Terrak
My rescuer is satisfied, and amusing herself while we complete our journey, so I’ll resume my account. I would like to send out these missives as I go – Catriona would see they reached the right listeners – but I don’t dare risk giving my position away. Catriona never answered my request for information about Shelly, which makes me wonder if my oh-so-encrypted messages were intercepted. If so, I don’t dare break my silence now, when half the galaxy is looking for me…
When I was attacked in my room on Shilsaad Station, head slammed into the door, I growled, fight-or-flight chemicals flooding my system and dispelling my daze. I struggled up from my knees, but the person on my back yanked my hair hard, forcing my head up. A small, long-fingered hand holding a slim black canister appeared on the edge of my vision. Was it poison? A gas to render me unconscious? I didn’t want to find out. The weight on my back wasn’t heavy, and I flung myself hard to one side, trying to shake off my unwelcome passenger, and falling to my knees again in the process. The canister went flying, bouncing across the floor and out of sight, and small arms locked tightly around my neck.
I was not going to be strangled to death in my hotel room. I pulled at my attacker’s arms, but despite their diminutive size they were too strong to dislodge, so instead I concentrated on gaining my feet. Once I was upright, I spun and slammed my back against one of the walls as hard as I could, crushing my assailant between my own body mass and the station’s bulkhead. The attacker hissed in my ear, but their grip loosened, and I stepped forward, ready to slam myself back again. Instead the figure dropped from my back and scurried away – or so I assumed, since I saw only a shimmer in the air as my door opened and then closed again.
When your attacker is invisible, it’s probably Yssaril. Kote Strom? I rubbed my throat, but though it was sore, I detected no real damage. My assailant clearly hadn’t been trying to kill me – a blade while I was sleeping would have accomplished that much more easily. What was the purpose, then? To drug me, and take me somewhere else, for some unknown purpose? That thought disturbed me the most, in some ways. I have devoted much of my life to being the insider, to having control over my own small sphere of influence, so being at the mercy of mysterious forces chilled me to the heart. I am in the business of knowledge and influence, and I currently had neither.
Best to correct that and learn what I could. I picked up the canister from the floor. The cylinder was small and black, barely the size of my thumb, with a simple push-button and nozzle on top, and a toggle to open or close the valve. There were no markings or indication at all regarding what substance might be inside. I pushed the safety toggle closed and tucked the canister away in one of the hidden pockets in my tunic. I considered whether or not to call station security. This attack had all the makings of an international incident, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to be in the middle of one of those as they involve far too much paperwork and long, tedious meetings that detract from the more enjoyable things in life.
A melodious chime sounded from the ceiling. “Ambassador Terrak, you have a message,” the room’s expert system said.
“What is it?”
A pause, and then a recording of Shelly’s voice played. “Old friend… Whiskers… I need your help. Please… come to my room… so I can. Explain. I am on Azimuth Deck… room four. Hurry. As soon. As you… get this.” He still sounded strange, but if he was in trouble that could be explained by stress and fear. So. Shelly had gotten mixed up in something, and in the course of asking about his welfare, I’d mixed myself up, somehow. Whatever was going on, it was serious to send an Yssaril operative to try and gas me.
I sighed. This summit had seemed so uneventful, and I hadn’t been prepared for this level of excitement. But the Hacan have a saying: There’s no use arguing with the desert . Protest all you want, but the sun will still beat down on you, and the drifting sand will bury you while you complain about the injustice of it all. Sometimes you just have to deal with things as they are. Was someone trying to disrupt the Greater Union? The idea wasn’t universally popular, but how could Shelly possibly impact it one way or another? Not to disparage my old friend, but his role in the Kingdom of Xxcha simply wasn’t that important.
I considered bringing a weapon, but only ceremonial ones were allowed at the summit, mostly for photographs, and those aren’t any good in a fight. My own dune spear – a traditional Hacan weapon – had never been wielded in a fight, though I looked quite dashing with it across my back. I decided to leave the spear in the closet; walking around the station with a weapon was sure to draw comment. At least I always have my claws.
I went into the hallway, keeping my eyes open for shimmers in the air. I didn’t see anyone suspicious, or actually anyone at all, on my walk to the lift – most of the delegation was probably drinking and talking and making the little side deals that keep international relations interesting. I descended to Azimuth Deck and walked down another empty corridor. Room four was at the end of a hallway – and the door was ajar.
I growled and pushed the door fully open, wishing I had brought my dune spear. “Shelly?” There was no answer, and the lights inside were dim. I stepped into the suite’s foyer. There was a little sitting room with a chair and stool and a table straight ahead. No sign of Shelly, or anyone else. I turned toward the sleeping quarters, and the door was standing half-open there, too.
I pushed the door wide and looked inside.
Shelly was dead on the floor at the foot of his sleeping pod, his head twisted at a horrible angle… but not because his neck was broken. No, his head was pushed aside by the haft of a spear sticking out of his body. Someone had inserted the point of the spear at the base of his neck, in one of the few places not protected by the shell, and shoved the weapon down, doubtless destroying all sorts of vital organs on the way. How could you even manage such an attack, unless the victim simply sat there and allowed it?
I was so stunned, it took a moment for me to realize the spear looked familiar. It had a red jewel set in the base, and the haft was wrapped with dark blue cloth – the colors of the Emirates of Hacan diplomatic corps. That was my dune spear. Someone had stolen my spear from my room and killed my friend with it. Which meant–
“Burning sands.” I turned just in time for three people in station security uniforms to rush into the room pointing sidearms at me.
I raised my hands and lowered my head. I’d been in a number of unusual situations over the course of my life and career, but this was the first time I’d ever been framed for murder.
•••
Station security put me in a room. It wasn’t a cell – Shilsaad Station was essentially a convention center, not a detainment facility – but it was obviously the closest thing they had, just a table and a couple of chairs and bare walls, with a camera high up in one corner, watching me. I should have been mourning my friend, but I confess, I was a bit more preoccupied with the idea of how to save my own skin… and figuring out who could possibly want to frame me for such a crime. I had enemies, but none of the sort who’d go to these lengths. Time enough for grief when all this was cleared up… or, I supposed, while I was sitting in a prison cell somewhere.
I wondered which branch of officialdom would arrive to interrogate me. The station was owned by a Federation of Sol corporation, so it would probably be their police, but the Mentak Coalition was running this summit, so maybe they’d jump in, or it could be Xxcha, since one of their people was the victim. I wondered how long I’d have to sit here before the various interested parties worked out their jurisdictional issues and sent someone in to ask why I’d murdered my friend of three decades.
It took less than an hour, and when she arrived, she wasn’t any of the people I might have expected. She was a human, dressed in a station security uniform – they’re white and gray, and make their people look more like custodial staff than the teeth and claws of authority, but again: it’s a hotel and convention center. They don’t get a lot of murders. She stepped inside and shut the door, and then gave me a grin. I grinned back, because my spirit was not broken, and my teeth are a lot longer. She dropped into the chair on the other side of the table and relaxed, like she was a princeling on a throne. “So. Terrak. How’s it going? You need anything?”
“I need to contact the Hacan diplomatic corps so they can send an advocate. As I told your colleagues when they first brought me in.”
She snorted. “I meant more, like, do you need a drink of water, or to take a leak, or whatever.”
I sighed. “No. I don’t.”
“Great.” She reached into her pocket and removed a small black canister.
I reached across and pinned her wrist to the table, her hand still wrapped around the spray bottle. Another attacker? Was all of the station security compromised? If so, my prospects for escaping this situation were even more dismal than I’d realized.
She laughed and patted my gripping hand with her free one. “Relax, big guy, I’m not here to blast you in the face. This is the canister you had in your pocket when they took you in – I filched it out of the evidence locker. Which is really just the security head’s personal locker, where she keeps a spare shirt and stuff, so it wasn’t too hard to get open. Amateurs, right? The security team on this station is not equipped to deal with somebody sticking a big spear through a guy. The real authorities are on the way, though. Federation of Sol investigators from the colony world we’re orbiting.” She looked at my hand, still pinning her wrist. “Go ahead and take the canister and let me go, so we can discuss your options.” She opened her fingers, and the canister rolled across the table toward me.
She was clearly not your average security guard. I let her wrist go, picked up the canister, and tucked it away again. It was my only evidence that someone had done anything untoward to me, and I wanted to protect it. “What are you talking about? What options? Who are you?”
“I’m Amina Azad. That’s not the name on my official identification, but hey, why should we have any secrets between us?” She laced her hands together on the table. “You’ve stepped into a big ugly mess, Terrak. Fortunately, I can get you out of it. If you want to help me clean it up, that is. I could use a person with your resources and connections.”
I barked a laugh. Was she a spy from another polity, or just an opportunist who wanted to turn my disaster into her personal gain? “My diplomatic credentials aren’t much good now that I’ve been accused of murdering a cultural minister, and I rather doubt I’ll have free access to my bank accounts.”
She shook her head. “I asked around about you. You know lots of people – maybe even as many as I do – and because you’ve helped a lot of them get richer over the years, they’re all happy to see you whenever you come around. Most of my old friends hate my guts, I’m sad to say, and in this part of space, I don’t have many people I can reach out to. As for money – come on, Terrak. A guy like you keeps all his money in official banks? I don’t believe that.”
I cleared my throat. “Well. I’ve made a few arrangements over the years, yes. For tax purposes. But…” I glowered at her. “I’m not paying you.”
“I’m not asking you to. Funds aren’t currently a problem. I was just making a general observation. I believe in honesty and transparency between friends. We should be friends. You sure could use one.”
“Who are you?” I had suspicions. I’ve met a few covert operatives in my time. They can be very smug, because they really do know more about what’s going on than you do.
“I told you who I am. I think what you mean is: what do I do ? The answer is, I clean up messes. Discreetly. And if I can’t be discreet, I can at least be deniable.”
Interesting. “You’re telling me you’re a covert operation? For the Mentak Coalition? Or the Federation of Sol?”
She made a sour face. “Ugh. Don’t talk to me about the Mentak Coalition. You’d think a bunch of pirates and convicts would be more fun. I was born on Jord, but I haven’t been back in a while. There’s a great big beautiful galaxy out there, and the stars are all the home I need.” She pointed at the canister. “Let’s focus on your immediate situation. Someone tried to spray you in the face with whatever’s in that tube. If they had, I’m pretty sure one of two things would have happened. Either you would have been killed, and replaced with some kind of double, maybe a clone or an android or something, I’m not sure. Or you would have been mind-controlled, hollowed out, and turned into a puppet. One of those things happened to your buddy Qqurant. Don’t you want to know which one? I do. I’d like to get a read on the contents of this canister – is it knockout gas, or poison, or some kind of nanotech brain-rewiring stuff, or what? That little spray bottle is the first bit of actual evidence I’ve gotten my hands on regarding this conspiracy. We need to find somebody reliable and trustworthy who knows their way around a chemistry lab to analyze that evidence and see where the information takes us.”
“What do you mean, Qqurant was replaced? What conspiracy ?” Conspiracies are mostly imaginary, in my experience. People aren’t that organized, they’re terrible at keeping secrets, and they’re generally too wrapped up in their personal drama to really commit themselves to collective action, even for nefarious reasons. Most attempts fall apart quickly.
She shrugged. “Maybe not replaced. Maybe brainwashed. I’m not sure yet. I thought about hanging around for the autopsy results, to see if there’s anything weird about your dead friend’s body, but then I’d miss my chance to recruit you, and a partnership seems more useful. Besides, if I’m being totally honest, I’m not as good at waiting as I should be. I’d rather be making moves.”
“You want to recruit me into some investigation you’re conducting. Because of my connections.” At that moment, I should have been sleeping. I was supposed to wake up in a few hours, have a lavish breakfast, and attend a breakout session on the establishment of free ports. I was not supposed to be sitting in an interrogation room with someone who claimed, in a nebulous and deniable way, to be a spy.
“For your connections, sure, but also because you’re highly motivated.” Azad leaned forward. “You asked too many questions, Terrak. You got overly nosy. The bad guys tried to compromise you, the way they did Qqurant – the way they’ve compromised a lot of others, believe me. When they couldn’t turn you, they fell back on plan B: frame you for murder. You were found standing over the corpse of a known associate, killed by your own decorative spear. If they faked that much, they can fake whatever other evidence they need, but I doubt they’ll go to much effort. Why would they? There’s no reason to think you’ll survive long once you’re in custody. If I was running their operation, I’d make sure your transport shuttle had a fatal fault. Or maybe you’ll get knifed in the holding facility on that colony planet below us, in a random act of violence. But maybe not. Maybe the puppetmasters will get a few guys to pin your arms and legs while they blast another canister of whatever this is right in your face, and then clear you of all charges, and send you out to do their work.”
That was a lot of maybes, but I didn’t find any of the options reassuring. I was, however, thrilled to be in the company of someone who at least claimed to know what was going on. If I could orient myself, and figure out what the stakes were, perhaps I could find a way to extricate myself from this situation… and maybe even to profit from it. (Unlikely, I know, but I’m a trader at heart, and we can never stop looking for angles.) If she’d just stop being so damnably vague . “What work? What’s the goal of this supposed conspiracy?”
Azad shook her head. “Wish I knew. I’m supposed to find out. All I know is, the puppetmasters have compromised people in your government, and the Federation, the Coalition, the Universities, the Kingdom, the Guild, everybody involved in the Greater Union. Not just that, but they also have Letnev agents, which makes me think they’re involved in the alliance the Barony is putting together, the Legion. Somebody with connections like that could do all kinds of damage.”
If this supposed conspiracy could pull the strings of two great opposing factions, they could do almost anything . Alter the entire financial structure of the galaxy. Manipulate supply chains, corner markets, vertically integrate every known industry, create multiple monopolies. They could starve any system they wanted, metaphorically and literally. You don’t have to control the levers of power. Just the people who can reach those levers.
She shook her head. “Sorry. I’m heading off into spirals of speculation.”
Same here, I thought.
“That’s the problem with investigating a mysterious conspiracy with tendrils in a dozen polities,” Azad said. “It tends to be distracting. So, let’s focus. You’re the latest victim of the conspiracy, and lucky for you, I just happened to be here when you got victimized, pursuing the same lead you stumbled on.”
“You were looking into Qqurant?”
“You aren’t the only one who noticed he was acting strangely. I’ve got a shortlist of people who’ve almost certainly been compromised, and Qqurant was on it.”
“Why kill him if they controlled him?”
“Who knows? Maybe things reached the point where Qqurant was more useful to his new masters dead.” She squinted. “I think we have about fifteen minutes before the actual cops show up and start asking you polite questions, or hitting you with sticks, or whatever it is they do in this jurisdiction. Do you want to wait around for that, or do you want to leave with me?”
I barked a laugh. “Flee the charges? Become a fugitive? That’s the option you’re offering me?”
She shrugged. “Fleeing is just step one. Step two is, you help me uncover the conspiracy. Prove your innocence. And maybe save the galaxy. But it’s up to you. I could be a lunatic, and this whole murder charge could be a big misunderstanding that gets cleared up as soon as the lawyers get involved. Maybe a few hours from now you’ll be walking around free, instead of on your way to getting murdered or mind-controlled. What do you think is most likely to happen?”
“Something was… very wrong with Qqurant.” Had he been replaced by some sort of imposter? That didn’t seem quite right. I thought it was Shelly, but profoundly traumatized, mentally broken, going through the motions of life and only barely managing that. A wave of despair rose up at the thought of my clever, quick-witted, murdered friend, and I pushed it down. I had to focus on keeping myself alive. “Very wrong.”
She nodded. “We think he was one of the earliest… whatever. Replacements. Puppets. The early ones, they aren’t as convincing, and they seem to get more glassy-eyed and vague and mumbly as time goes by. Maybe the puppetmasters were still working out the glitches with their brain-stealing or body-copying technology or something. The conspiracy started small, compromising people who didn’t have a lot of personal security, but who went to meetings with the really important players, you know?”
I could see it. “Qqurant doesn’t have a lot of power, but he works with people who do.”
“Exactly. Maybe your buddy had his own little canister and sprayed it in the faces of his more powerful friends. The puppetmasters turned people like Qqurant, and used them to turn others , and so on up the ladder. I’d sure like to know how exactly they’re compromising their targets. Seeing what’s in that canister might help.”
“How do you know all this? Where did you get this shortlist of candidates?”
“I am a trained investigator with very smart and well-connected bosses.” She rose. “I’m also leaving. Are you coming with me, or are you going to sit there and hope for the best?”
I am, as a rule, a careful person. I study data. I do market research. But, in the end, whatever the numbers say, my decisions ultimately come down to my instincts. Not because I fetishize intuition, but because I trust that my mind is conducting calculations, analysis, and synthesis beyond the level of my conscious understanding. I’ve walked away from deals that looked great on paper and embraced ones that seemed questionable, and usually, my decisions worked out. Ninety percent of the time, anyway. Maybe eighty-five.
My instincts now were telling me to go with this woman. The worst case if I did was becoming a fugitive from justice, and that was pretty bad. If I stayed here, and she was right… the worst case was ending up dead, and that was much worse.
Except, no. The worst case if I stayed was being transformed into a hollow shell of myself and used as a pawn, like Shelly had been.
I stood up.
Azad grinned at me.
•••
Azad had an array of useful override codes, including ones I was pretty sure only the chief of station security should possess. A facility like Shilsaad Station has many public-facing areas, but it also has myriad places the average visitor never sees: service corridors, maintenance tunnels, freight elevators, laundries, kitchens, pantries, and storage rooms. That’s the world we passed through now: far less polished but far more functional, full of clanging and rushing and shouting, laughter and loafing and low conversation, stains and scuffs and doors that stuck a little before they slid open. Everything glamorous is built on grimier foundations.
We did not creep through the corridors silently. Azad led me openly through rooms filled with workers of various species, occasionally nodding and smiling at them, but mostly just breezing by. I learned long ago that if you walk with confidence and intent, you can reach all sorts of interesting places without being challenged. Her wearing a security uniform probably didn’t hurt. I admired her brashness, though I couldn’t share her confidence. Word must have gotten around about the killing, and there weren’t that many Hacan on the station, so surely someone would wonder…
But no one did. At least, no one that made a fuss about it where we could see. Probably because no one would believe an escaped prisoner would walk around so openly. We made it to one of the hangars, where the station’s dart-like security ships were located. The small ships were only big enough for two or three crew members, and were theoretically a last line of defense if the station came under attack… but in practice they mostly did escort duty for dignitaries on larger ships entering and leaving the area.
“We’re escaping in one of these?” I said when she approached one of the fighters. “Surely the station has ways to track their own ships?”
Azad stopped, turned, and stared at me, eyes wide. Her hand went to her mouth, trembling. After a moment, she whispered, “No. Oh, no. I never thought of that. How could I be so stupid ? After all the years I’ve spent as a covert operative! Thank Sol I had an elderly merchant here to warn me, or I would have made a terrible mistake!”
I sighed. “Yes. Fine. Point taken.”
“Good. Get in the ship, big guy.”
“For the record, I’m only middle-aged for my species,” I grumbled as I obeyed.