, the officer scowled, and shouted at them, “Get those cuffs on him.”
They’d marched him back up to the dock flanked by the heavily armed soldiers with station security accompanying them the whole way. Hil had the distinct impression they were glad to be rid of him when they handed him over to a group with three more uniforms, who all looked even more pissed to see him.
They searched him again, like they didn’t trust the orbital civilians, and took off the fancy safetycuffs, replacing them with the age-old military favourite, simple blade-proof plasticuffs securing his wrists again, to the front this time. To make a point, they secured a second set around his elbows and pulled his arms tight together. Once they had him safely inside a drop ship, they tied a third set around his ankles. He got the message loud and clear, plasticuffs were impossible to bust without a knife.
He wondered how much they knew or whether the ID on the gun had just triggered some general alarm. He was gambling that the unit sent to get him on Abacus would be the one to pick him up here, somewhere along the line. If he got dumped into a military prison, his plan was goosed. He was relying on someone somewhere identifying him from it, and wanting to talk to him enough not to just kill him outright or hand him over to the bounty hunters for however many millions the price on his head was up to.
He couldn’t tell from these guys, apart from the young lieutenant, what rank they were. So he had
to be patient, and hope the drugs would fool any bio-sensors long enough for him to pull off the scam and convince them he was telling the truth.
The ride didn’t take long so they either docked with a battle cruiser or landed at a base somewhere. The deceleration didn’t feel like it was a drop down planetside so he didn’t think they were on Earth itself.
Once stationary, they pulled him up and freed his ankles so he could walk. His escort sloped off half way across the dock and were replaced by guys who were wearing the same kind of heavy body armour as the troops had on Abacus, and straight away Hil knew his screwball plan had worked, so far anyway.
The young lieutenant stayed with them and as much as the soldiers showed deference to him, there was an edge of tension. Judging from the silence, the guys in armour were talking to each other through implants and it was clear the young officer was not in their loop.
A couple of times heading through the base, Hil was shoved roughly. He tripped twice and knocked his head against a bulkhead, and to make it clear, one of them grabbed him around the neck and squeezed just enough to send his vision spinning off into grey before he was pulled forward again.
The lieutenant didn’t notice or chose not to see. So that was the way it was going to be. He didn’t know how many of the Earth troops Martha and the guild agents had taken down during that firefight, but he’d walked in here holding the weapon of at least one that he knew of.
They made it clear he was in enemy territory and when he was finally pushed into a cell that was smaller than the one on the orbital, it was a relief he didn’t have anything worse than a few bruises to show for their animosity.
They sat him on a bench, tied his ankles again and locked a belt around his waist, securing it to the wall, all the while covered by two armoured soldiers with rifles aimed constantly at his head.
He could see tiny cameras in each corner of the cell and no doubt there were other monitoring devices present. Gravity was slightly lower than Earth normal but it didn’t feel like they were moving, so they were probably on another orbital or a base somewhere. It was rumoured that Earth black-ops had a base on the dark side of the moon, but a no-fly zone was strictly maintained so no one he’d ever met had seen it. And if that’s where he was, which was looking likely, he was the only guild operative ever to have had the pleasure.
When his escort were satisfied with his restraints, they backed off, one of them giving him a parting slap to the side of his head. He kept his expression neutral and his heart rate slow and steady.
They stepped aside, keeping their aim steady and one of them opened the door. The man who walked in looked more like he should have been at a dinner party than on a military base, wearing a black tuxedo that looked like it cost more than Hil made in a year and Hil made a lot.
The guy didn’t say a word but the cell suddenly emptied so it was just him and the slick suit, bow tie unfastened and hanging loose around his neck, eyes hooded as if he’d had to sober up fast. He must have been pulled in from a night out. That didn’t bode well.
The door was closed and the guy stood staring.
Eventually he spoke out loud, his voice clipped and heavily accented, old Earth through and through. “Give me one reason,” he said, “why I shouldn’t have you shot right here and now.”
Chapter 28
“Provoking Earth,” the Man said, “was a dangerous strategy.”
NG swallowed his mouthful of wine and blinked, trying to clear his mind. One by one the candles around the room were flickering and dying, snuffed out by a darkness that was becoming more and more dense and oppressive.
“Hil wasn’t acting on a strategy,” he said. “I pushed him to show initiative out there, alone, and he did – how can I fault him for that?” He paused and took a deep breath. “I really thought he’d go after LC. I can read minds but I’ve never claimed to be able to read the future.”
The Man smiled knowingly. “There is no way you could have anticipated the likelihood of Hilyer initiating a direct confrontation with Earth.”
There wasn’t but he still felt responsible. It was beginning to feel like the whole universe was spinning around a point in space that lay directly between himself and the Man, close enough that he could reach out and touch the centre of all existence.
“Earth and Winter are powerful,” the Man said slowly. “Innovation drives the very essence of man, in all directions and at every scale. We feed the escalation of that innovation and we control how and when man advances. We control the future, NG. We create the future, don’t ever forget that. War is unpredictable. Tension and intrigue – they are our tools. We must take them to the brink, without pushing them over the edge. To allow, to precipitate, outright warfare between the two…” He shook his head. “There is too much at stake.”
•
There was no way to know how much this guy knew. Hil gambled and went straight to the point. “I know where the package is,” he said, “and I know where LC is. And if you kill me now, you’ll never find him.”
“What makes you think we don’t know exactly where he is?”
As much as Hil knew that Elenor’s happy juice was taking care of moderating all his vital signs, he still kept his gaze steady and his breathing slow and easy.
“Like we’ve known,” the man continued, “exactly where you’ve been every step of the way.”
Hil smiled. “No,” he said smoothly. “You have no idea where he is. And if you want that package, I’m the only one who can get it for you.”
The guy had no discernible signs of an implant, and Hil couldn’t tell if he was getting input from somewhere.
“You’re either very bold, or very stupid, delivering yourself to us like this, Mr Hilyer. NG said you were one of his best operatives. If you think you’re good enough to trick us, you need to be better than good. We don’t lose well.”
At the mention of NG, Hil felt his resolve slip. He didn’t show it.
“It’s no trick,” he said. “I’m offering to lead you right to him, and the package and the corporation that sent us to steal it, all delivered up in one go.”
“And why should we believe you’d do that? The profile NG gave us on you doesn’t suggest to us that you’d betray your guild.”
The guy was trying to goad him into a reaction so screw it, Hil gave them one.
“I don’t owe the guild anything,” he said bitterly. “They tossed me out. Was it NG who told you I’d be on Abacus? I knew someone at the guild was selling me out. I want to make a deal. I give you everything you want and I walk away. That’s it.”
“You want us to believe that you’d give up a friend to save yourself? That’s not very honourable.”
Hil laughed. “I’m a thief. It’s not a very honourable profession. I want my life back.”
He had absolute faith that Elenor’s drugs would show them he was telling the truth. But the way he felt right then, it wasn’t far off. He’d known LC could never go back to the guild. He knew Martha, Kase and Genoa had betrayed him to Zang and had strongly suspected that others at the guild were in on it too, but to hear NG’s name there in that context had been galling. He wanted to think this guy in the slick suit was fast talking to throw him but why would they even know NG’s name? The Earth forces had found him on Abacus. If it had been NG that had given him to them, then he was more screwed than he’d thought. So what the hell?
“Kill me and you never find him,” he said again. “Let me go, follow me to the corporation and I’ll make sure LC is there with the package.”
“Look at yourself, Mr Hilyer. You’re not in a good bargaining position. Tell us where he is and we’ll take it from there.”
“You’ll never get anywhere near LC.”
The man paused, motionless, still no emotion on his face. He was either weighing up Hil’s offer or listening to someone else weigh up the options.
“And you will?”
He had them. “LC trusts me,” he said. “I know which facility the corpo
ration wants to use for the meet. Those bastards set us up. I can get LC and the package and take them there. You follow and everyone will be there in one place.”
“And what about you?”
“I want ten million and all hits on me called off.”
“You expect us to let you walk away?”
“It’s the only way you get the package.”
The man was quiet again, his gaze intense and unwavering. “We can arrange that,” he had said finally. “You give us Mr Anderton and the package. Then what?”
“I can take care of myself,” Hil had said. “Just make sure your clean up crews know to leave me alone.”
As if that was ever going to happen. He was past caring. The room shook with another blast.
The old man was shouting, thumping a fist on the table in front of Hil’s face. “How dare you bring this down onto us. Who the hell do you think you are?” he yelled. “No one – no one deals with us like this.”
There was another explosion that sounded a lot closer. He could hear Anya as well, shouting now at the old man, at Martha and Kase and him.
The old man was so close that Hil could feel his breath. “Where is my package?” the man hissed, each word forced through lips that were parched and withered. His eyes were old, far older than he looked from a distance.
The guy in the suit put a hand on the old man’s shoulder, “Troops are landing, sir. We need to leave.”
“My package!” the man screamed.
A bomb-burst somewhere in the complex made the room shudder. The lights flickered.
The old man’s eyes narrowed and he stood back, glaring. “Kill him.”
Hil felt like he was in the eye of a storm, still and deceptively tranquil. The cold metal of a gun barrel pushed against his neck, the hand still clamping him to the table. “Anya,” he said softly.
