Hell or Highwater (Hell's Jesters, #5), page 18
“It’s like you said before,” he spoke up, loud enough everyone would hear, “if they wanted to capture us” he waved around them “we’d already be in a cell.” He pointed at Renfield. “We’ll check your story, like you say. If it all works out, then maybe we’re taking a trip down the Galactic Arm.”
“Excellent,” Renfield purred and turned to gesture at the cyborg bartender and the other heavies. With surprising speed and stealth, they vanished into the shadows and corners of the ruins, leaving him alone with them.
“We’re doing this?” Josie asked in a mystified, terrified voice, setting her hand on his arm and turning him to face her. “We’re really going to go through with this?”
He smiled back at her with a little of the bravado Tina would normally have shown. “Yeah. Sounds like we’re gonna make history!”
HE LIED TO ME.
Jerold “Buck” Harrison sat in the officers’ galley of the Obliterator, alone, staring at a cooling cup of coffee. Faint sounds echoed into the chamber from the corridor, shifts at work, squall of heavy machinery. It was well into the fourth watch, but his personal schedule was still screwed up from the flight out from Tartan to the Outregion.
Sleep would’ve been impossible, anyway.
He actually lied. To me. He lifted the coffee to his lips, grimaced at lukewarm bitterness. Kelly told the truth. He forced himself to swallow. What else had she been right about?
“Keeping strange hours,” a voice said from the hallway.
Buck looked up, hid a flinch. Omura stood in the door to the galley. He hadn’t heard him coming. People rarely did, Dad’s pet ghost. And Buck knew with a squirming across this scalp Omura never just appeared someplace without a reason.
He stood respectfully. “Join me, Captain?”
“Of course,” the spy replied cheerfully and crossed into the chamber. “We’ve been burning the midnight oil on your father’s staff, what with the updates from the Admiralty. I just came for a warm drink, myself.”
Sure, you did.
Omura settled into the seat opposite Buck. “We didn’t get the chance to catch up when you came aboard. I’m sure it’s been a great relief to your father to have you around again.”
“Won’t be for long,” Buck replied as he took his own seat again. “But you’ve probably heard that, already.”
“Transfer to Severson’s staff. Yes, I had.” The precise little man folded his hands on the tabletop before him. “That’s an unusual choice, considering your experience to this point.”
Buck smiled to hide his unease. The snake. Now the interrogation begins. “Did my Dad send you, Captain? To talk me out of it?”
Omura chuckled softly. “Of course, not. He’d know better. You’re a Harrison, stubborn to a fault. No. This is personal curiosity.”
Buck shrugged. “It’s like I told Dad; Fury changed things. I saw things there that I can’t unsee.”
“I read the Intelligence work-up on you, of course,” Omura said, “after you’d been paroled back to us. It’s fascinating that the Jesters only held on to you for a short time before turning you over to the Union authorities.”
And there it is. Snake.
Buck shrugged again. “There was still a fight going on, all around. Not sure they felt they were going to be holding onto much, at all.”
“And they figured out who you were?”
“I told the others this,” Buck replied with a hint of anger he forced down. “If the Jesters knew, they didn’t tell me. And, if they did, maybe they didn’t know what to do about it. Probably why they turned me over to the Union regular fleet. Easier that way.”
The crawling of his flesh intensified. Buck had prepared himself for this, but the cool, reptilian man across the table was unlike any other. Lying to Dad had been easy. Lying to the other spooks had been only marginally harder. But Omura...there was a reason Dad kept him around.
And it was all lies, of course. Buck saw Kelly when he blinked his eyes. He heard her voice when all was quiet. She was supposed to have been dead! Dad—all of them—had told him so. But she’d been there, like a righteous ghost. She’d gotten him out. She’d probably saved him from the reprisals of vengeful comrades. And she had told him the story of Dad’s duplicity, which he now knew was so very, very true.
And what the hell am I supposed to do with that knowledge?
“You seem upset,” Omura prodded.
Buck forced himself to meet the little man’s stare, forced calm. “It was a lot to go through, like I said.”
“Being amongst your sister’s killers would be.”
Buck didn’t have to hide a grimace. “Look, Captain—Terry—I really have already gone over this, so many times. And, with respect, I’m not exactly feeling like doing it again.”
“Of course, of course,” Omura replied, holding up a dismissive hand. “Just curiosity, like I said. I apologize.”
Grudgingly, “It’s fine.”
“It’s just that the Jesters, for all the obvious reasons, have become more than a sore point for your father,” Omura went on. “The topic has become a pressure point. One that the Admiral’s rivals have occasionally sought to exploit. And your father has many rivals. Enemies, even.”
Buck looked the spook straight in his icy, almond-shaped eyes. “You’re talking about Admiral Severson?”
“The Grand Admiral is our commander,” Omura said hurriedly, “and we all have our orders. But one cannot help but be surprised at the speed with which he acquired you.”
Buck stiffened with outrage at the insinuation. At the same time, he couldn’t help a rush of relief. This isn’t about Kelly. He’s worried about disloyalty of an entirely different kind! “I’m still my father’s son.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” Omura replied coolly. “And I am still his man. And it’s become ever more difficult these last few months to look after his interests, what with the defeats in Fury, the politics of the service” he gestured across the table “and, now, your return.”
Buck hesitated to respond. Misery swirled in his brain. He’d just wanted to fly his Valkyrie, command his squadron, serve his nation. But everything had turned to shit around him. It wasn’t moral ambiguity or any euphemistic struggle over shades of gray in a war between stars; everything was foulness, corrupt, treacherous, and deadly. And he had been flung into the eye of that storm.
What the hell am I going to do with what I know?
“I’m not going to be your snitch on Severson’s staff, Terry.”
Omura’s smile was like a cobra’s bearing of fangs. “And I wouldn’t ask you to.” He slid forward over the table. “But I would ask you to not act in the reverse.”
“I would never.”
“Good,” Omura replied in that velvety, threatening tone of his. “Because, as you well know, your father’s welfare is among my chief concerns. If I felt that was threatened” he stood up from the table “someone who actually knows how to get answers might have to start inquiring further into your ordeal on Fury.”
Buck forced fire into his glare back at the man, even as ice water doused his nerves. “That’s not something you’re going to have to worry about.”
“Good!” Omura repeated, that false cheeriness returned. “Then I’ll leave you to your coffee, Commander.”
The little spy left Buck as he was, trapped at the center of a world of shit.
FROM THE BRIDGE OF the new Union Gallaton-class strike carrier, Ludlow, Greer stood with arms folded and brow furrowed as he listened to the globular hologram of the Succubus speak.
“Are you receiving our transmission?”
“Receiving it fine,” he replied, glancing at the communications officer, who nodded. “Just not sure I’m understanding the words you’re sending along with it.”
“We’re going with him,” she repeated. “He says this is the only way.”
“And you have no idea where?”
She shook her head.
Greer eyed the tactical hologram, zoomed in to show the hyper-capable shuttle, nestled amongst the Ludlow and the small task group forming its escort. They were a six-hour jump out from Coronado, not exactly close to Alliance-held space, but certainly well within disputed territory. No sense being careless. A smaller maintenance flitter had just detached from the shuttle, its crew having already replenished its transuranic fuel rods.
He didn’t know why he was arguing with her. Clearly, the decision was made.
“Thought you’d had enough of the Alliance, after your last ‘visit’ down the galactic arm.”
“Believe me,” she replied, “this is not the way I’m wanting this. Has your decryption team had a chance to verify what we sent you?”
Greer turned to Commander Arrian, a blissfully familiar face amongst all these young pups on the bridge crew. Executive Officer of the Ludlow, now, he’d served Greer on the Concordia, in the bad old days. “How about it?”
Arrian looked over the shoulder of the ship’s systems officer. “They’re piping it down to the CIC now. Still waiting, sir.”
“If it checks out,” Succubus said, “that’s our new friend’s bona fides.” She glanced menacingly to someone off-camera. “If not, we’re going to be having a rather more uncomfortable conversation.”
Greer couldn’t help a little smile, recalling a number of uncomfortable conversations he’d had with the spy. But he couldn’t let himself get caught up on it. “You know there’s no help we can offer you, if you go through with this” he paused, took a risk by adding “Tina.”
She blinked, likely recognizing the drop of formality for what it was; a real admission of concern beyond the professional—if not too far. “I know that. But this is why we’re doing this, isn’t it? Taking the big risks, so others don’t have to. Maybe end the war.”
“Thought that was my job,” Greer said with a smile.
“Wars are fought by people,” Succubus replied. “You taught me that...Carson. If we can show the people of the Alliance something that will shock them out of their stupor, the will to fight collapses.”
“It is a truism that retreats start from behind.”
Whispers rose from the systems station, to Greer’s right. Arrian was leaning over the officer there, reading something off a globular. He grunted and turned. “I’ll be damned, sir! They’re saying it’s legitimate. Sounds like it’s a nasty knot of code, but give SIGINT a few weeks and they might be able to start teasing apart Harrison’s ship-to-ship comms. Maybe even be able to eavesdrop on their long-range ether-tenna transmissions.”
Greer looked back at the Succubus’ image. “You hear that? Your new friend came through.”
“I heard.” She looked off to the side again, smirked. “I guess you won’t be taking a walk out the airlock, after all, pal.” A voice mumbled by poor microphone reception answered her and her smirk spread.
“So,” Greer raised his voice, “I suppose that’s that?”
The Succubus—Tina—pivoted to face the holocamera pickup, again, look through the globular, it seemed, right at Greer. She could always do that, make him stupid, feel like a horny kid, always chasing one step behind.
“Yeah,” she said softly. There might even have been a little fear.
“You think you’ve got everything you’ll need?”
“Thanks to you.”
Greer nodded. Oddly, the words didn’t seem to be coming.
“So,” she drawled meaningfully, “we’ll need to get a move on, Admiral. Our companion says his offer is time-sensitive.”
“You’re sure I can’t offer you a team?” Greer asked. “I’ve got Special Operators on this ship who could be ready to bounce in an hour.”
She was already shaking her head. “Not going to let you throw away good people on this. Besides” she glanced off-camera, again, this time in another direction “you know I’ve already got my team.”
He nodded again. Again, there weren’t the words. She had her burnout father and that Raider from the Jesters who had skills, but couldn’t possibly be prepped for this sort of thing. Succubus was going to her death. Greer knew it, could feel death after so many battles, lurking at the edges of perception. And there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.
“Godspeed,” he said at last, “Tina.”
She offered him a salute that would’ve put a Nova Terra Academy graduate to shame.
Part 4 – The Deluge
HOLOGRAPHIC RECEPTOR ON>>>
SCANNING>>>SCANNING>>>HYPER-CHANNEL 1516589>>>Private Transmission-RECEPTION >>> “—the hell are those guys?”
The viewpoint shakes as whoever is holding the holocamera backpedals through a tossing crowd. Around him, protestors shout and shake banners emblazoned with slogans reading “WE WON’T BACK DOWN” or “PROSECUTE NOOVIN”. The air of the crowded city street is hazy with smoke and roaring with a thousand voices.
“Get back!” the holder of the holocamera shouts. “Get away from them!”
Masked men in what is obviously homemade but well-constructed gear burst through the crowd. Bulbous with jerry-rigged sports pads and protected by shields fashioned from trash can lids, they wade into the protestors, slamming people back, kicking those who fall, cudgels lashing out to kick up spumes of crimson.
“Do something!” someone bellows.
The camera holder sidles between people rushing from the disturbance and those charging to it. Along the street sides stand black-clad ranks of Council Guardsmen, brought in ostensibly to preserve order on what was expected to be daylong unrest throughout Prospero’s major cities. They brandish blastrifles and riot armor. But not one moves a centimeter as anarchy erupts before them.
“Aren’t you guys here to keep the peace?” the camera holder shrieks at faceless, visored masks and tinted goggles.
Screaming turns the holocamera back to the fight. The brawlers have broken into the center of the protestors’ column and are attacking every direction in a frenzy. People crumple before them. Blood runs into the gutters. But a fresh press of protesters surges forth, wielding banners and flagpoles against them.
It’s not an even contest, but the protestors have the numbers.
“Don’t fight them!” the holocamera holder shouts. The viewpoint shakes again. “That’s what they want! Get back!”
The viewpoint is jolted and a grunt makes it clear the holocamera holder has been shoved. He stumbles to one knee but recovers in time to turn and pan back across the Council Guardsmen. Fresh brawlers are spilling through gaps between their black-clad ranks to join the street battle.
And it’s obvious the Guardsmen are stepping aside to let them through.
>>>SCANNING>>>SCANNING>>>HYPER-CHANNEL 920549>>>UNION-BROADCAST-RESTRICTED>>>RECEPTION>>> Ansolm Levine chuckles humorlessly from the floor of the Union Senate. “Let me get this straight; you’ve verified the Recall signatures, the election is triggered and set, and now you want to move up the vote?”
“We have the signatures!” Senator Cupp snarls, rising from his seat amongst this fully-attended meeting of the Legislature. “We have the verifications!”
“Then what’s the hurry?” Levine booms.
Cupp straightens his wire-thin glasses and draws a hand across his sweat-beaded upper lip. “The people have spoken, Levine! They want new direction! They don’t want to wait on your well-known delay tactics!”
Levine laughs again, this time seeming genuinely amused. “Some of the people have spoken, Senator—I’m sorry, Senate President. Some of them. And they’ll be given their voice. As will those that disagree with this ill-begotten effort of yours.”
“Then why not get it over with?” Cupp demands. “Why not put it to them now?”
“And, again, I’m compelled to ask you” Levine looks all around the faux wood-paneled chamber, at the men and women elected to represent the Free Stars of the Union “all of you; why the sudden demands to rush? Shouldn’t the people have time to consider?”
“You mean shouldn’t you have time for your propaganda to work?”
Levine pivots back to Cupp with a chilly smile. “Truth sounds like propaganda to those steeped in lies.”
SCANNING>>>SCANNING>>>HYPER-CHANNEL 422496>>>RECEPTION>>> “And, again, thank you, High Councilor,” Sandra Brookes, sporting mane of freshly-dyed platinum blonde, “for joining us this evening with Galactic Daily.”
Noovin offers her a closed-lipped smile. “Thank you for having me, Sandra.”
They sit down together on either side of a coffee table in what looks like a well-apportioned den of bookshelves and fireplace, but is more likely a holographic studio. Sandra checks notes on a holopad before smiling again. “You’ve had a busy few weeks, Councilor, campaigning across the Foundation, but also responding to what seems to be a constant stream of crises.”
“The Alliance is in crisis, Sandra.”
“Certainly,” she replies, “but I was referring more to the state of your campaign. Recent polling shows Kathleen Kerrigan within the margin of error, you’ve been rocked with scandals, and now these accusations of being behind the widespread street violence on Prospero and a number of other worlds.”
Noovin waves a hand dismissively. “Let me just start off by saying I and my campaign denounce all forms of violence.”
“So, there is no truth to the charges that your campaign is coordinating with these agitators?”
“None, at all.” He leans back in his chair. “It’s just as likely Kerrigan’s hooligans are behind the disturbances. You’ve seen the way they carry on.”
Brookes frowns incredulously. “Now you’re suggesting the Assemblywoman has turned these rabble-rousers on her own activists?”
He shrugs. “Radicals tend to radicalize, do they not?”
“And speaking of your opponent,” Brookes shifts quickly, “do you have anything to say about the attempt on her life?”
He holds up both hands. “I already said I denounce violence.”
