A Tangled Road to Justice

by Olan Thorensen

  “Good idea,” said Millen. “Maybe there’ll be an opportunity to share them with more of Cherkoff’s men. Might give a few of them the idea to move on before something similar happens to them. If I’m right, many of them are more bullies than actual toughs. It’s one thing to intimidate regular citizens and something else to confront real predators.”

  It was the first time I’d heard someone refer to me as a predator. I found it both disturbing and satisfying.

  We made our exit from the bar but went through the back door into a central corridor connecting the different parts of Apex. We didn’t think there’d be other men waiting outside the bar, but it never hurt to be extra cautious. We walked through the restaurant sections and out its back door to the rear of the Apex. Then we circled around to find the spot where we’d watched on previous nights for Ferantis and Neliseranda. From there, it was a familiar route to where we’d left the cycles and an hour back to Justice.

  We went straight to Bossev’s home. He must have been a heavy sleeper because it took several minutes and us pounding on his door for the bleary-eyed mayor to open up. As conflicted as he was to hear the sentence had been carried out, it was nothing compared to his initial panic when Millen told him that unfortunately, we’d revealed his involvement to Schlottner to avoid a gun battle with four security men. The excuse was plausibly true, although I thought Millen could have talked his way out of it without showing the manager the writ signed by Bossev and Felzoni.

  The mayor, now fully awake and not likely to sleep anymore this night, began contacting the other people involved in the mini-revolt against Cherkoff. We didn’t stay around to witness the chest-beating and catastrophizing. Millen told Bossev that he didn’t think Cherkoff would act until the next day and that he and I would get a few hours’ sleep and be up at first light.

  CHAPTER 15

  We didn’t make it to first light.

  Millen’s alarm went off to warn us that someone had entered our hallway. No one else was supposed to occupy any of the hallway’s rooms except us, so we were on our feet and grabbing firearms before the alarm rang the third time. Millen tapped his comm several times to bring up the hall camera, then set down the shotgun he’d picked up.

  “It’s Ashraf. He’s walking slowly down the hall and waving at the camera. I don’t know if he really knows there is one or is being cautious about not startling us.”

  I opened the hall door and peeked down the hall. The big man was halfway to us.

  “No need for stealth. We know it’s you.”

  “Both Bossev and Felzoni are pissed at you for revealing the writ,” said Ashraf, as soon as he entered our room. “Felzoni grudgingly admits it might have been necessary, but I don’t think Bossev buys your excuse. Of course, all that’s irrelevant because it’s out there. Word’s been spreading since last night. Bossev wants a meeting as soon as you’re up and able to plan something. Anything. People are already panicking. The big question is, what do you think Cherkoff will do?”

  “He can’t ignore last night or the trial,” said Millen. “He’s got to make a clear statement, so it’ll be in daylight hours. He’ll want everyone to know what happened. He might be happy with just Everett and me dead, but I wouldn’t count on it, so everyone involved is in danger. Assuming Schlottner keeps his word, he’ll let the Cherkoff men at the Apex loose around noon. Once they get to Cherkoff, he’ll need time to organize a response, so I don’t see any way he gets here before late afternoon. Night doesn’t seem likely because he’ll want everyone to see him crushing the opposition. No, I’d predict by mid-morning tomorrow.”

  I didn’t say anything. Millen was probably right, but I’d never counted too much on predicting an opponent’s timing.

  The security system starting dinging again. I checked my comm feed, as I moved to the door.

  “It’s Rangul Ahbutan,” I said, watching Orneel’s nephew hustle up to our door. He looked over his shoulder, then raised a hand to knock. When I opened the door before his hand made contact, he jumped back, looked down the hall again, and rushed inside.

  “I think my uncle has gone to Cherkoff,” the sweating boy burst out.

  I cursed. Ashraf cursed. Millen smiled?

  “Are you sure?” asked my associate who, I suspected, was manipulating everything even more than I’d thought.

  “Well . . . ,” said Rangul. “He came by our house about thirty minutes ago. He and my mother got into an argument—I couldn’t hear everything but caught a few words. I’m sure I heard him say something like, ‘I came to warn you since you’re my sister.’ Mother got really mad at whatever he said. All I could make out from her were the words Cherkoff and lackey. After he left, she told me to run tell Mayor Bossev that her brother was going to tell Cherkoff something. She didn’t say what he planned to tell, just pushed me toward the door. The hotel is on the way to the mayor’s house, so I stopped here first.”

  “I think we can safely say that whatever the reason Bossev didn’t think Orneel would rat on us didn’t work as well as he thought,” said Millen calmly.

  “You think!” I said. “There goes late afternoon at the earliest. It could be in the next two to four hours!”

  “Maybe so, maybe no,” answered Millen in one of his go-to phrases I was getting tired of. “However, it does put more time pressure on us. While it’s possible he’ll hit us by noon, I still think it’ll be tomorrow morning.” He turned to Ashraf. “Tell Bossev to get everyone he can count on to the school as soon as possible. Also, send word to those outside Justice who are relevant, such as Aleyna Hamdan and Hossam Abboud.”

  I shook my head. “If Cherkoff reacts faster than you think, he’ll be here even before everyone gets word. What about the communications office? David Ostell said Cherkoff took it over and put the man named Dimitar Bozkov in charge. Let’s help Ostell reclaim the office and put out what’s been happening.”

  “Why are you still standing here, then?” said Millen. “I’ll head over to Bossev’s office.”

  I turned to Ashraf. “Where does Ostell live?”

  “Better to show you than give directions in a town you’re not familiar with. Follow me on your cycle, and I’ll lead you there before I get back to Bossev.”

  “When Cherkoff forced us out after Father died, I’m sure they changed everything,” said David Ostell, after I hurriedly gave him the scenario. “We’d have to get the passwords and logins for all the systems from Bozkov.”

  “That won’t be a problem,” I said. “I can be very persuasive.” I wasn’t in the mood if Bozkov wouldn’t cooperate.

  “When should we do this?” asked Ostell. “Bozkov isn’t likely in the office now, but he lives in the apartment upstairs.

  “No time like right now. I think I remember seeing the building, but you can give directions.”

  We got on my cycle, Ostell behind and holding on.

  “Head toward the river. It’s just south of the school complex.”

  I imagined a Justice map. About ten blocks away. Off we went.

  Thirty minutes later, David Ostell was once again operator of links to the Justice net and satellite connections to the rest of Astrild.

  Bozkov had tried to pretend the office was closed. No doubt, he’d heard what was happening and probably was in communication with Cherkoff. The door had a new keypad and slot for a key card, neither of which we had access to. No problem. I opened the office with my podal key. That is, I kicked it hard enough to break through the lock and rip the door off one of its hinges.

  Getting into the systems was easy once Bozkov had my pistol in his mouth. We let him go after milking him for everything we needed. Besides, he’d pissed himself and was stinking up the place.

  For Ostell, it was Federation Day, Christmas, his birthday, and any other reason to celebrate. I left him gleefully typing on a keyboard in front of a monitor.

  “I’ll sketch out quickly for now what’s been happening. Later can be more in-depth reports. I won’t wait for a comp
lete issue of the Justice Sentinel. I’ll push the reports out to all citizens as soon as I finish. Father wouldn’t be happy with no serious editing, but that’s a luxury right now.”

  “First thing you do is alert everyone involved in the trial about what’s going on, in case the mayor hasn’t already contacted them,” I said. “Then, get the first reports to the general population as soon as you can. We need to move fast, in case Cherkoff is more aggressive than Millen thinks he’ll be. Cover the Starsumal robberies, the attempted ambush, and the trial and execution. Lay it on how this is the time to get rid of Cherkoff and his men but hold off about what’s liable to happen in the next day or so. We’ll get to that later, after we’ve got more of a plan for what we’re going to do.”

  Suddenly, a brainstorm hit me. “It’s my understanding that all links to Trondheim and Oslo were cut by Cherkoff. Is that right?”

  “Not all. We could get news coming in, but somewhere up the line must be software or an AI that checks outgoing info and blocks anything referring to local events not approved by Cherkoff.”

  “How about now? Could you send reports to other news outlets on Astrild?”

  Ostell’s face was blank, while he digested my question. When a light went on, he dropped his hands from the keyboard and sat back.

  “My God! You’re right. We couldn’t send anything out from people’s homes, but this office has a direct link to Oslo. Hardly anyone outside the Justice area knows what’s been happening here. Some in high positions must have heard something but, for whatever reason, haven’t done anything.”

  “There you go,” came out of my mouth without my thinking. Millen’s language was evidently catching. “Get the local notices out first, then expand them and send the reports to every media and official site you can think of on Astrild, but don’t mention Millen’s and my names.”

  I left Ostell to his journalistic orgasm and went looking for Millen at the mayor’s office. I found him, Ashraf, and Bossev hunched over a map spread out on a table.

  “How’s the news front, Everett?”

  “Ostell may be overdosing on endorphins. The Bozkov character was reluctant to vacate his position, but he succumbed to my powers of persuasion. What’s happening here?”

  “The situation has changed with the news that Orneel has gone to Cherkoff,” said Bossev. “Just about everyone involved in the trial feels they’re forced into committing to fight. The only way to be safe is to deal with Cherkoff, once and for all.”

  “What I’ve said all along,” said Ashraf, “but not enough people were willing to stand up, and I wasn’t inclined to suicide. Now, I think you can count on all of us from the trial, plus we’re getting word that others might do the same, especially if it looks like we stand a chance. Those wavering need to know there’s a solid plan for when Cherkoff shows up.”

  “We have to take this in stages,” said Millen. “While we’re talking this through, everyone we either know or hope will help needs to be where we can find them in a hurry. If we think they’re too inexperienced, they might be told to go home and stay out of it. They should also keep a gun handy. Anyone who wants to help and isn’t armed, tell them to come by the office and pick out something they can handle. I left the basement open. It has firearms and ammunition that were previously confiscated.

  “Ashraf, can you help the mayor gather all those who’ve committed to come to the school at mid-morning? See them in person or by local comm. For those outside Justice, check with David Ostell. He’s getting the communication links back up. Everett and I will finish formulating a plan and will go over it when the others are all at the school.”

  I waited until Hayek left before asking the question. “Did I miss the meeting where we started making a plan for how to battle Cherkoff’s men in the middle of Justice?”

  The thought I didn’t voice, yet, was whether Millen had had a hand in Orneel Ahbutan running off to Cherkoff. It was awfully convenient. Without that defection, I doubted we’d have gotten many volunteers for the coming fight. Now, there were people committed whether they wanted to be or not. As I said . . . awfully convenient. I wouldn’t have put it past Millen to somehow have threatened or bribed Orneel. Of course, at the moment it didn’t make any difference.

  “It’s the plan we’re just about to come up with,” answered Millen, turning to the map. “What do you think, Everett? How would you plan this if you were back in the FSES?”

  Well . . . this was interesting—Millen seriously asking for my input.

  “I thought you’d have this all planned out, like everything else,” I said, unable to suppress a bit of snark.

  “We contribute based on experience. Most of what we’ve done so far was best left to me. However, planning a major gun battle with dozens on each side seems to fall more in your line than mine. Of course, if you don’t have any ideas, I’ll do it all.”

  “Would you two mind discussing roles some other time?” said Bossev with exasperation.

  He was right. I didn’t answer either of them but leaned over the Justice map.

  “Well, we’re faced with three things to start off with. First, we’ll assume Cherkoff shows up with at least thirty men and possibly as many as forty. Second, we’re the defense, and he’s the offense. We can win by just sitting in place, while he has to act to win. Third, there’s no way we’re going to put the citizens of Justice into a stand-up fight. I don’t think Cherkoff’s men have all that much experience, but it’s still a hell of lot more than most citizens. Some of them may know little, if anything, about firearms, might never have been in any kind of fight, and know nothing about tactics. We also don’t want citizens to be picked off one or a few at a time. They need to come together in large-enough groups in defensible positions where Cherkoff can’t simply roll over them.”

  I turned to Bossev. “The road from the south leading to Cherkoff’s ranch turns into Main Street, but are there other roads he could take?”

  “Not until you get to the outskirts of Justice. About a kilometer east, there’s a road that links up with Beka Street coming into Justice. Those are the only ways into the main part of Justice coming from the south.”

  “How about routes for that big, ugly hovercraft Cherkoff’s got? From the map and from what I’ve seen, it looks like there’re enough natural obstacles to limit routes it could take. Anything I’ve missed?”

  “No, only Main,” said Bossev. “The Beka approach wouldn’t work because the road I mentioned isn’t wide enough for the hovercraft, and it goes through woods and rock formations the hovercraft couldn’t manage.”

  “What about the river? He could then come at us from anywhere along the western side of Justice.”

  “Unlikely,” said Millen. “When we flew in, I noticed a waterfall just upstream of the main part of Justice.”

  “It’s Walken Weir,” confirmed Bossev. “It’s about two-and-a-half meters high and was built when Justice was turning into a town from being just a cluster of houses. It dams the river, allowing a more uniform flow of water, and provides a pressure gradient for keeping the Justice sewers cleaned out. Since it was built, the town has grown to the north, so the original purpose doesn’t serve all of Justice, but it’s still important for the southern part and most of the business district.”

  “Dam or weir, if it’s that tall, the hovercraft can’t get over it,” I said.

  “All right, so Cherkoff can only bring the hovercraft into Justice from Main Street,” said Millen, “but wheeled vehicles can use both Main and Beka. The first thing we have to do is block those approaches and get his men on foot as far out as possible. Once they’re off their vehicles, we’re more on equal footing.”

  Bossev joined Millen and me leaning over the map. “Blocking anyone coming along Beka Street should be easier,” said the mayor. “Just before the intersection of Beka and Avellor is a creek with a simple bridge over it. I suppose we could jam vehicles on the bridge. That cuts off anything wheeled coming from the east along Beka Stree
t. Main Street doesn’t have a bridge, though. The obvious place to stop Cherkoff there is where Main and Bond meet. There are buildings and trees that prevent going around the intersection. Once it’s blocked, they’d have to walk.”

  I put a finger on the Main and Bond intersection. “If I remember correctly, you’re right, Mayor, about the Beka bridge and the intersection of Main and Bond. That’s where we’ll block the roads with vehicles. I saw a couple of pieces of earthmoving equipment near some buildings in the west part of Justice. Probably a construction business of some kind. Those suckers are so heavy, if we disable them there’s no way Cherkoff’s men would have the time or equipment to move them. Get some people moving those and anything else to Main and Bond. Pack them tight and disable every vehicle by any means necessary. The bridge on Beka shouldn’t take too much to block it.”

  “Well . . . ,” said Bossev, rubbing a hand against his shoulder. “I don’t know how many people will want to volunteer their vehicles for this. It’s not like in Oslo or even Trondheim. Vehicles are a major expense for families and businesses.”

  It was time to get our good mayor fully on board. I’d killed two men during our opening efforts to help Justice get rid of Cherkoff, and I wasn’t in the mood for bullshit. “Did I say anything about volunteers? Put together a crew of men with instructions that if anyone gives them a hard time about using their vehicles, tell the owners that Millen and I will be extraordinarily displeased and will be paying them a visit.”

  Millen was smiling his annoying smile. “Mayor, while I approve of my colleague’s lack of empathy for recalcitrant citizens, maybe have your crew start off with telling owners the vehicles are important for getting rid of Cherkoff, then move on to our intent to get them back in good shape. Then, as a last resort, they can use Everett’s tactic.”

  Bossev held up both hands. “Okay, I get it. We’ve no time for niceties. It’s just that after so long with nothing happening to counter Cherkoff, now everything is moving so fast.”