Exodus, page 75
“Yes, ma’am.”
“The citizens of this prefecture—actually, all of Gondiar—must know that the governor is doing her best to keep them safe. Having the Syralee Angelics in custody will demonstrate this.”
“I understand.”
“Director, you have infiltrated so much of the criminal cancer that afflicts our society, so you understand their nature better than anyone. Tell me this: Is there likely to be a repeat?”
“I don’t think so. There are no more weapon shipments that I know of. Even the gangs were shocked by the capsule atrocity.”
“Good. Because this is now the time when we must reassert the authority of the marchioness in full, and through that the Empress herself.”
All Terence could see was the arena on Wynid, with the crushed and broken bodies of congregant girls lying in the dirt, while one of them, her dress soaked in blood, raised her sword in victorious salute to her queen. One of the five who shared that title.
Do I really want my safety enforced by someone like that?
“I agree,” María José said earnestly.
Of course you do.
“I’m delighted to hear it,” Zelinda said. “Because the marchioness and governor concur that something must be done to turn the tide of disrespect that is flooding down our city streets like an open sewer. The fact that someone even thought they could perpetrate such an act inside the Crown Dominion cannot be allowed to stand. Tomorrow, my mother will be submitting a new public security act for the governor’s approval, which will include restrictions on seditious protest and high mandatory sentences for anyone found inconveniencing public life. Political parties must also submit their election pledges for approval by the marchioness before campaigning can begin.” Her gaze lined up on Terence. “There will also be provision for the seizure and forfeiture of all monies gained through gang-related activities, with a grand judge–approved threshold for proof. I will expect you to turn over your files on everything you know about their finances.”
Very uneasily, Terence said, “I will message the archon for permission immediately, ma’am.”
“No. It is a requirement of the governor, who carries the supreme authority of the empress in all Crown Dominion matters occurring on Gondiar. Have the files ready for me in one hour.”
“That may impede my duty to monitor events.”
“Then your archon can raise the matter with the governor. The files will be reviewed by a team being assembled by the Treasury’s Office of Financial Investigation. In all cases of money originating from suspected criminal activities, they will be issuing a legal instrument requiring explanation of previously undocumented wealth. And you hold key information concerning those criminal funds, do you not?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I am glad to hear it. It is time we started reminding our citizens the responsibilities they have to the empress—commencing with the wholehearted support for a civil society. There has been too much effort to push boundaries of late, and this is where it has brought us.”
“An excellent policy, ma’am,” María José said. “My officers will be pleased to enforce it.”
“Director?”
Terence didn’t want to guess what she was going to insist on next. “Ma’am?”
“Do you have any such files of financial impropriety relating to my brother-in-law?”
“Josias?” he asked in surprise. Asteria, is she going to throw him to the wolves?
“Yes; precisely.”
“Not really. His financial affairs are rather complex. I do know members of his Regal Democrat party are receiving money from offworld couriers—mostly those who defected from Human Liberation. Again, I would ask for discretion revealing that information.”
“The investigation’s sources will not be exposed. But Josias will be brought to account for the illiberal agitation he has been fomenting.”
Terence closed his eyes for a long moment. “I would advise caution when dealing with Josias in any public arena. He is…clever, an instinctual politician who will turn any sign of being victimized by the state—especially by the governor—to his advantage.”
“Why the governor in particular?”
“The governor is the symbol of Imperial Celestial control over humans living on Gondiar. Josias has always campaigned for an easing of that control, an expansion of democracy.”
“Gondiar provides every human with security through the rule of law. People have a say in their affairs.”
“Not enough for Josias.”
“Then Josias is wrong. He will be educated.”
* * *
—
It had been a while since Terence had worn body armor. The Bopbe mission, to be precise, and that had only been lightweight armor, because he hadn’t been frontlining then. This was different. His armor suit looked like a standard police-issue heavy-duty protection kit—the type the tactical teams practiced with endlessly for firearm incidents. So much for appearances. He’d run through the Celestial-built systems and their capabilities enough times, which gave him a heady feeling of confidence.
“You could probably take out an Imperial Knight wearing that,” Makaio-Faraji had told him, then hurriedly added: “But I’d seriously advise against trying.”
The helmet closed around Terence’s head. Every movement he made was superbly balanced; the suit appeared to weigh nothing. The tactical display on his retinal membranes was a field of green symbols.
“Open the door,” he told the suit manager, itself a formidable tactical CI.
The van doors slid apart. Russet twilight shone over him. He stepped out onto Sonoma Avenue—a pleasant stretch of road in western Santa Rosa with a small stream running down the middle, dropping down charming waterfalls into pools at each junction along its length. The section he was in had apartment blocks on either side, which the sculptors had given running balconies and bulging eye-like windows wrapped in ornate flourishes.
No vehicles were running down the lanes. There were no pedestrians. The cafes, bars, and stores along the street were empty. Shutting it down had taken Myolin’s team twenty cautious minutes. Terence’s CI had taken only picoseconds to seize control of the avenue’s network.
He stood in front of the Balletto block and told the suit manager to lnc him to Medusa. “How do you want to do this?” he asked her.
It took a while, but eventually a nonchalant voice answered: “I thought people like us wrestled with shadows. But this—damn, you’ve taken this up a level, haven’t you?”
“Yes. Two hundred and thirty-seven levels, to be precise.”
“Hey. I did not do that, okay? I’m a professional, not a fucking psycho.”
“I’ll ask Bopbe what he thinks about that.”
“Is that little shit still alive?”
“Not after what you did to him.”
“For someone with so many informers you are seriously misinformed, Director Wilson-Fletcher.”
“Sure. Okay, enough foreplay. Are you coming out, or do I have to come in and get you?”
“Hell, yeah. I fancy me some one-on-one. Been a while.”
“You really want to risk that? Whatever Sahdiah allowed you to have against whatever my guy’s given me? How important are you to him, exactly? You can take a minute to think about it if you want.”
“Damn, you know how to hurt a girl’s feelings. What’s your play?”
“It’s over, Medusa. This puritanical round-up of recidivists the governor ordered, I’m afraid all your informers and agents got added to the list. No more network for you.”
“Well, ouch, director.”
“Come on, the capsule explosion changed everything. You must have known it was going to do that.”
“It wasn’t me. How many times?”
“Assuming you survive the next ten minutes, there are two ways this ends for you. I question you, or I ship you out to Wynid and they really question you.”
“And if it’s you doing the questions, what then?”
“If it wasn’t you behind the capsule bomb, you find yourself a contract with a Traveler starship and leave the Crown Dominion—for good. But, Medusa, if it was you, I’m going to kill you myself. Lućia was in that capsule.”
“Your hearts and minds technique is seriously shit, you know that, right?”
“Deactivate your hair, and jettison anything you’re carrying in sacs, then get your arse down here. Two minutes—mark.” He closed the lnc.
* * *
—
The exowarden walked Medusa from the van to the secure cell, then came to a halt in the center. Terence followed her in, still in his armor. The door slid shut behind him.
He studied her face. The sweat was glinting on her brow, and the suit’s sensors showed him everything else: the temperature rise, heart rate, breathing. She was going for indifference, but her gaze kept straying to the cases of equipment and the cell’s incongruously large air vents. Her lips screwed up. “Are those fire andys?”
“Yes.”
“You going to torture me with retardant foam?”
“If it happens to you, I promise I’ll shoot you in the head straightaway. Nobody deserves to suffer like that.”
“What?”
“I’ve seen it happen twice now. That’s why I’m staying in this armor.”
“What?” She tried to shift her shoulders, as if it was the start of wriggling free. The exowarden’s bands contracted. “Shit. All right. Hell, that hurts.”
“Hang on. Little blood test first.” He opened one of the cases and took out the test instrument.
“Ow.” She scowled at him as he put it against her neck. While he was waiting for the result, he picked up the razor.
“Wait!” she yelled. “Don’t. I’ll cooperate.”
“They have to come off for this to work. And trust me, you need this to work properly if you want to survive.”
“Asteria’s tits. Are you going to use…?”
“Yeah.”
Medusa’s nose wrinkled up in disgust. “Free my hand, I’ll do it. Give me that, at least.”
He gave the exowarden an order. Medusa took the razor from him and began running it over her head. A bomb disposal andy picked up the dead ropes of her hair and dropped them in a blast-proof bin.
When it was safe, Terence ordered his helmet to open. “The good news is that you’re not infected.”
She gave him an apprehensive stare. “What infection?”
“The biomech that killed Bopbe.” He pointed at the vents. “We had to install them because of the stench. It took a week to sanitize the cell after. And we’re still not sure how they triggered it.”
“I was going to interrogate Bopbe, that’s all.”
“I know. Okay, here we go.” He opened the second case and took out the helmet. It looked like it was made from bone—a sickly-yellow skull from something not quite human, carved so it could fit over a human head. There were patches like glistening flesh inside.
“Do they deliberately make it look hideous?” she asked.
The helmet squelched as he gently pushed it down.
Medusa closed her eyes. “I’ve only ever heard rumors of these,” she said. “They didn’t even have them back in the Remnant Era. Makaio-Faraji really does trust you, doesn’t he?”
“He has good reason,” Terence said softly.
She winced. “It’s cold. Oh. Ouch. No, that’s weird. It’s like a scalp massage, but on the inside. Terence, is this going to damage me? I mean: me?”
“No.”
“Have you done this before?”
“Congratulations, you’re my first. You’re that important.”
“Fuuuck you!”
“Just calm down. The filaments are too small to mutilate your brain cells.”
Tears were trickling down her cheeks. “Does it come off?”
“Yeah. Says so right here on the box.”
The helmet took fifteen minutes to extend its thousands of filaments into her brain. They were micronic sensors, he told her. They detected and identified her neuronal activity. “Basically, they tell me what part of your brain you’re accessing to answer. If it’s a genuine memory, or if you use your imagination and intellect to produce a lie.”
“I won’t.”
“Yes, see, you actually believe that. Let’s hope you don’t change your mind. So, let’s get some baselines here. Are you the contact between an archon and the network of informers you control?”
He watched the patterns in her brain, the areas that burned with rivers of light as they were stimulated by mnemonic association, a cascade of bioneural flares as old events played out in her consciousness, narrowing down to a single thought. When she spoke, the impulse didn’t originate in the neocortex where human imagination dwelled.
“Yes.”
“Thank you. Who is the archon you’re working for?”
“Sahdiah.”
“Why did he pick you?”
“He didn’t really. I took over after Marcellu.”
“So Marcellu recruited you?”
“More like contracted me. We’d flown together before, security for a Traveler starship. He knew I could be trusted, so I ran the operation on Anoosha while he flew to Terrik Papuan.”
The name kindled some deep memory in Terence. “Did he not come back?”
“Yes, he came back. He’d been injured in some kind of fight. All I know was that Sahdiah didn’t want the Diligent to become a starship, but Marcellu had failed to prevent that. Finn Jalgori-Tobu got himself a ZPZ generator.”
Terence recalled the weird deal Finbar Jalgori-Tobu had made with Josias Aponi, the one that ultimately resulted in Hafnir becoming what it was today. It had been big news back in the day. “So Sahdiah had Marcellu killed?”
“No. Someone murdered Marcellu. Sahdiah was furious. He said it was a direct insult to him personally, that archons don’t do things like that; they pride themselves on subtlety. I’ve been trying to find out who the killer was ever since. Tough job. Every year the trail grows a little colder.”
“Is that why you wanted Bopbe?”
“Yes.”
“And Zikar?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Sahdiah was convinced the other network was attacking his, starting with Marcellu. Bopbe might have known who performed the hit; he’s close to the top. And the murder weapon was a Cherenkov blade. They’re rare. But the head of that network is supposed to have one.”
“What’s his name?”
“Her. Her name. I don’t know. I did get hold of some senior agents to question. None of them had a name, but a couple knew the rumor that she has a Cherenkov blade. She’s good, Terence; she’s hidden herself well. Orders always come through a one-time lnc. Nobody ever actually meets her in person, not anymore.”
“Asteria’s arse! Who’s the archon running her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Wait. Why did she kill Marcellu?”
“To try and break Sahdiah’s network. It certainly set us back a long way.”
“No, work with me here. You said you thought she murdered Marcellu personally. But if she’s so careful not to expose herself, why kill him in person? It’s risky. Why not contract an assassin for the job?”
He watched section after section of her brain light up then extinguish as she sought to answer him.
“I don’t know, Terence. Honestly, I don’t.”
“I can see that. But why personal? What’s the advantage?”
Medusa’s eyes widened in surprise as a single dawn-glow of recognition ignited. “She knew him.”
“Asteria’s arse, and he knew her! That’s how she got close.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Two men walk into a bar.
* * *
—
No, no, no. Not this again, please. Don’t want this.
* * *
—
Two men walk into a bar. It’s us, Terence. It’s you and me. Let’s make it the Fleesh Diamond on Baume Avenue. It’s a warm memory for you; you’ll have pleasant thoughts here. So, it’s a nice evening, you’re twenty-six again, and life is looking pretty good.
* * *
—
I am not going into that bar. I want my real life. Not this. I don’t want this. Go away. Leave me the fuck alone!
* * *
—
We sit down at a table together, just two old friends having a drink. It relaxes you. We trust each other. There’s music playing, soothing music. I start the conversation by saying: “Let me help you.” You say: “Yes, please. What do I need to do?” And the answer is obvious, isn’t it? But I tell you anyway: “Take a breath, a deep calming breath, and listen to what I have to say. Don’t react, don’t fight, just listen. Analyze, like your old Police Academy tutors told you. First rule, always acquire the facts before you judge.”
* * *
—
I Will. Not. Go away. I’m going to break this. The bar is loud, the beer is piss water, and there’s a fight breaking out. We run. We run out into the wet, miserably cold night. We never come back. Never. Never. I hit you. Smash. That feels good. I hit again—
* * *
—
“Terence!”
He lunged for the phantom tormentor. To pummel, to break bone and tear flesh. Extreme violence; that’s what it needed. But his arms barely moved, as if they were constrained in some giant net.
“Wake up,” Jimena yelled.
