All Our Tomorrows

by All Our Tomorrows (epub)

  Nothing, not even any water bottles or energy bar wrappers. He hadn’t expected the perpetrator to be so careless, but it would have been a boon.

  Satisfied he wasn’t disturbing evidence, he dropped to his knees and studied the view out the window. He had an unobstructed view for two blocks to the north and south. The angle was excellent, allowing a target on the sidewalk to be singled out without the surrounding pedestrians providing too much of an impediment. This suggested a reasonable level of preparation and reconnaissance had been conducted ahead of time.

  A strip of faded white paint was chipped off along the sill, consistent in size with the bipod on a sniper rifle. The damage was all but unavoidable in an old building like this.

  No breeze drifted through the open window, and the air smelled pungent. Thanks to Akeso’s gift of heightened senses, his nostrils began to burn from the rank odor of human sweat. Had the assassin been nervous about murdering the most powerful military officer in Concord space? Any sane man should be.

  But the smell of sweat did nothing to identify the perpetrator, so he stood with a heavy sigh. He wasn’t sure what he’d accomplished here, other than construct the outlines of a profile of the perpetrator, gleaned from their actions.

  You are trying to comprehend the mind of a killer?

  That’s not hard for me to do. They merely have to reveal themselves to me.

  He started to leave the apartment…then went into the lavatory instead. He’d checked it on his way in, but only for hiding assassins or overt evidence of the crime committed here. Now, he stood in the doorway and cycled through his ocular implant’s spectrum filters, again with forensic settings imposed.

  Without them, he’d have never seen the centimeter-long blond hair balanced on the beige toilet. He took a tissue from the counter and carefully wrapped the hair up in it, securing the tissue in one of his pockets.

  Training would have drilled any assassin to not use anything at the chosen venue that wasn’t essential to the mission. But sometimes nature was insistent.

  Feeling considerably better about what he’d accomplished now, he left the apartment, closing the door again behind him, and headed down the hall. On the landing, he ran across a woman in ratty, ill-fitting clothes and gave her an ingratiating smile. “Hi, excuse me. Do you know if anyone is staying in the apartment at the end of the hall? I was supposed to meet someone there, but I might have jotted down the wrong apartment number.”

  “Nah. Place has been empty for almost a year. T’isn’t the nicest building in the neighborhood, you know, so there’s not much of a waiting list. Heh. You could check with the rental office, though. The address is posted downstairs by the mail slots.”

  “I’ll do that, thank you.” He headed down the stairs, taking in the environs and keeping an eye out for any additional clues, though he didn’t expect to find anything. When he passed the mail slots, he noted the rental office’s address. He’d pass it along to Richard for further inquiry, but all evidence indicated the perpetrator had broken into an apartment known to be unoccupied and come and gone in a matter of minutes.

  A fine mist of cool rain greeted him when he stepped outside. It wasn’t heavy enough to deploy a rainshade, so he drew his jacket in tighter and walked a block east, then ducked into an alley.

  Alex, I’m done here.

  A wormhole opened up behind him a few seconds later, and he walked through onto the front porch of Miriam and David’s home.

  Greater Vancouver

  Alex embraced him, stark worry lines cutting into her exquisite features. “What did you find?”

  “Where the sniper took their shot from, and a few clues that may help us identify them. Come on, I’ll fill everyone in.”

  Caleb found everyone sitting at the kitchen table, where they all looked up at him expectantly. “I located the staging point and took some visuals. The assassin was a professional and didn’t leave behind much evidence—but they did leave a little.”

  He retrieved the thread and the tissue with the hair, and laid both out in front of Richard. “See what you can get from these. Hopefully DNA, possibly a source for the clothing.”

  Richard slid them over to the side, where they wouldn’t get accidentally bumped. “Excellent work. What else did you learn?”

  “I suspect the perpetrator is ex-military, and the organization they work for is connected enough to be able to access London property and rental records.”

  Richard nodded thoughtfully. “Basis?”

  What, was he some rookie intel agent? “While the perpetrator made mistakes in leaving this minimal evidence behind, they did a reasonably thorough job of concealing signs of their presence. Also, they used the exterior fire escape to leave. A true assassin-for-hire would have calmly and methodically erased every trace of their existence, then made certain they didn’t act in any way out of the ordinary, which would include exiting out the front door. A military-trained sniper, however? While they wouldn’t be sloppy, they’d primarily be concerned with getting away from the scene clean.”

  “And the records?”

  “They used a vacant apartment with a standard-issue door lock in a run-down building. The apartment had a perfect view and an exceptional angle for taking a shot without endangering pedestrians. The location was not a spur-of-the-moment choice. I’m passing you the address and the rental office contact information. Maybe they got an inquiry in the last few days.”

  “I’ll look into it.”

  He turned toward Miriam. “I hate to briefly change the subject, but Miriam, you need to know that the Khokteh have uncovered some Rasu on Nengllitse. Pinchu claims they’ve taken care of it, but….”

  “But where there’s a few Rasu, there might be more, and Pinchu is always loathe to ask for assistance.” She frowned. “And you know this before I do how?”

  “Akeso sensed a heightened level of anxiety in Pinchu, so I reached out to him.”

  She shook her head wryly. “I see. If you’ll excuse me, I should check in with the Tokahe Naataan.”

  Caleb watched Alex watch her mother until she’d vanished down the hall. She looked strained; everyone in the kitchen did. “What did I miss?”

  Alex came over and rested her forehead on his shoulder. “Oh, just another well-funded conspiracy by criminals masquerading as proper citizens to bring down the pillars of human civilization, starting with my mother. You know, the usual.”

  43

  * * *

  EARTH

  Paris

  Nanterre Confinement Facility

  Prison security patted Miriam down under the watchful eye of the two CINT agents comprising her brand-new protection detail. Richard had wasted no time in materializing them at her side this morning. Thus far they were both professional and virtually silent, which she appreciated, though their exemplary behavior did nothing to ease her irritation at their presence.

  The confab around the kitchen table had gone on for hours last night; David had cooked dinner while everyone shared what they knew and strategized about how to move forward against the Gardiens. By the end of the night, Malcolm had insisted on signing up for a dangerous course of action. She’d prefer if he hadn’t, as she didn’t relish the possibility of losing her Fleet Admiral for the second time in three months, but Vilane’s infringement upon both his personal and professional life had lit a fire under the man. Richard was circling back with Director Delavasi to add the Gardiens to the list of enterprises they needed to link to Enzio Vilane.

  This morning, she’d taken it upon herself to help matters along a little in that regard. As a result, she now found herself at a place she deeply did not wish to be.

  “Apologies, Commandant, but you’ll have to leave your Daemon and blade in our custody while you’re visiting the prisoner. No weapons of any kind are allowed inside.”

  “I understand. Can I assume you’ll be monitoring the interaction and will come to my rescue if she hits me over the head with a large, blunt object?”

&nb
sp; “She shouldn’t have access to any large, blunt objects.”

  Miriam stared expectantly at the security officer.

  “Yes, ma’am. We will.”

  “Very well, then.” She nodded perfunctorily, unlatched her weapons and set them on the table.

  The officer took the weapons and stashed them in a locked cabinet. “You can go in whenever you’re ready. Simply press the button by the door when you want to leave.”

  ‘Ready’ for this conversation wasn’t something she was liable to ever be. But duty and thoroughness—and a simmering annoyance at the Gardiens trying to make an unwilling martyr of her—required that she have it, so she strode up to the heavy door. A second officer entered a code, and the door slid open. Miriam stepped through, noting the sense of heaviness as the door thudded shut behind her, locking her inside.

  Pamela Winslow sat at an ornate, faux-marble table, sipping a hot beverage out of a faux-china cup. She wore an expensive beige silk pantsuit, and her hair was swept into a perfect french knot.

  The former Prime Minister’s cold, ponderous gaze settled on Miriam. “Well, this is a visit I never expected would come to pass.”

  “Nor did I.” Fifteen years ago, Winslow and her son had used the combined power of the office of the Prime Minister and the Order of the True Sentients terrorist group to not merely criminalize Prevos but hunt them down, forcing Miriam to rebel against her own government. She had won the day, albeit with a great deal of help from honorable people, but it had been a near thing.

  Miriam stopped three meters from the table and shifted into parade rest. At the far end of the room, reinforced windows looked out over downtown Paris and, far in the distance, the Eiffel Tower. “But I have some questions for you.”

  Pamela sighed. “I don’t…care.”

  “Nonetheless. I need to know the identities of the largest donors who funded OTS—and by extension your—activities. The private, secret donors who never made it into any record and were never investigated by the authorities.”

  “There aren’t any. The police investigation was very thorough.”

  “I’m certain it was. But there were some who escaped notice. People and organizations powerful enough to, when it all came crashing down, obscure their tracks or manufacture exculpatory evidence.”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “A new group calling themselves the Gardiens is escalating—”

  “Oh, I know all about them. I am afforded the news feeds in my oh-so-gilded prison.” Pamela stood and wandered over to a hutch by the wall to refill her cup. “But I don’t see the relation. The Gardiens espouse polar opposite beliefs from OTS.”

  “The Gardiens are against regenesis. They claim it is an unnatural usurpation of human nature. I’d say that’s quite similar to OTS’ creed.”

  “The Gardiens are against regenesis for unaltered humans. They have no problem with Prevos returning to life again and again. In fact, I daresay their true agenda is the ascension of Prevos as the ultimate power in human society. Don’t you know this?”

  In fact, they’d speculated as to whether this could be the Gardiens’ hidden goal during their hours at the kitchen table, thanks to the insights Malcolm had provided. “I do. But how do you?”

  “Oh, a lot of whispers reach me in here despite the impermeable walls. Also, as I indicated, I watch the news, and if you pay an iota of attention, it becomes quite obvious.”

  “Quite obvious to someone who’s well-schooled in the way conspiracies operate, you mean.”

  Pamela lifted her shoulders in a delicate shrug.

  “Nonetheless, I posit that it doesn’t matter what the Gardiens intend. For the donors to whom I’m referring, power is always the ultimate goal, not principles. They will hitch a small chunk of their fortunes to any group they believe stands a chance to succeed in upending the status quo. OTS, Gardiens—it doesn’t matter so long as they’re holding the keys to the castles of power when the dust clears.”

  “True enough.” Pamela drew a fingertip along the rim of her cup. “But there is nothing ‘status quo’ about regenesis.”

  “At the rate regenesis clinics are opening up, there will be within the year. The Gardiens have to move fast if they expect to turn the tide, and to do so they need money. Hence my inquiry.”

  “Why didn’t you send one of your investigators to question me? Why come yourself?”

  Miriam had asked herself the same question on the ride up the lift, when she’d wanted badly to reverse course and retreat to the comfort of HQ. “Because I choose to believe that, misguided though you were, once upon a time you loved the Alliance and its people. You tried to do what you believed was the right thing for them.” You murdered good people and trampled the rule of law to do it, but self-delusion is a powerful drug.

  “So you’re appealing to my sense of patriotism and honor? Truly?”

  Miriam almost spun around and walked out then…but this was bigger than either of them. “Yes. Regardless of where you stand on regenesis, you must recognize that the Gardiens will not only pitch our society into violent, bloody turmoil, they will do it at a time when we most need to be strong. Strong within AEGIS, strong across Concord, strong against the Rasu. The Gardiens aim to deny people the right to choose whether to live or die. They would send us backward at a time when we have to move forward if we want to survive as a species.”

  “Oh, enough with your speeches, Miriam! They’ve always been insufferable.” Pamela placed the cup on the table and went to stare pensively out the windows. After twenty seconds or so of silence, the woman returned to the table and her drink.

  “What will you give me if I share names?”

  Miriam squelched a smile; if the woman detected a hint of gloating, she might well refuse to cooperate on petulance alone. “I don’t control your confinement, but I can recommend that you be granted greater privileges. What is it you wish to enjoy? Dinner out once a month? Additional family visits?”

  “My husband divorced me after my conviction. My son is dead, thanks to you. Family visits ring rather hollow for me.” She reached down and fondled a fork located in the place setting where she’d sat earlier. “It looks like silver, doesn’t it? It’s rubber. The table and chairs are welded to the floor. The glass, unbreakable—even the mirrors. I can only communicate with a small list of approved persons, and those communications are recorded and reviewed. There’s a lawn outside I can visit for ‘exercise and fresh air’ once a day, under armed guard and otherwise alone.”

  “Many inmates who committed far less serious crimes than you suffer in far worse conditions.”

  “I don’t care. This is my life, and it is a miserable farce. So you see, Miriam, there is no bargaining chip you can offer me. Except for my freedom, and I assume that is off the table.”

  “It is.”

  “Alas.”

  “Give me the names anyway. If any of the people who supported OTS are now helping to support the Gardiens, they are betraying the—” she nearly choked on the words, but somehow managed to shove them off her tongue “—spirit and memory of what your son fought for. They are feckless and unprincipled, willing to sell their souls to the highest bidder. Wouldn’t you like a little revenge for how they abandoned you and your son when the bill came due?”

  “Pedantic speeches aside, your diplomatic skills have improved a great deal in your time with Concord. Your words almost make sense to me. I cannot deny that a thirst for revenge calls to my heart. It may be the only thing I have left that’s worth yearning for.”

  Pamela sat in her chair and fixated on the table instead of Miriam. “Very well. I will give you a curated list of names—on one condition. If any of them do turn out to be involved in the Gardiens’ cause, I want to receive visual footage of their arrest. Their imprisonment and disemboweling if possible.”

  “I doubt any disembowelings will be occurring.”

  The woman’s gaze jumped up to Miriam. “But if there are.”

  “If
there are, you will be permitted to witness them. You have my word.”

  “At last, some small entertainment.” Pamela stood once more, then went to a panel on the wall. “I’m only allowed to communicate through entering data here, so you’ll have to retrieve the information from the guards.”

  “That’s fine.” Try as she might, Miriam could not bring herself to vocalize a thanks, so she merely turned on a heel, strode to the door, and activated the button.

  Her shoulders sagged in relief when the door closed behind her, sealing Pamela Winslow on the other side.

  “Commandant? Here’s the information the inmate relayed.”

  She looked over to see one of the security officers holding out a thin film. She took it from him, retrieved her weapons and waved her protection detail onward. “Let’s go.”

  On the ride down, she opened the contents of the thin film…and groaned. At the top was a simple, succinct message: Fuck You.

  Same to you, Pamela.

  She fought against growing frustration at a wasted trip…then realized there was more to the file. She scrolled until she finally reached additional text. The phrase, ‘ Oh, fine’ was followed by a list of nine names in total: five individuals and four corporations.

  A low whistle made it past her lips. Richard was going to have a field day with this.

  44

  * * *

  ARES

  Advocacy HQ

  Nyx strode into her grandfather’s office, only to find him at the conference table, deep in conversation with Xanne ela-Kyvern and three new aides she didn’t know by sight. A spreadsheet and two organization charts hovered between them, and Xanne was annotating one of the charts as they talked.

  It didn’t occur to her to excuse herself on account of interrupting them; instead, she dropped into a chair opposite his desk, crossed one leg over the other, and waited patiently.

  While she’d been traveling, the staff at the estate-turned-temporary-Advocacy-headquarters had doubled in size. She’d docked here on the estate grounds to avoid the hassle of the spaceport, but it had still taken her an extra ten minutes to land and navigate all the new protocols to secure the Periplanos and reach the main building. Ares was bustling as it never had before, and the reason for it was currently sitting at a table a few meters away.