Rath's Rebellion (The Janus Group Book 5) Read online

  “Okay,” Jace said.

  Over the spaceliner’s intercom, the announcement chime sounded. “Ladies and gentlemen, we will be arriving at Anchorpoint in twenty minutes. Please gather your belongings and prepare for docking procedures.”

  Hawken frowned, and looked at Dasi. “How’d you know?” he asked.

  “Know what?” she asked, blushing slightly.

  The district attorney sighed. “Forget I asked.”

  Shit, Dasi thought. She pretended to read some more of her book.

  “You can trust me, you know,” Hawken said, putting his datascroll down. “Whatever it is, you can trust me.”

  Dasi closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. Six? What do you think?

  >>>It may be advantageous for him to know our full capabilities, Six told her. But I will defer to you.

  Fine. But if I’m going to tell him, I’m going to tell him everything.

  Dasi looked at Hawken, who smiled back at her.

  “What?” he asked.

  “There’s a few things you don’t know about me,” Dasi told him.

  “Uh huh,” Jace agreed. “The word clairvoyant comes to mind.”

  “… right. I know I can trust you,” Dasi continued. “But some of my secrets … well, knowing them might put you in a tough spot. Ethically.”

  “Ethically?” Hawken repeated.

  “Yeah.” She exhaled loudly. “Okay, here goes. I have a highly advanced artificial intelligence program installed in my internal computer. The program’s very powerful, and unique – my boyfriend coded it, and after he died, I installed it while I was at the Academy. I call it ‘Six.’ I don’t think I was supposed to install Six, but it’s been very, very helpful.”

  “How so?” Hawken asked.

  “Well, Six just warned me of our arrival time, for example. And he discovered those two donations to Foss’ campaign, and the Church’s equity stake in Shibuden-Klein. That wasn’t me.”

  Hawken gave a low whistle. “Smart program.”

  Dasi nodded. “Six is also the reason I requested access to the cyber-security training. He used that training to take control of the car while we were being chased. And he saved us in the store.”

  “The lights – and the security gate,” Hawken said, realization dawning. “He can control external hardware?”

  “Yes,” Dasi said. “Anything with an Internet connection. But I’ve asked him only to do so when my life is in danger. We’re not just hacking things for the fun of it.”

  >>>I do enjoy the challenge of hacking, Six told Dasi. But you are right to curtail our use of the technique.

  “Well, that’s reassuring,” Hawken was saying. “And don’t worry – I don’t plan on reporting you to some supervisor in Interstellar Police for installing unauthorized software on your internal computer. I’m glad you did – Six has been instrumental to our team’s success, it seems.”

  “… that’s only part of it,” Dasi said.

  Hawken frowned. “Why do I feel like you’re about to drop a bomb on me?”

  Dasi grimaced. “I kind of am. You know about Martin Beauceron and the investigation into the Guild?”

  “Of course,” Hawken agreed.

  “Apart from the two guildsmen that were involved in that whole thing, Beauceron told everyone there was another person, not a cop or a guildsman, who helped break the case.”

  “Right,” Hawken said. “The person who leaked the files Rath stole to the media. The press speculated it was someone with ties to the media. But that can’t have been you: you’re a cop.”

  “I wasn’t a cop. Not until recently.”

  Hawken’s jaw dropped. “It was you?”

  “… yeah.” Dasi cringed. “Sorry for not telling you. Are you going to arrest me?”

  “For what? Did you break the law?”

  “I aided Rath and Paisen, the two guildsmen,” she said. “They’re known criminals. And I killed another guildsman in self-defense.”

  “Beauceron did all of that, and no one’s rushing to arrest him,” Hawken pointed out. “My guess is you didn’t have much choice in the matter, at any point. But Dasi, how the hell did you get involved in all of that?”

  “It’s a long story,” she said. “Actually, it was because of Six.”

  They felt the ship shudder, and then the cabin’s viewscreen showed a notification that they had exited FTL travel. Hawken’s phone dinged immediately. He pulled it out of his pocket.

  “I bet it’s a long story,” he said. “We’ve got a few minutes before we dock, and then we’re going straight to the Senate offices to arrest Shofel for conspiracy to commit. So you better give me the short version.”

  “Okay,” Dasi agreed.

  Hawken flipped his phone open, scrolling through the messages. Dasi saw his eyes widen, and his face go pale.

  “What?” she asked. “What happened?”

  “Those bastards killed Lefev.”

  32

  Paisen shouldered her Forge and made her way down the spaceliner’s boarding tube, with Vence close behind. The gate agent smiled a greeting at them, and a second later they emerged into the bustle and commotion of Anchorpoint’s interstellar transit gateway.

  “You want to look into Senator Foss first?” Vence asked.

  “Yeah,” Paisen agreed, pushing past several other travelers and following the signs marked Ground Transportation. “He’s the newest member of the Intelligence Committee. Could be a coincidence, but everything was going smoothly until he showed up.”

  The two women joined the throng of people walking along the terminal’s shopping concourse, merging with the flow of foot traffic.

  “You want to pull the same move you and Tepper did?” Vence asked.

  “I think that may be our best bet,” Paisen said. “Mimic another member of the Intel Committee, approach Foss one-on-one and get him talking about the team. See what comes up.”

  Suddenly, Vence took Paisen’s hand and pulled her toward a shop window, which displayed a collection of luxury handbags and scarves. The younger woman pointed at one of the bags. “That one looks nice,” she said. She turned to Paisen. “Have you used this cover identity before?”

  “No,” Paisen said, frowning in confusion. “Why?”

  “Just making sure,” Vence said. She pointed her chin toward a knot of people across the corridor from them. “Didn’t want your friend to recognize you.”

  Paisen turned to look, and saw several photographers snapping photos of a man and a young woman with dark, curly hair. One of the photographers moved slightly, and Paisen got a better view of the man.

  “Martin Beauceron.” She shook her head, her frown deepening. As she watched, Beauceron brushed the journalists politely aside, and he and his companion continued walking. Paisen followed.

  “Want to go say ‘hi?’ ” Vence asked, falling in step beside the older woman.

  “No,” Paisen said, distracted.

  “Then why are we following them?”

  “Because I don’t like coincidences,” Paisen said.

  Vence took the hint and stayed silent. They shadowed Beauceron all the way to a taxi stand outside the terminal, where a line of taxis stood waiting to take travelers to their final destination within Anchorpoint’s great battle cruiser. Paisen and Vence climbed into their taxi a few seconds after Beauceron’s slid away from the curb.

  “Follow that taxi,” Paisen told their driver, pointing.

  “What?” he said. “No, you gotta give me a destination, I’m not allowed—”

  Vence swiped her holophone across the car’s payment scanner, depositing several hundred dollars into the man’s account. “Just fucking do it,” she told him.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he agreed.

  Vence slid the taxi’s privacy screen closed, shutting them off from the driver. Paisen paid no attention – she was already lost in thought.

  “He could just be here for a PR stunt,” Vence suggested. “Shake hands, get a medal, make the polit
icos look good.”

  “Could be,” Paisen agreed, without much conviction.

  “What’s he been up to since you two split up?” Vence asked.

  “I don’t know,” Paisen said. “I think I heard he went back to his homeworld, back to working as a cop.”

  “His companion looked like a cop to me,” Vence said. “She had that vibe. Maybe they’re here to consult on something for Interstellar Police. Their headquarters is here, right?”

  “It is,” Paisen agreed. “What would he be consulting on?”

  “I don’t know,” Vence said, shrugging. “What’s his area of expertise?”

  “Us,” Paisen said, meeting the younger woman’s eyes.

  Paisen slid her Forge off the floor and onto her lap, and set it to building an auto-pistol. Vence followed suit, eyeing the taxi driver to ensure he could not see below the cab’s partition. When each woman had a pistol and a set of multi-purpose grenades, they pocketed them, and closed their Forges. Less than a minute later, Beauceron’s taxi slowed, and pulled up in front of a large building. Paisen and Vence recognized it immediately.

  “The Senate office complex,” Paisen said.

  Beauceron and the other woman paid their fare, and stepped out onto the sidewalk. They stood waiting. Beauceron checked his watch, and said something to the young woman. She smiled, and patted him on the shoulder.

  “Are you ladies getting out?” their taxi driver asked, sliding the privacy screen back open.

  Paisen wavered. “Yes,” she said. “In a minute. Wait for us.”

  “Okay,” the driver said, shrugging.

  “Are you thinking of following him?” Vence asked.

  Paisen nodded silently.

  “In there?” Vence asked, raising her eyebrows.

  Paisen nodded again.

  “Why?” Vence asked.

  “A hunch,” Paisen said. “We may have been turned in by someone in the Senate. Beauceron’s meeting with someone in the Senate. He’s the foremost expert on catching guildsmen.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t quite add up, but … something’s going on. I want to know what.”

  “If you say so,” Vence replied.

  “And if it’s nothing, then maybe I can give Beauceron the latest intel on the Jokuans. If there’s anyone in the galaxy that I’d trust to do the right thing – without question, at all costs – it’s Martin Beauceron.”

  As they watched, a man and a woman exited the Senate building’s main entrance. They wore dark suits and ID badges on their jackets, and had the unmistakable look of bodyguards.

  “Senate Guards, come to escort Beauceron in,” Vence observed. “Just like they did for us.”

  Paisen opened the taxi door. “Come on. You’re running interference on the woman for me.”

  “Oh boy,” Vence muttered, but she slid across the seat, and joined Paisen on the sidewalk.

  Beauceron and his female friend were following the two Senate Guards back toward the building. At the entrance, the female Senate Guard pulled the door open, holding it for the rest of the party. Vence jogged up to her.

  “Are you a cop?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Yeah,” the woman agreed. “Why?”

  “I think our taxi driver is having a heart attack,” Vence said, pointing back to the curb. “But I don’t know CPR.”

  The woman glanced at her partner, who had paused inside the door. “They’re waiting – go. I’ll catch up,” she told him.

  She followed Vence and Paisen back to the taxi, and Paisen triggered an EMP grenade in her coat pocket, falling into step behind the police officer. Farther down the street, she saw several other pedestrians, but the building’s entrance remained clear for the time being. The woman reached the taxi and leaned over to look inside, frowning.

  “Sir? Are you okay?”

  The cab driver glanced up from his holophone. “Yes?” he said, uncertainly. “Why?”

  Paisen shot the Senate Guard in the back of the neck with a stun round, and Vence caught her under the armpits, holding her up as her body went limp.

  “My god!” the driver cried.

  Paisen pointed the pistol at him. “You’re going to help us with this, if you want to live through the day. Got it?”

  He nodded dumbly.

  Paisen tugged the cab’s door open, and they maneuvered the unconscious woman into the backseat, shutting the door quickly behind them.

  “You got window tinting?” Paisen asked the driver, as she pulled the woman’s suit coat off, along with her ID badge.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “Well, turn it on,” Paisen growled. She put the woman’s coat on over her own blouse. “No time for the pants,” she told Vence. Paisen took a moment to copy her face and hair, working fast as she shifted her complexion to match. Next she held the woman’s hand up and zoomed in on her finger, snapping a close-in photo with her cybernetic eyes.

  “I’ll lose comms when I go inside,” she told Vence. “Clean up this mess, and I’ll contact you when I get out. If I don’t get out …” she trailed off.

  “I got it. Go,” Vence urged her.

  Paisen kicked the door open and ran back to the entrance. Inside, Beauceron was just swiping a temporary ID badge through the security gate. The male Senate Guard turned and saw Paisen coming.

  Don’t notice I’m not wearing the same shirt or pants, she prayed. Be a normal, clueless guy.

  “Is the cab driver okay?” the Senate Guard asked.

  “Yeah,” Paisen said, mimicking the woman’s voice. “He just had some gas. Too many onions on his burger at lunch.”

  Her counterpart snorted. “Figures.”

  He passed through the security gate, and Paisen watched carefully, noting how he swiped his badge and then scanned his fingerprint. She copied his actions a moment later, and the computer beeped amiably, the lights flashing green and then swinging the gate open to let her pass.

  “Let’s head on up, then,” the male Senate Guard said.

  “Lead the way,” she told him.

  33

  Beauceron tried to suppress a yawn.

  What time zone are we in? he wondered, as the elevator continued upward. Too much traveling. I need to get back to normal police work. Back home. He glanced at Atalia sub-consciously. But I don’t want to have to say goodbye to Atalia, either.

  In front of him, the female Senate Guard adjusted her suit coat self-consciously. Beauceron noted absent-mindedly that the coat of her suit did not match her pants. Must be an Anchorpoint fashion thing. Then the elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. The two Senate Guards led them down a long hallway, and then around a corner, eventually stopping at a non-descript conference room deep in the Senate office complex. Colonel Jesk stood waiting for them outside the door in a crisp dress uniform.

  “Ready to put your jobs on the line?” he asked them, smiling nervously.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” Beauceron observed.

  Jesk chuckled, and then pushed the doors open. Inside, Beauceron saw a well-appointed conference room with a horseshoe-shaped table lined with leather chairs. Five senators sat near the middle of the table, embossed nameplates at each of their seats, talking quietly amongst themselves. The two Senate Guards that had escorted Beauceron and Atalia upstairs went and took seats at the back of the room, along the wall. Beauceron caught himself staring at the female Senate Guard momentarily.

  Something familiar about her, he mused. Maybe we were at the Academy together.

  While Atalia plugged a data drive into the room’s presentation computer, Jesk took a seat at the table, sitting next to an older woman that Beauceron recognized as the commanding general of the Interstellar Police. The senators stopped talking a moment later, and turned their attention to Beauceron and Atalia.

  “We’re ready when you are, Detectives,” Senator Tsokel told them.

  Beauceron dimmed the lights, and Atalia started the presentation on the room’s viewscreen. The first slide showed a photo of th
e Armadyne research laboratory. She took a deep breath, and then addressed the assembled leaders.

  “Last year, an R&D lab on New Liberia built a working prototype of a device that was capable of teleporting massive amounts of energy over long distances, into designated objects. When the device is activated, the object becomes unstable, and explodes. You may be familiar with this device from Detective Beauceron’s report following his investigation into the Guild.”

  Beauceron nodded. “Paisen Oryx, the contractor known as ‘339,’ stole the blueprints to this device several months before I encountered her. She sold those blueprints to an unknown third party, through a black market exchange. But she and Rath Kaldirim built a working copy, as a weapon to use in our fight against the Guild. I’ve seen the device in action firsthand – it works, with devastating effect, and it’s impossible to protect against.”

  “What happened to the device that you built, Detective?” the commanding general asked. Beauceron recognized her stern gaze from the chain of command pictures that hung in every Interstellar Police station.

  “The device may have been destroyed, ma’am,” Beauceron replied. “I spoke with Rath while he was still in police custody, and he claimed that they destroyed it.”

  “And you believe him?” the general pressed.

  “I did at the time,” Beauceron replied. “Now I’m not sure.”

  “Regardless,” Atalia continued, “last month, an autonomous drone in orbit over New Liberia dropped a series of precision kinetic darts onto an abandoned chemical factory. We believe this was a sort of weapon trial. We have evidence that the darts were used in concert with the high energy device. They exploded, leveling the factory – my damage assessment points to several kilotons in yield for each dart.”

  The assembled leaders watched as Atalia displayed comparison photos of the factory, showing it before the attack, and immediately after.

  “Each of those drones can hold up to a hundred darts,” Beauceron said, cueing up an animation that showed a Zeisskraft drone deploying darts in space. “Which means a single drone could easily level a modern city. The high energy prototype was already an ideal terror weapon. Now someone has transformed it into a devastating weapon of mass destruction.”