Chapter Thirteen
Calling Telonius IV a wretched husk of a world would have been giving it far too much credit. Like so many of the industrialized planets on the edges of Convectorate space, its once breathable atmosphere had been transformed into a noxious mix of detroxin, methane, sulfur, and about a dozen other compounds capable of reducing the lungs of most sentient races into blackened lumps in short order. A massive cache of valuable minerals still lurked beneath the planet’s surface, however, and so the contractor that had long-ago claimed it—Pursallies Industries, if Minister Drathir recalled correctly—had been forced to invest in a massive bio-shielding grid to protect the inhabited areas and keep their workers alive. Such technology wasn’t cheap, and Drathir had always wondered why the contractors hadn’t simply developed cleaner harvesting techniques before they’d started mining in the first place. It would have saved them a few trillion credits in the long run.
But then, the private sector was rarely known for its long-term thinking in the face of short-term profits, especially when the corporation in question wasn’t operated by a Tarreen. It was a quirk of alien psychology Drathir had long attributed to their abbreviated lifespans, and it was one of many reasons his people were superior administrators, rulers, and virtually everything else.
Today, however, corporate negligence would probably work to their advantage. The Widow’s agent on the ground, Ralon Sisk, wouldn’t have to deal with any local authorities, bureaucracies, or any other annoying entanglements. Whether the Mire base was actually here or not, of course, was an entirely different question.
“This is shaping up to be an impressive waste of time and resources,” Drathir grumbled as he stared down at the various reports scrolling across the terminal in front of him. “I find it highly unlikely that the Mire maintains a significant presence here. It’s too far off any of the major shipping corridors and too close to our garrison on Hivarian.”
“So you have said,” the Widow replied calmly, her body perfectly still as she stood in the center of the room with her eyes closed. It was a pose Drathir had seen a lot of over the past few days, and it always made him wonder which of her servants she was speaking with. It also made him continually thankful that he was still wearing the psionic disruptor around his neck.
“We can give him another hour, but then we need to move on,” he told her. “We still have four other likely targets to check.”
“That won’t be necessary, Minister. Agent Sisk has just confirmed the Mire’s presence.”
Drathir’s glowing eyes narrowed. “May I ask how he came to that conclusion?”
A faint but unmistakably satisfied smile pulled at her lips. “Few secrets escape my people, Minister.”
“So you have said,” he sneered, “but I want specifics.”
“There are thousands of individuals on that colony, and while the vast majority of them know nothing about the Mire’s presence, all it takes is one who does. Agent Sisk caught mention of the base in someone’s mind and then traced the memories to their source. He’s on his way to intercept the targets now.”
A thick knot twisted in Drathir’s stomach. Five percent—that had been the probability his operatives had placed on the Mire maintaining a base here. It hadn’t been enough to warrant a casual investigation, let alone a full-scale intelligence gathering operation. Of course, even if they’d pegged it at ninety-percent, it would have taken considerable time and resources to confirm the intel and physically locate the base. And yet in less than two hours of being planetside, a single man had evidently managed to do both.
It was as awe-inspiring as it was terrifying. It certainly put Drathir’s best agents to shame, and it raised all kinds of harrowing questions about what else the Spiders could do if they put their telepathic minds to it…and what they might have been doing right now without anyone being the wiser.
“If he’s absolutely certain they’re nearby, he should wait for a support team,” Drathir said, shaking away the thought. “I have operatives on Hivarian who could arrive to assist within two hours.”
“That won’t be necessary, Minister,” the Widow told him. “The base is small, and there is nothing on that planet capable of threatening a Spider.”
The Tarreen grunted. “One thing I’ve learned over the years is to never underestimate our enemies, particularly the Mire. No matter how many times we seem to wipe them out, they always come back.”
“I agree, but this isn’t overconfidence—it is simply fact.” She turned towards him a smiled. “And perhaps it is also an opportunity to prove to our friends in the Intelligence Ministry that our program still has value.”
“Perhaps,” Drathir murmured, the knot in his stomach tightening. Something in her voice just then…
“His armor is equipped with a holocam,” she went on as one of the Drones walked over to the com station and pulled up the controls. “We should be able to see what he sees when he arrives.”
“Telonius is well out of range—we won’t be able to get anywhere close to a real-time feed without piggybacking on one of the public relays.”
“Correct, so we might as well use one. It should cut the feed’s delay down to a few seconds at most.”
Drathir clicked his claws together in confusion. She wasn’t seriously suggesting using a public relay satellite, was she? If one of his own people had suggested that, he would have fired them on the spot. Or maybe just fired at them.
“I’m aware that the relays aren’t secure,” the Widow added, “but leaking this particular transmission out to the Holosphere might prove beneficial. It will demonstrate to the people the price of standing against us…as well as add to the reputation of the Spiders.”
Or completely demolish it if your man charges in there alone and gets himself slaughtered, Drathir mused. Though if that did happen, such a massive embarrassment would basically write his proposal to the Minister’s Conclave all by itself.
“As you wish,” he said. “But I’d recommend using one of our older encryption keys. Certain sectors of the press will believe the whole incident was staged if we don’t make even make a cursory show of protecting it.”
“Agreed. Establishing the link now.”
The tac-holo flickered for a few seconds before projecting an image of a small, run-down starport the likes of which were common on fringe systems like Telonius. The signal quality was excellent; they could see roughly fifty meters around Agent Sisk in every direction, and combined with the information his suit’s sensors were transmitting—thermal readouts, bioscans, and so forth—it was almost as good as being there in person.
Drathir couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to run an op with this kind of tactical oversight at the Ministry. Holographic signals were far more cumbersome to encrypt than conventional audio transmissions, and it was a rare moment when risking operational security was worth staring at a pretty projection. The vast majority of the time they made do with thermal overlays or satellite imaging, both of which typically did the job just fine.
Still, it was hard not to be a little annoyed. He just had to remind himself that it was yet another example of how poorly micro-managed the Spider Program was. Who decided that the Widow would have better equipment than the Intelligence Ministry?
“We’re receiving your signal, Agent,” she said. “Proceed to your objective.”
“Understood.”
Drathir glanced up from the holo. “You’re really not worried about him parading around a mining camp in full combat armor?”
“The majority of the people there won’t even notice him,” she assured him. “And those that do will forget him quickly.”
Drathir grunted but said nothing. He had read the reports about the Spiders’ capabilities, of course, but he had yet to see most of them demonstrated in person. In theory they could erase their presence from the minds of casual onlookers with ease, but he was under the impression that the more suspicion they drew to themselves, the more difficult
that illusion would be to maintain. Perhaps that wasn’t the case here simply because Telonius was so lightly populated, or perhaps Sisk was simply more capable than most of his brethren.
Or perhaps the Spiders in general were more powerful than the Ministry had been led to believe. And if that was the case, Drathir definitely needed to know as soon as possible.
Sisk wound his way through the small port, and none of the dock workers, prostitutes, or casual pedestrians paid him any heed. The area as a whole was busier than Drathir had anticipated, but the planet received a fair amount of traffic from independent traders looking to hawk carsenium or yuthox or even just good, old-fashioned alcohol—anything to help the miners forget their miserable little existence. Within a few minutes Sisk had made it past the bulk of the crowds, and he started down a rocky path that led towards one of the major camps. Up to that point, none of the locals had so much as acknowledged his presence.
He was halfway to the camp when that changed.
“You’ve picked up a pair of tails,” Drathir said when he noticed the same two humans flitting in and out of the camera’s max range multiple times.
“He knows,” the Widow replied calmly. “And there are three of them.”
The Tarreen snorted. “Then perhaps draping him in armor wasn’t such a good idea after all.”
“It will prove useful in the coming skirmish.”
“He can’t afford to start a firefight that far from the camp,” Drathir warned. “Whatever Mire operatives are there will surely bury themselves the moment something goes wrong.”
She shook her head. “Our enemy is not as skittish as you’d like to believe. Violence will bring them to the forefront—and more importantly, it will send a ripple of fear across the camp. Fear opens the mind, Minister, and it will lead Agent Sisk where he needs to go.”
“He may be a psychic, but he is still one man. He will be grossly outnumbered.”
“They cannot stop him,” the Widow said matter-of-factly. “Watch and learn.”
Drathir bared his teeth and repressed the urge to take a bite out of her fleshy face. He wanted her to fail, after all. He just needed to keep reminding himself of that.
Sisk continued forward through the rubble-strewn streets, and for the moment his stalkers seemed content to follow. When five minutes passed and nothing changed, Drathir was starting to think they might never make their move, but once the camera picked up a narrow intersection a few meters ahead, he realized they’d merely been waiting for the right moment to strike—and, just as likely, for their reinforcements to get into position.
Drathir briefly considered warning the Widow but decided against it; he wasn’t interested in listening to any more of her pithy quips about Sisk’s skill and resolve. Besides, he was rather looking forward to watching her precious operative get eviscerated by gutter trash. Perhaps it would be a humbling experience for her.
His wait was a short one. The moment Sisk angled down the narrower path, a pair of haggard, burly men popped out in front of him. The two visible stalkers swept in from behind, and yet another materialized on the lowest rooftop above. Sisk stopped in place and glanced casually between them.
A spindly Merzeg stepped forward, a pulse pistol in one hand and a jagged, spear-like shard of metal in the other. “Dreega not belong here,” he chittered in barely understandable Tradespeak.
“There are other humans somewhere in this camp,” Sisk replied coolly. “I wish to speak with them.”
The grubby-faced Credok to the right laughed. “No dreega live here. Too weak and fragile for real work.”
“They’re not miners; they’re fugitives,” Sisk clarified. “And one way or another, you’re going to tell me where they are.”
“Dreega threats useless,” the Merzeg said, gesturing around him. “Dreega outnumbered.”
Sisk shrugged. “Are you certain?”
The two assailants paused in confusion, and a flicker of motion on the rooftop above drew Drathir’s attention. The man who’d been crouched up in the shadows watching—a Neyris, by the way the dim lighting glimmered off his yellow skin—abruptly leaned forward and produced a pulse pistol from inside his jacket. He took aim and squeezed off a pair of quick shots…but to everyone’s surprise they weren’t aimed at Sisk. Instead the blasts pelted the other two thugs who’d been standing behind the Spider, and the men crumpled to the ground with burning holes in their chests.
To their credit, the Merzeg and his Credok accomplice responded quickly. The former dove to the side and crouched behind a rocky outcropping, while the latter immediately swiveled up his own pistol and fired at the apparent traitor. The Neyris did the same, however, and bursts of blue fire simultaneously lit up both men’s chests.
“That’s better,” Sisk said as he casually stepped over the smoldering corpses. “Now tell me: where are the other humans hiding?”
The Merzeg chittered frantically and lifted his pistol, but he never had a chance to pull the trigger. It flipped out of his hand and spun across the alley as if it had been sucked up by the wind, and the man’s beady little eyes popped open wide.
At that point, any reasonably intelligent being would have dropped to its knees and begged for its life, or at the very least turned and sprinted in the opposite direction. Unfortunately for this wretch, however, his thimble-sized Merzeg brain ordered him to lunge forward instead, makeshift spear in hand.
It was his last mistake.
In a single, crsip motion, Sisk dodged the wild thrust, wrenched the spear from his opponent’s grip, and then twirled it around and drove it cleanly through the man’s insectoid face. In the span of just over ten seconds, Sisk had turned certain death into an impossible victory, and it was all Drathir could do not to gape openly at the holofeed.
“As you can see, Minister,” the Widow said calmly, “there was never anything to be concerned about.”
Drathir swallowed heavily as he watched his former aide stand casually over the carnage. Just a few minutes ago he’d been impressed at the man’s ability to conjure the location of this base from thin air, but this…
The Intelligence Ministry employed tens of thousands of agents across dozens of species far more intimidating than humans, and yet few if any of them could have walked out of that situation alive, let alone without a single wound to show for it. Drathir had known before coming here that the Spiders were dangerous; he never would have bothered with this crusade otherwise. But until this moment he hadn’t realized just how deadly they truly were—or how critically important his mission to dismantle this program had suddenly become.
“The Mire base isn’t far,” Sisk said after a few moments of studying the corpses. “Some of the humans come to the camp to trade from time to time, and they’ve been followed most of the way. I should be able to track them down easily enough.”
“Excellent,” the Widow told him. “Proceed.”
Drathir shook himself free of his reverie and forced his brain to start working again. “He can read that from them after they’re dead?”
“No, but not all of them died immediately. Just as the body tends to purge itself right before death, the mind often does the same.”
“I see,” Drathir managed, hoping his voice wasn’t quivering as badly as he thought it was. “And you still don’t wish to send any backup?”
Her lips twisted into a faint smile. “Still not convinced of his capabilities, Minister?”
“I would just rather not see him hurt. The Mire operatives will undoubtedly be better trained than a few thugs on the street.”
“We’ll see soon enough.”
And they did. Sisk located the base less than an hour later, and while it wasn’t a particularly large encampment as far as Mire cells went, almost fifty operatives still called it home—fifty operatives who were dead or dying by the time the Spider finished with them.
If this transmission did end up on the Holosphere, it would be an abject reminder to the citizens of the Convecto
rate just how dangerous humans could become…and how vital the Pandrophage was to maintaining galactic security. Without it, there would be nothing to stop untold legions of humans from developing these same abilities and resurrecting the Sarafan.
Drathir couldn’t help but wonder why the Hierarchy hadn’t exterminated the entire species when they’d had the chance. No individual, not even an Asraad-caste Tarreen, should have the power to become an army. And no species should have the potential to become gods.
“None of them know the location of the base,” Sisk reported once he’d finished his wave of carnage. “Only Lord Foln and a few trusted associates have ever been there.”
“So Foln is alive, then,” the Widow said. “Interesting. Make certain to leave at least one of his people alive to report back to him—and ensure they tell him that this destruction will continue until our agents are returned to us.”
“Yes, mistress.”
She glanced past the holofeed to Drathir. “We should get a response soon, I imagine. Foln will probably ignore us for a time, but he won’t sit back and endure the suffering of his people forever.”
“I suppose not,” Drathir murmured, a dark thought belatedly popping into his head. If the Widow’s agents were this powerful, then why hadn’t they brought down the Mire single-handedly by now? Sisk had just wandered out into a sparse mining colony and plucked the location of the Mire base from the minds of its scattered inhabitants—what was stopping the other Spiders from doing the same elsewhere? Wouldn’t it be that much easier for them to repeat the technique on more densely-populated worlds? Surely someone on Regdar or Praxius or Eladrell knew something about where the Mire was hiding…
He clamped his fangs together hard enough that they audibly clicked. He’d feared all along that the Widow might have been sympathetic to the Mire. After all, they claimed to be fighting for the rights of her people, and she was in a perfect position to protect them. The fact her agents could have seemingly rooted the Mire out years ago only made the point even stronger.
But then why would she have so casually slaughtered a few dozen of them just now? Was it some attempt at keeping up a ruse? If so, Drathir couldn’t understand why she would bother. After what he’d seen here today, her agents obviously had the power and resources to seriously cripple the Convectorate if they so desired…and yet they hadn’t. It didn’t make sense.
He was tempted to simply pack up and leave. He could take what he’d learned to the Conclave and almost assuredly convince them to shut down this program, or at the very least compile a joint petition to coerce the Hierarchs to take action. But no, he couldn’t afford to pass up this opportunity to unravel the Widow’s machinations, not when so much was at stake. This program was so deeply embedded that it was going to be a challenge for anyone, even the Hierarchy, to flush them out. The more information he could gather while he was here, the better.
No matter how personally dangerous it might have been.
“I’ll be in my chambers if there are any further developments,” Drathir said. “Keep me informed.”
“Of course, Minister,” the Widow said as she once again turned her focus upon the holofeed. “Have a pleasant evening.”
Repressing a cold shiver, Drathir turned and strode out of the room.
The Spider and the Fly Page 23
