Tilted Axis

by David Ryker

  He pulled hard on the stick and planted his right foot before Arza had time to brace herself.

  The ship rolled sideways and over toward Aeolus. It rose above them and Ward kept on the thrusters, guiding them down into the atmosphere.

  The ship shuddered, the flaps fighting against the sudden advent of air, but they were already too close to the shell of the planet and not traveling anywhere near fast enough to build up serious heat.

  Clouds rose up to meet them and he kept one eye on the altimeter, twisting the yoke the other way and pressing into the flaps when it got down to a low enough number.

  Arza’s hands shot up against the top of the cockpit and she swore loudly, jarring in her seat and nearly hitting her head against the wall. “Jesus, you trying to kill me?”

  “Trying to wake you up.”

  They came out of the cloud over a rocky plateau carved with canyons. Dark crags of brimstone, like leather under a microscope, sprawled across the landscape. In the cracks, water flowed, and along the edges, climbing the sides onto the sunbaked tops, thick swathes of green Gods-Moss — the magical Martian algae — grew.

  Ward angled them north, flying low and fast over the ground, and with every kilometer they gained away from the equator, the greenery grew in intensity until the black rock disappeared and a carpet of algae replaced it. That grew into earthy meadows, and then into primeval forests. Pollinating swarms of hardy insects parted and swirled around them as they flew past, splattering on the windshield. The biome wasn’t developed enough to support complex animal life yet, but it wouldn’t be long before the atmosphere was rich enough in oxygen to do so.

  Every now and then they’d pass automated machines that were planting trees, or bulldozing moss out of the way so that more diverse plants could take hold.

  “I’m plenty awake,” Arza said in response after a few more seconds. “Just don’t expect any small talk.”

  Ward wondered how long this cold-spell would last. He didn’t think she was unprofessional enough to be visibly offhandish with him when they got to Fairbright. But then again, he’d only known her for three days, and she had just found out that the entire time they’d been together he’d been playing her for a fool. Of course, that wasn’t how he saw it, but still.

  They closed the gap on Fairbright’s R&D plant in twenty minutes of silent flying.

  Ward eased off the throttle when it appeared in front of them, a huge glass bubble streaked with the algae.

  Geometrically arranged girders made up the skeleton, shining triangles of glass between them.

  Ward checked the terminal, pulling up a topographical map of the area. There was nothing for two hundred clicks in any direction. He laughed. “These guys really don’t want to be bothered, do they?”

  Arza didn’t reply. She was just rubbing her neck like it was sore. Maybe the whole throwing her around thing had been a little childish. Though she was acting like a child. And really, what did she expect from working with a covert intelligence operative? Honesty?

  Ward pulled up over the bubble and took them into a hover, the thrusters at the front, hidden beneath the wings, keeping them level as they descended through the airlock.

  One aperture door unfurled to accept them, and then another did the same, the one overhead closing. It wasn’t a huge issue to have some air exchange — the atmosphere wasn’t utterly toxic, after all. But a barrier was still necessary.

  Ward put the ship down in a wide parking lot filled with other little ships like theirs, and stared out at the factory in front of them. He spotted what looked like an assembly plant, living quarters for the workers, and of course, the main office with a glass frontage and a very shiny sign that read “Fairbright Industries - The Future Redefined.” Ward thought about whether or not those redefined futures of theirs included prime ministerial assassinations and political coups.

  He pulled himself out of the seat and skulked through the entryway, almost crouching not to hit his head, and put the ramp down, exiting between the still-hot thrusters.

  The bubble — or as they were actually termed, a ‘Bio-Dome’ — was colossal. It was at least three kilometers in length, and about four hundred meters high. It was shaped more like a hangar than anything, and stretched out away from them over the manufacturing plant.

  “Come on,” he said, walking toward the gleaming front office.

  Arza fell in beside him, but resigned herself to looking up the company’s information on her communicator as they walked. She was checking out their website, reading their online-encyclopedia page — basically every scrap of information that was on the network. Which didn’t seem to be very much.

  Ward asked a couple of questions as they walked. Things like — how many people work here? And what do they manufacture primarily? But he was answered with silence. He didn’t take it too hard. He’d had women ignore him before. Most of them thought it was a punishment, but he kind of liked the silence. It’s what he’d liked most about Sadler. She never spoke unless it was necessary. Small talk wasn’t something they did. She would always be reading, or thinking. And if she did speak, it was meaningful and deliberate. He glanced at Arza and missed her suddenly.

  When they reached the door, he pushed inside, expecting to be met with an empty lobby — maybe a wide foyer with a single desk and a lone employee behind it with a welcoming smile. Instead, what greeted them was three men.

  The one in the middle was wearing an expensive navy suit with a flower on the lapel that Ward didn’t recognize. It was cream colored and had lots of petals. He was tall and lean, with a wide forehead and exotic features. His dark skin told Ward he was Middle Eastern, maybe Indian, or Pakistani, in descent. Though his eye for that sort of thing was much sharper when he was on Earth. The guy was smiling, his lips pulled wide under a neatly trimmed goatee, his dark hair swept perfectly back, brown eyes twinkling in the bright halogen lights. “Welcome to Fairbright Industries,” he said politely, with a confidence that just oozed out of his slimy façade. “How may I be of assistance to the UMR Security Bureau today?” His hands were loosely clasped around a leather binder in front of his belt.

  But it wasn’t the smile, or the suit, or the flower, or even the binder that captivated Ward’s attention. It was the two guys that he had with him. They were private military, dressed in suit trousers and white shirts, with black ties that disappeared down behind flak jackets. They were both wearing sunglasses that wrapped around their shaven heads, and each had an automatic carbine rifle hanging across their midriff, index fingers laid straight against the stock over the trigger. Ward didn’t recognize the make or model — and he’d been around guns a lot — and that made him restrain a smile.

  Chances were that they were Fairbright Industries’ own design. Which meant that they had the capabilities to make weaponry there. Which meant that despite the suit bringing them to make a show of strength, to intimidate Ward and Arza into backing off — or at least not asking too pointed a question — he’d overplayed his hand. If Ward didn’t have the taste of blood in his mouth before, he sure as hell did now. He could feel the hair sticking up on the back of his neck in anticipation, his mind tracing the motion of his hand behind his back to go for his M2.0.

  He stopped about three meters inside the door and grinned back at the suit. “What can you do for us? Well,” he laughed, “where shall we start?”

  22

  The suit stared at Ward for a few seconds, reading into his widening grin with twitching eyes. He cleared his throat and stepped forward, proffering a well-moisturized hand. “My name is Richard Chandri,” he said with a rehearsed professionalism. “I’m the head of client liaison.”

  “That’s a fancy title, Dick,” Ward said, letting the grin ride and taking hold of the sides of his jacket just below the collar.

  Chandri retracted his hand, unshaken.

  Arza walked into the space between them, offering her own hand as if to raise the maturity of the conversation to acceptable levels. “My nam
e is Erica Arza. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Chandri took it and shook warmly, focusing his attention on her now. Ward eyed the muscle instead, cocking his head. They both scowled at him, fastening their grips around their rifles.

  The weapons had the same square styling as the sniper rifles on Mars, but Ward knew that there’d be no way to link them — no serials or manufacturers stamps. Hell, they’d even have different alloy compositions. Ward had no way of knowing, but if he was in charge of something like this, that’s the way he’d make sure it was done, just so there was no way an OCA court would have anything more than circumstantial evidence upon which to make a case.

  And though Ward knew he was right, looking sort of similar wasn’t going to fly with anyone. They needed solid proof. Though he knew he wasn’t going to find any. Especially not with a wall of steroids blocking his path.

  Still, Ward wondered who that anyone was going to be. Whether Chandri’s politeness act with Arza was anything other than just a little bit of fun before he ordered the brutes to put a bullet in both of them.

  Ward’s eyes drifted up to the corner of the room, where a little magic eye was nestled, staring down at them. Who was on the other side?

  He twisted his mouth a little and thought for a second, his hand reaching into the back of his jacket.

  The two guards both drew breath and lifted their rifles a little, tensing, while Chandri spoke to Arza about the main produce of the factory, counting them off on his hands. “Agricultural equipment, terraforming vehicles, long-range logistics—”

  “But no weapons?” Ward asked lightly, interrupting Chandri.

  Chandri smiled at Ward with pearly teeth. “No weapons.”

  Ward stuck his bottom lip out. “Not officially?”

  Chandri laughed with three distinct has. “Not at all.”

  Ward nodded slowly. “Not anymore, then.”

  Chandri’s lip quivered. Barely. Not enough for anyone except Ward to notice, because he was focusing so intently on the details of his face. Chandri’s tanned skin, his immaculately manicured and pointed jawline, his dark hair, shimmering in the brilliant LED lighting.

  Ward finished scratching his back and let his hand fall back to his side. The guards breathed a sigh of relief and loosened their grips.

  “Because those rifles...” Ward pointed to the guards. “I’ve never seen any quite like them.”

  “I’m sure you’re not familiar with every weapon in circulation in the OCA, Mr.…” Chandri made a circular motion with his hand.

  “Ward. And I’m familiar with most.”

  “Mr. Ward?” Chandri raised a manicured eyebrow, a little surprised maybe, by the name. As if he’d been expecting something else.. “I’m sure.”

  “I’d bet they were made right here.” Ward looked around. “In some dank little sub-basement, along with all the other clandestine stuff that Fairbright’s pumping out under the table.”

  “That’s quite an accusation, Mr. Ward.”

  “Just a guess.”

  “And an inaccurate one at that.”

  “So you don’t mind us taking a look around then?”

  “I certainly mind. We can’t have civilians just strolling around our production facility.” He laughed. “It’s highly unorthodox, and not to mention illegal.”

  Ward shrugged. “We could always get a warrant.”

  Chandri pushed his soft hands into the pockets of his perfectly tailored suit. “You do that.” The guards clacked their rifles, pulling them tight against their flak jackets.

  Ward was still smiling. “Fairbright is a defense contractor.”

  Chandri’s brow furrowed and he tilted his head. “Is it? I don’t think so.” He started rocking back and forth on his heels.

  Ward nodded. “Yeah. That’s how you’re registered for tax purposes — or at least it was in twenty-three thirty-five. What changed?”

  Chandri cleared his throat and stopped rocking. “I think it’s time you got that warrant.”

  Ward laughed a little himself, now. “That was a quick turn around, Mr. Chandri. Touched a nerve, did we?”

  He was quiet now, his hands firmly clasped behind his back.

  “And I don’t suppose the name Zenith means anything to you?”

  Chandri had become a statue.

  “And you don’t make beans, either?”

  He stared at Ward, suddenly unable to talk. Ward liked this.

  “Of course, you probably call them U-LOPs, or something equally as boring.”

  Chandri checked his watch quickly. Ward watched him do it.

  “Because a company that makes terraforming and logistics equipment would probably make U-LOPs, right?” Ward was pressing, knowing he was on borrowed time. He expected no answers, but he just wanted to see what would happen.

  The frosted glass doors at the back of the foyer opened and four more armed guards filed out, along with another guy in a suit. This one was a Martian. He was tall and thin, with a bulbous head and unsettling pink eyes. He was carrying a briefcase and was walking at pace. He stopped next to Chandri and assumed control of the situation. “Good morning,” he said stiffly. “Mr. Miller, Miss Arza.”

  Arza stepped back next to Ward, looking surprised. Ward kept his smile and nodded in response.

  “My name is Xaroth Meshran, and I’m—”

  “A lawyer,” Ward interjected. “We get it.” He nodded to the lawyer and Chandri again, and then gave them a two-fingered salute. “Thanks for the hospitality. You can save the speech.”

  He took Arza by the arm and led her out of the building. The guards followed them to the door and waited there. Ward didn’t need to look back to see Chandri smiling like a prick.

  Arza was sort of bouncing sideways, stuck in Ward’s grip, trying to get free. He wouldn’t let her.

  “Ward, what are you doing?” She was pushing at his fingers now, grunting in pain. “Let go of me.”

  When they were out of earshot, he obliged, stepping in front of her as she rounded on him, so that his back was shielding them from Fairbright.

  “What the hell are you doing? We were right in the middle of—”

  “Ever heard of being stonewalled?”

  “What? No. What’s that have to do with—”

  “It’s a human saying, for when someone just refuses to answer questions. And look, Arza,” Ward sighed, “I don’t expect you to trust me — not wholly —”

  She scoffed.

  “ — but I’ve been doing this long enough to know that when someone like Chandri puts up a barrier like that — clams up that fast, it’s because he’s reached the point of fear.”

  “Point of fear?” Arza was shaking her head.

  “Yeah, where he’s been asked a question he’s afraid to answer because of what his bosses will do to him — the ones watching through the magic eye.” Ward tappd his cheek just below his left eyeball. “We touched a nerve and got silence, which is ten times better than them telling us anything. That lawyer showing up? That’s as good as them waving a banner saying ‘It was us! We did it!’”

  Arza scowled at him. “How’d you know what they registered as for tax in twenty-three thirty-five?”

  “Shot in the dark.”

  Arza laughed. “Jesus, Ward.”

  Ward sighed. “It was the year the OCA treaty came into effect. But tax filings happen in April, and the treaty was signed in October.” He rubbed his head now, conscious of them staying too close to the building. There was no one around, but that didn’t mean no one was listening.

  “I’ve got a theory, all right?” He rubbed his head, his hackles refusing to quieten. “And it’s one that’s building right now, but after that,” he said, hooking his thumb over his shoulder, “I’m betting that it’s pretty damn close to the truth.”

  Arza stared up at him and he looked back at her, studying her eyes. They glittered in the refracted light of the dome, her lids shuddering as her brain whirred. She still hated him, still hadn’t f
orgiven him, but she knew not to doubt him, and that sense of trust — at least in him as an investigator, if not as a person — came thundering back.

  “Those weapons, the lawyer showing up like that, the way that he paled a half dozen shades when I mentioned Zenith? We put our foot in the hornets’ nest here, and by the looks of it dug our heel in pretty deep.” Ward swallowed and took a breath, calming himself. “We need to get off this planet, back to the Gate, back to the Bureau. It’s time now. And like I said before, out here — things are lawless. For a second I thought they were just going to put a bullet in each of us and toss us in with the next composting cycle.”

  Arza was still for a second, and then started nodding. “Okay, so what’s next? Where do we go from here?”

  “Hand this over to the SB — to the AIA — present our findings, and throw the full weight of the OCA into Zenith, see what shakes loose. They might be able to mop this shit-show up before we get anything, but if they’re this deep into an attempted assassination of Tremel Chang, then they’ll be into some other stuff, too. So whether we get them on this or not, it doesn’t really matter. We’ll get them on something else. You can bet that if they’re lining up the assassination of Tremel Chang as step one, there’s sure as hell going to be a step two in their plans.”

  “And you’re okay with that? If we don’t get them on the attempted assassination?” Arza’s voice was low and derisive.

  “Sometimes you just have to be. Sometimes these things end with a conviction, sometimes they end with blood, and sometimes the bad guys just walk. It’s how it is. And unless you want to go lone-gun on this and just start shooting people you think might be guilty, then this is just the way it is.”