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

  Paisen stood, slinging her Forge over one shoulder. The two women crossed to the hotel’s elevators, and rode up to the fifth floor.

  “If you’re that Senate Guard, who am I supposed to be?” Vence asked.

  “Another Senate Guard,” Paisen told her. “A colleague.”

  “Ah,” Vence said.

  “Be ready, though, in case things go south.”

  The doors opened, and Paisen followed the corridor, stopping outside the door marked 516. She knocked.

  They heard footsteps approaching, and Paisen saw the peephole go dark for a second. Then the door swung open.

  “Hello again,” Beauceron said. “Did the senators have some more questions for us?”

  “They did,” Paisen told him. “But there’s no need to go back yet. We’re supposed to get those answers and relay them to the committee. Can we come in?”

  Beauceron glanced at Vence, and then smiled. “Of course.” He held the door wide. “I’m afraid I didn’t get your name, back at the Senate building.”

  “Smyth,” Paisen said. “And this is my colleague, Vivienne.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Beauceron said, shaking Vence’s hand as she passed inside. He shut the door behind them. “Have a seat,” he told them, indicating the room’s office area. He leaned through the interior door to the adjoining hotel room. “Atalia, can you come over for a second?”

  Paisen took the desk chair, while Vence remained standing, leaning casually against the wall by the room’s entrance, effectively blocking Beauceron’s exit. Atalia appeared a moment later.

  “Hey guys,” she said. “The senators want us back already?”

  “No,” Beauceron told her, taking a seat at the end of the bed. “They just have some questions for us. Go ahead,” he said, to Paisen.

  “They’re curious to hear more about how you tracked the guildsmen,” Paisen said. “How you found their base of operations on … what was it?”

  “Bellislas,” Beauceron said. He squirmed uncomfortably, and looked at Atalia.

  “Why do they want to know?” Atalia asked. She crossed her arms, and leaned against the dresser.

  Paisen frowned. “They didn’t say.”

  “Well, you guys know the drill,” Atalia said. “We gotta protect our sources. They stop giving us information the minute their names get leaked out of Anchorpoint.”

  “So you found someone willing to talk to you?” Paisen asked. “Was it the other guildsman – the one who was on trial?”

  “No,” Beauceron shook his head. “Look, our methods for finding Paisen were … not exactly by the book.”

  Atalia snorted. “Martin, you don’t have to defend me, or anything we did.” She turned to Paisen. “Listen: we’re dealing with some of the most ruthless, well-trained individuals in the galaxy. You don’t get anywhere in that kind of investigation without bending some rules. Things may be black and white here at Anchorpoint, but not in the Territories. And not in a Guild investigation. Martin knows that better than anyone. If the senators want details of how we found her, they can shove it up their ass. It’s not going to help them decide what to do about the Jokuans and their new friends, I can tell you that.”

  Beauceron spread his hands apologetically. “She’s right – it really has no bearing on the situation.”

  “Did you find anything else useful during your raid on Bellislas?” Paisen asked.

  “Sure,” Atalia said. “It looks like this team visited a bunch of other planets in the Territories, too. It’s all in our report.” She eyed Paisen’s backpack, resting on the floor, and then glanced over at Vence, who was wearing a messenger bag, too.

  “Who else knew you were following Paisen and her team? Who else knew you were on Jokuan?” Paisen asked, changing the subject

  Beauceron scratched at his knee. “Just Colonel Jesk. I don’t believe he told anyone else.”

  “Are you sure?” Paisen asked.

  “No,” Beauceron admitted. “Why?”

  “There’s more going on here than you know,” Paisen said. “The senators didn’t want to loop you in, but I think you need to know the truth.”

  “The truth about what?” Beauceron asked.

  “About Paisen’s involvement in all of this,” Vence said, speaking for the first time. “And what her team was really doing on Jokuan.”

  “But the senators can’t know we told you this,” Paisen continued.

  “You know we protect our sources,” Atalia said. “We’re all ears.”

  Paisen arched an eyebrow, but then nodded. “It’s called ‘Project Arclight.’ Paisen and her team of contractors were hired by the Intelligence Committee to gather information on military capabilities in the Territories. They were on Jokuan to keep tabs on the army’s activity, in case they decided to attack the Federacy. She had nothing to do with Rath’s disappearance, or Ricken and his ship. And she’s certainly not allied with the Jokuans.”

  Beauceron nodded slowly. “That answers a number of questions we’ve had.”

  “Why didn’t the senators tell us about this?” Atalia asked.

  Paisen shrugged. “You’re not cleared for it. Very few people know about it, and they’re trying to keep it that way. They believe they’ve had a leak. They think someone warned the Jokuans, and told them where to find the team.”

  “We’ve been tasked with identifying the leak,” Vence said.

  “Not us,” Beauceron said. “I don’t know Colonel Jesk all that well, but he doesn’t strike me as a man that would do such a thing.”

  “Much more likely the leak came from Anchorpoint,” Atalia opined. “But I think you’re right that there was a leak. The safe house Paisen used on Jokuan had been tossed by the police, and we found a dead contractor out in the woods. Probably killed by the Jokuans.”

  Beauceron sighed. “I’m just concerned to hear that the Senate has reverted to using Guild assets. It’s clearly illegal – paying criminals to spy for the government. And at least one person is dead because of it.”

  “He’s dead because someone ratted him out to the Jokuans,” Vence pointed out. “Not because the Senate hired him.”

  Atalia drew her service pistol in one smooth motion, pointing it at Vence. “We never said the dead contractor was a man,” Atalia noted.

  Vence lifted one of her hands, slowly.

  “Now I’m really, really sorry about this if I’m wrong,” Atalia told Vence. “But I’m going to need see your badge and ID.”

  36

  >>>According to Senate security logs, Arnhem Shofel left the conference level three minutes ago, Six reported to Dasi. His ID badge’s last recorded locations indicate that he is likely exiting the building through the port-side entrance.

  “Got him,” Dasi told Hawken, who was sitting next to her in the back of the police cruiser. “Port-side entrance, please, Corporal,” she relayed to the officer in the driver’s seat.

  “You got it,” he replied.

  “Port-side?” Hawken frowned. “Nobody uses that entrance to the Senate complex.”

  “Maybe he’s trying to keep a low profile,” Dasi guessed.

  The police car pulled up to the sidewalk a moment later, and Dasi and Hawken got out. Hawken leaned up against the side of the car, while Dasi checked her belt under her jacket – both her handcuffs and pistol were in place.

  My very first arrest, she thought.

  >>>Shofel’s badge just exited security, Six noted.

  Dasi looked up, and saw Shofel emerge from the revolving door, tucking his security badge into a pocket on his briefcase. Then he caught sight of the police car, and stopped. His face fell. Dasi and Hawken walked toward him.

  “Mr. Shofel,” Hawken said. “Would you come with us please, sir?”

  “Aw … shit.”

  “We don’t have to make a big deal out of this,” Dasi told him. “We’re just going to go back inside and chat.”

  Shofel looked up and down the busy sidewalk, at the other Senate workers passing by.
“No handcuffs?” he asked quietly.

  “Not unless you want them,” Dasi said.

  “No,” he said. He took his badge back out, and the three of them walked inside. After they passed through security, Shofel indicated the nearest elevator bank.

  “You want to talk in an office?” he asked, hopefully.

  Hawken shook his head. “We’ll go to the Senate Guard offices.”

  “Okay,” Shofel said. He followed Hawken down several long corridors, with Dasi in step next to him. Eventually, they arrived at the Senate Guard headquarters area. Hawken smiled at the officer behind the reception desk.

  “I need to borrow one of your interrogation rooms,” he said.

  The officer sighed. “We’re kinda busy right now, sir. State of the Federacy Address is kicking off in a few minutes.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” Hawken said. “Christ, I’d forgotten it was tonight. Don’t worry: we’ll stay well out of everyone’s way. I just need a private room to have a quiet chat with this gentleman.”

  The officer looked over Shofel and then Dasi, and then relented, reaching for a set of electronic keys along the counter behind him.

  “Down the hall, on the left,” he told Hawken. “Pick whatever room you want, they should all be open.”

  “Thank you very much,” Hawken said.

  In the interrogation room, Hawken took Shofel’s briefcase and indicated a chair facing a two-way mirror. Shofel sat, eyeing the restraint system mounted in the tabletop in front of him with distrust.

  “Now do I get the handcuffs?” he asked.

  “Maybe,” Dasi said.

  She and Hawken took seats across the table from the staffer. From his own bag, Hawken drew out a printed sheet of paper and set it in front of Shofel.

  “Recognize this?” Hawken asked him.

  Shofel examined it briefly – Dasi saw that it was the memo he had sent Mourua, referencing the incoming mercenary team.

  “I think I want to see a lawyer,” Shofel said, licking his lips and setting the paper back on the table.

  “We can get you a lawyer,” Hawken said. “But then I’m going to have to formally charge you, and Dasi’s going to cuff you, and things start to get messy. Right now we’re just three people having a conversation.”

  “What do you want to talk about?”

  “The criminal activities of the NeoPuritan Church,” Dasi said.

  “You want me to rat out my boss,” Shofel guessed.

  Hawken nodded slowly. “There’s only one way you avoid jail time for this,” Hawken said, pointing at the memo. “And rest assured, someone’s going to jail for life. It can be you, or it can be Gaspar Foss.”

  “There are worse things out there than jail time,” Shofel said. His holophone rang suddenly, startling them. He checked the screen. “It’s my wife,” he said, apologetically.

  “Answer it,” Hawken told him. “I don’t mind.”

  Shofel frowned, and then keyed the phone on. “Hey,” he said. “I’m in a meeting, so I can’t … what? No. Everything’s fine,” he lied, looking at Dasi and Hawken. “I’m just stuck in the office late again.”

  They heard her voice on the other end of the line, angry. Shofel blushed. “Well, I’m sorry, there wasn’t anything I could do.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Yes, as soon as I can. I promise. … uh huh. I gotta go. … No, I’m sorry, I just – I have to go, now.”

  He hung up, sighing. “Sorry. She’s … dealing with some stuff. Anxiety, a little depression. Anchorpoint’s tough on married life.”

  “So is being in the NeoPuritan Church,” Hawken observed.

  Shofel nodded. “You can say that again.”

  “Out of curiosity, how does a person with anxiety and depression respond to repeated exposure to lifewater?” Hawken asked him.

  Shofel met Hawken’s stare silently.

  Dasi cleared her throat. “I’m going to assume you knew all about lifewater’s … special properties. So what I want to know is: how does a person like you live with themselves, knowing what they know about lifewater, and also knowing they’re making their wife’s mental health worse every time they bring her to church?” she asked.

  Shofel looked down at the table. “I didn’t know. Not at first.”

  “But you found out,” Dasi said. “And it does make her issues worse, doesn’t it?”

  “It makes everything worse,” Shofel said, a single tear streaking down one cheek. “She used to have it under control, but every time we go to church, she gets better that day, and then so much worse on the days following. And now … she’s not the woman I fell in love with anymore.”

  “She could be, if you let her,” Dasi pointed out. “Stop taking her to church.”

  “I can’t,” Shofel said. “And I can’t tell her about the lifewater; they’d find out. They’d kill us both.”

  “Who else knows about the lifewater?” Hawken asked.

  Shofel fidgeted in his seat, hesitating.

  “We have a sample,” Dasi told him. “There’s no point denying it. You just need to decide whether you want to take the fall for your boss, or come clean. And coming clean’s the only way to give you and your wife a shot at freedom from all of this mess.”

  The staffer avoided Dasi’s glare, and picked at a chip in the tabletop with a fingernail.

  “Who else knows?” Hawken repeated.

  Shofel sighed, and then appeared to reach a decision. “Foss, Rewynn, the other patriarchs,” he admitted finally, shaking his head. “I don’t know for sure. They don’t talk about it, not directly.”

  “Have you ever seen any paperwork about it?” Hawken asked.

  Shofel snorted. “Of course not. You think they’d be getting away with a scam like this, for so many years, and be stupid enough to leave a paper trail? The minute anything even comes close to leaking, they shut it down, erase it from existence. That’s why they wanted you dead. That’s why I’m as good as dead.”

  “You look like a man searching for a way out,” Dasi suggested.

  “This only ends one way. I go to jail, and probably get murdered in my cell. There is no way out.”

  “We’re your way out,” Hawken told him. “Right here. This room is your life raft. You just need to give me Foss and Rewynn.”

  “I’m not close enough to Rewynn.”

  “Then Foss,” Hawken said. “Give me some hard evidence, and I’ll drop all charges, and put you and your wife somewhere the Church can never find you.”

  Shofel sighed again. “I don’t know if I have what you need. He’s taken great care to stay clean – that’s why I do all his dirty work. Or the Church does it for him.”

  “Like what?” Hawken asked. “Give me some examples.”

  “Hell, the Church got him elected,” Shofel said.

  “How?” Hawken asked.

  “We were losing in the polls back on Scapa – it was close, but we saw the writing on the wall. We weren’t going to pull it out against Delacourt, he was appealing to too many of Scapa’s moderates. Then Delacourt’s father was murdered, in somewhat dramatic fashion … it was a huge story. The police investigated Delacourt for the murder, his poll numbers took a nose-dive … and the rest is history.”

  “Are you saying Foss murdered Delacourt’s father?” Dasi asked.

  “God, no. Foss was nowhere near the planet when it all went down. But he ordered it, I’m sure of it. He and Rewynn arranged it, and the Church probably paid for the hit.”

  “Can you prove it?”

  “No.”

  >>>Dasi, Six said, posting a message on her internal display. There is a situation developing that you should be aware of.

  Wait a minute, Six, Dasi replied. This is important.

  >>>I will wait one minute.

  37

  In the great Senate chamber, the applause died down, and the Speaker of the Senate took a sip of water from the bottle positioned on his podium, waiting patiently while the audience took their seats. He surveyed the g
athered senators packed into their tiered wooden benches, and above, the spectator’s gallery, full of civilians and dignitaries.

  “Senators and fellow citizens of the Federacy,” he began. “This year marks the two hundred and seventy-fifth year that our great society has stood, a beacon of peace and democracy amongst the stars. As one, our member planets have explored and prospered, supporting each other and upholding the laws of this great government. But it would be folly to suggest that we do not face challenges. And it is our solemn duty to face those challenges. Reforms are needed, ladies and gentlemen—”

  “They are indeed,” a strong voice called out. As one, the senators turned in their seats, staring upward in consternation, to find one of the spectators standing at the front of the balcony. “But this body is not capable of reforming itself,” the man proclaimed.

  The Speaker glanced across to several Senate Guards near his podium, who were already in contact with colleagues stationed up on the balcony. They began pushing their way through the crowded seats toward the interrupter.

  “I’ll thank you to let me finish my speech, sir,” the Speaker said.

  “You are finished,” the man replied. “It’s the people’s turn to speak now.”

  “We are the voice of the people,” another senator shouted.

  “Not anymore,” the man on the balcony replied. With deft fingers, he reached up and removed a wig and a prosthetic nose.

  “My god,” the Speaker breathed, and his microphone picked up every word. Across the galaxy, television viewers watched as his face paled. “It can’t be.”

  As two of the Senate Guards neared Ricken, two elderly women seated on either side of him stood up suddenly, appearing to panic at the site of the villain from the history books. The guards tried to move the women aside, but Egline and Linn moved with decisive speed that belied their age, and suddenly both guards were on the floor, their service pistols in the women’s hands.

  Ricken turned to the nearest television camera, whose operator had rightly decided that the commotion on the balcony was far more interesting than anything the Speaker had to say. Ricken removed a metal ring from his finger, showed it to the camera, and then tossed it high in the air, up by the apex of the chamber’s roof. It detonated with impressive force, causing the lights in the room to flicker, and eliciting screams from the crowd.