***
That evening, Jen invited Thud down to the hotel bar, keen to catch up properly. Sitting at a small table near the window, she ordered two beers, and smiled a greeting to her friend as he arrived just as the bartender delivered the order. “Perfect timing.”
“I’m still good for something, it seems,” Thud replied somewhat morosely, settling into the armchair opposite and raising the glass. “Cheers, Jen.”
“Cheers.” Jen tapped her glass against his. “Something bothering you?”
Thud shrugged, taking a gulp from his drink. “You’re paying me a lot of money to just be the comic relief. Feels like maybe you’re humouring me, doing an old friend a favour?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jen chided, sipping at her own beer. “I’d have a hard time staging an effective diversion on my own. This wasn’t the plan I started with, but it’s a lot better than what I was originally gonna do. It’s less risky all round, thanks to the timing of the maintenance work and with Solinas on the crew. And if it goes wrong, we still might be in need of your more combat-oriented abilities, as well as Honold’s. Call it insurance, if you like. But for now, let’s be happy with the idea that if everything goes according to plan, this will be easy money for both of us.”
Thud looked sceptical, but he nodded agreement after a moment. “OK, Jen. Shit, I’m sorry, I guess… seeing you again has me thinking of better days.”
Jen reached out to squeeze his hand. “I figured. So come on, talk to me, buddy. How are you doing, really?”
“I’m still angry,” Thud admitted. “Doesn’t feel like a year already. I screwed it up.”
“Who did you hit? Anyone I know?”
“Nah. Jumped-up little prick called McCulloch. Butter-bar who’d barely got his ass through OCS but thought he knew everything.”
“Why’d you swing for him?”
“He landed two of his platoon—my platoon—in hospital by being a careless bastard. I felt a degree of chastisement was in order. They were my kids, and he got them hurt. Broke-dick little shitbag. He was completely useless, and everyone knew it.” Thud snorted derisively. “Hell, Captain Bell even bought me a drink afterward. She said it was the least I deserved for doing what the entire battalion had been itching to do for weeks.”
“Captain Bell? As in, Gina Bell?” Jen tried for casual, but failed miserably. Thud chuckled.
“The very same. She was bucking for Major when I got my BCD, looking at the Ops slot on battalion staff. Going places.”
“How’d she look?” Jen asked wistfully.
“Still hot as all hell. Damn, if that woman’s legs don’t go all the way up.” Thud’s grin widened as he studied Jen’s expression. “I thought you said it wasn’t love?”
“It wasn’t,” Jen protested, “but boy, she was ever good in bed. And I do kind of regret using her the way I did, but… I was getting desperate.”
“Was it worth it?” Thud asked softly. “You’re smart, and you had potential. They would have officered you up after another year or so, and you would have been good at it. But here you are, six years later, just as broke as me, pinning your hopes on a big score to put your life back on track…”
“It was worth it,” Jen assured him immediately. “I’ve had a bad year, I won’t deny that, and sure, this job has a high pucker factor because if we mess it up I’ll have to sell my ship, but I do own a ship. I’m hardly destitute. And I’ve had six years of freedom, going where I want, taking jobs I want, seeing the galaxy in my own time, and at my own pace…”
“And losing your ship will eat you alive, the same way as losing the Corps eats at me,” Thud noted astutely.
“Which is why I’m not gonna let that happen,” Jen swore. “We’ve got a good crew and a good plan. This will work.”
“I don’t doubt it. The plan’s solid, even a grunt like me can see that. So once we have our fortune and glory, then what?”
“I spend most of that fortune and glory on refits, upgrades, and fuel stocks, and then take a few completely legal, very respectable, and utterly boring cargo runs to cool my profile off a little. After that…” Jen shrugged. “Who knows? Pick a direction, see what I can find.”
“You sticking with this crew?”
“Nope. I don’t run with a crew very often. Only when I get work I can’t handle on my own. It’s cheaper—when the contracts dry up I don’t have extra mouths to worry about.”
Thud nodded, too quickly. “That’s understandable. No baggage to tie you down.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Jen snorted. “Just ask already, would you?”
“I don’t want to be a burden, Bronwen. Least of all to my friends.”
“You won’t be.” Jen smiled reassuringly. “I’ll make sure you pull your weight. Listen, you’re not going to get good work in Modeus. Everyone here is too tight-assed and too respectable. Ditto Sol Deuterion, Oceanhill, Bronwen, or anywhere else in Assembly space. At least come out to Asgard with me. The Market’s a good spot to get adapted to the outer systems. Shan’Chael’s always got work, and being local, being visible, you’re far more likely to pick up contracts. And that’s assuming I don’t keep you on.” She gave Thud an encouraging smile. “Lately I’ve been wondering if it might be better to have someone riding shotgun, and who’d be better than you? I mean,” she leaned across the table to punch him in the shoulder companionably, “I already know I can live in a confined space with you for months on end without wanting to kill you—that’s a big plus point.”
Thud chuckled softly, hope lighting in the depths of his eyes. “Maybe,” he hedged.
Jen clapped him on the shoulder. “Think about it, OK? The offer’s there.”
“I will. And Jen?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
KEERA
Berlin, Earth, Modeus System, Assembly Space
The shrill, insistent beep of Keera’s incoming call alert dragged her from her sleep.
She sat bolt upright, staring around the shadowed bedroom, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. Rubbing her eyes blearily, she relaxed as details began to present themselves and her memory kicked in, then she rolled over to grab her console wristband from the nightstand. “Naraymis.”
“Keera?” Mendieta’s voice rang through the room, uncharacteristically worried. “Is that you?”
“Yes, sir. What’s going on?” The question trailed off into a yawn, and she cursed herself silently.
“Oh, were you sleeping?”
“Yes, sir, it’s…” Keera checked the bedside clock, “four fifteen in the morning.”
“Ah. I’d forgotten about the time difference.” Mendieta sighed. “I’m sorry to have woken you, but I thought you’d want to know straightaway. Haroun Mahmoud died a few hours ago.”
“What?” Stunned, Keera dropped the wristband to the bedclothes and rubbed her hands over her face. “Oh, no… what… what happened?”
“I gather it was a hovercar accident of some kind. I didn’t get many details from his brother; he was still in shock.”
“How’s Rebecca?”
“I haven’t spoken to her yet, but I imagine she’s devastated. Listen, I’m sending Dev Chanderpaul out to relieve you temporarily, and you can come on home. The work on the Changeling treaty needs to be completed and you’re the best placed to do that. Besides which, I know you’ll want to attend the funeral. I know you were close friends.”
“I… thank you, sir,” Keera said gratefully, touched by the odd show of thoughtfulness. “I appreciate that very much.” She took a deep breath. “My God, I can’t believe it.”
“Nobody can.” Mendieta sounded tired. “He was a good man, had a real talent for the work. He’ll be hard to replace. But we can talk about that more when I see you.” He paused, and Keera could hear him tapping at his keyboard. “Chanderpaul’s finishing up some work with the Ercineans. There’s no point in leaving that unfinished as well, so I’ll send him along once he’s done. H
e should be on Earth in four days or so. In the meantime, keep working with Lawinson. I’ll let Minister Solta know to expect a delay in the paperwork.”
“Understood,” Keera acknowledged. “I’ll check in with you as soon as I’m home.”
“All right. Have a safe trip and I’ll see you in a few days. Mendieta out.”
Keera retrieved her wristband and replaced it on the bedside table, then got up and padded over to the window, looking out over the darkened avenue below. Mahmoud had been about the closest thing she had to a friend on Geonova, a close colleague she’d permitted herself to see socially on occasion. Initially, she’d only agreed to go out in order to keep up the pretence that she was settling into a social life, but things had escalated from there. He’d been a gregarious man, generous with his friendship—he’d quickly introduced her to his wife Rebecca and children, and their personal rapport had developed from there, with dinner parties and theatre trips and drinks after work where Rebecca would invariably try and matchmake for her. They were about the only people she’d thought she would miss, when the time came to end her assignment.
It hardly matters, her rational side noted coldly. You would never have been able to maintain the friendship anyway. The only difference is he should be mourning you.
He was my friend. Regardless of what would have happened, her compassionate side countered vehemently, winning out as tears began to sting her eyes. Blinking rapidly, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and sucked in a deep breath. Focus.
A hovercar accident. That was an unsettling coincidence; it was a popular choice of extraction cover for changeling agents. They were easy enough to manufacture, and commonplace enough to be overlooked as simple tragedy. It was the way she was expecting Assistant Secretary Naraymis’ meteoric career to come to a close. Had Mahmoud been an agent too? A back-up, perhaps?
She dismissed the thought as soon as it occurred. If he’d been her back-up, he wouldn’t have been withdrawn before the mission was completed. And as the mission principal, she would have expected to have been made aware of his true identity.
A chill settled in her gut as a new possibility presented itself: what if he had been targeted by the Sentinels? If the terrorist group had learned of the new legislation, learned who in the Marauder government was dealing with it, they might well have taken action to stop the amendments from being enacted, protecting their agents in Marauder space. And if they knew about Mahmoud, they knew about her. Not necessarily her true identity, of course, but if the nature of the work she was doing was worth killing for, then she was an obvious target.
If it was the Sentinels, it was a sloppy sort of operation, though, she reflected. They could have replaced him rather than disposing of him in such a public fashion. Then they could have disrupted the bureaucratic process in a dozen different ways without stooping to anything so crass or obvious as murder. Unless, of course, they were getting desperate.
The more she thought about it, the more wound up she became—while the odds where overwhelming that it had simply been an accident, it was the kind of fluke happenstance that she’d been taught never to just ignore. Setting up her terminal, she placed a call to Estris.
Her handler sounded less than pleased to hear from her when he picked up. “Naraymis, you’re not due to check in for another week. What’s going on now?”
“I just got word that my deputy at the Marauder Exterior department was killed in a hovercar accident.”
“Yeah, so?”
The callous indifference in his tone grated on her. “Well, it’s put the treaty work on hold till I can get back to New Lagos, so it’s a setback for the mission.”
“Not one you can’t deal with, I trust?”
“Of course not,” Keera protested, “but it’s awfully similar to an extraction op.”
Estris huffed an impatient sigh. “Most accidents are, Naraymis. That’s the general idea, remember? Don’t go looking for connections where there are none.”
“So you’re telling me you don’t know anything about it?”
“No I don’t know anything about it,” Estris replied coldly. “Think it through: it would hardly be a logical move for us, would it? Slowing down the treaty isn’t in our interests, it’d be counter to everything you’ve been doing. And more to the point,” his tone chilled further and took on an edge of rebuke, “it’s not your concern. Even if it was a step that was deemed necessary, what do you care and why is it your business?”
“It’s my concern if it compromises my exit strategy, Estris,” Keera retorted sharply, irritated by his condescending attitude. “If I have an “accident” so soon after one of my colleagues and we were both working on the same project, even the stupidest intelligence officer in Assembly space is going to make some sort of connection and look closer. To say nothing of potentially putting the entire Marauder government on guard.” Keera grimaced. “I agree it’s unlikely to have been part of our operation, and if it is, sure, I don’t need to know, but I’m not prepared to ignore the possibility that he was targeted by the Sentinels. If they knew what we were trying to do, it makes sense that they’d try and stop us. And if they know how to get to him, they know how to get to me. So cut me a little slack, would you? I’m not an idiot. I wouldn’t call in without a good reason.”
Estris snorted, but his tone was more conciliatory when he spoke again. “Maybe you’ve got a point there.” There was a brief pause as he typed something, then he sighed. “All right, sit tight and keep doing what you’re doing. I’ll look into it and see what’s going on, see if I can get you a sit-rep. If I find anything, I’ll contact you—don’t call in again before your next scheduled check. Let’s try to keep a little tradecraft, shall we? The next time you pull this amateur crap, you might not be as lucky with who answers your call. You don’t want to end up being this year’s object lesson in necessary termination, do you?”
Keera shook her head, even though Estris couldn’t see her. It was uncommon for the Service to terminate its own agents for jeopardizing operations, but it happened regularly enough to be a real risk. No one is irreplaceable, as their unofficial motto had it. “No, of course not. Understood. And, Estris…”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for checking–I just want to be sure everything’s on the level. Call me paranoid, but…”
“Sometimes the bastards really are after you,” Estris completed the old saw gruffly. “Don’t worry, kid. I’ll be in touch if there really is an issue. Otherwise, just stay safe.”
“Will do. Naraymis out.” Keera cut the call, sighing as she noticed the time was now well after four-thirty. She was wide awake, and there wasn’t much point in going back to bed if she was getting up at six anyway. Opening her terminal’s main menu, she pinged a room service request for coffee and breakfast to the hotel’s auto-concierge, and settled down to make a painful comm call to Rebecca.