Chapter 10 - False Fronts

  Darius ducked further behind the wall of crates as a bullet pinged off the frame of the transport above his head and wondered, not for the first time, where it had all gone so spectacularly wrong.

  In the immediate sense, he knew exactly when things had gone sideways—the instant that guard recognised his face. In a broader, more philosophical sense… was it the day his brother died? When he’d taken the fall and ended up in prison? No, of course not. It was when that blasted AI decided to hitch a ride in his head.

  Another sharp retort echoed through the confined space as Corin and Tarek fired out the open rear doors. Darius flinched, feeling the sound like a hammer between his ears. Corin looked tense, but Tarek—damn him—had an eager gleam in his eye, calm as anything, taking time to pick his shots while Darius huddled behind cover with a pistol he barely knew how to hold.

  “Kallan!” Tarek yelled over the gunfire, catching his eye for half a second before turning back to fire. “You’re not a spectator – start shooting!”

  Darius swallowed hard, fumbling to raise his pistol as he pointed it in the vague direction of the pursuing vehicles and pulled the trigger. The weapon jumped in his hands, almost dislodging itself from his grip.

  The bullet went… somewhere, presumably. Certainly nowhere near his target.

  The second and third shots were little better, and by the time his magazine clicked empty, he thought he might have skimmed the vehicle with a single bullet. Darius stared down at his pistol blankly, trying to remember Lena’s brief instructions on how to reload.

  {I believe I may be of assistance.}

  Before he had the chance to fully process that, his augs fizzed for a moment, static flashing across his vision before resolving itself. In its wake, a calm blue light was blinking over a small button on the side of the grip.

  “Alright,” he muttered, trying not to look like he was taking advice from his own head as he pressed the button. The empty magazine slid out, and with Echo’s overlay guiding him, he managed to snap in a fresh one. His hands were shaking, but at least now they were doing something other than fumbling.

  This time, when he raised the pistol once again, a thin beam of light was projected from the end of the barrel like someone had taped a laser pointer to the weapon. The occasional lag, not to mention how the beam was easily visible despite the bright sunlight, indicated that this was a virtual addition, presumably done through his augs. Normally, Darius would be quietly seething at how Echo had altered his vision without even so much as asking.

  Now, though, he was just grateful. He took a deep breath, steadying himself as he aligned the glowing line with one of the distant vehicles. He squeezed the trigger again, this time feeling more in control as the shot hit the vehicle’s side panel with a satisfying ping.

  “Better!” Corin shouted, glancing over his shoulder with a grin. “Try aiming for the lower right corner; it’s where the intake valves are. Knock them out and they’ll have to pull over or risk melting the engine!”

  “Right!” Darius called back, shifting his aim to the aforementioned area, blinking in surprise as the beam of light he was using to aim shifted green as it passed over the target.

  Useful, he thought idly, already pulling the trigger. Two shots later – he’d slowed to pick his shots more carefully now that they might actually do something – and a satisfying plume of smoke rose from the enemy vehicle, which slowed and drifted behind as the rest of the convoy powered forward.

  “Good shooting!” Corin laughed incredulously. “Let’s see if you can make it two for two!”

  Darius didn’t even think before turning to the next car. The targeting reticle flickered slightly as Echo realigned it, guiding him to aim a few degrees lower. The reckless driving of their own transport made the first few shots narrowly miss, but a louder crack from beside him showed the Tarek wasn’t as bothered by the shifting platform.

  The Imperial vehicle wobbled before the engine seized with a dull grind, and it pulled out of the chase, barely managing to avoid ploughing into the few pedestrians that hadn’t immediately dived for cover.

  “Yeah, that’ll do,” Tarek called, with a quick, almost approving nod as he slammed a fresh magazine into his own weapon. “Looks like you’re getting the hang of it.”

  “Good shooting!” Harlan called back from up front. “But we’re not out of the woods yet, and we’re not taking this scrap heap all the way home. Once we’re clear, we’ll find a place to ditch it and go on foot. Won’t risk leading them right back to us.”

  The others didn’t hesitate, already opening up the crates and filling any available pocket with choice supplies as Harlan pulled sharply into a dark side street. Darius lowered his pistol, tucking it into his belt as he glanced at the now-empty street behind them.

  His heart was still pounding with adrenaline, but it wasn’t fear anymore. For the first time in more years than he cared to count, he felt… in control.

  – – –

  “I give you my personal guarantee, Minister,” Station Commander Trask said in his most reassuring tone, “That everything is under control. The disruptions will continue only as long as strictly necessary and not a moment longer.”

  Years of clawing his way up the ranks told him that promising anything was a dangerous endeavour, but he was unfortunately short on options right now. It had seemed so simple at first – institute a few additional patrols, increase the guards assigned to critical areas for a few weeks, and everything would blow over.

  The interminable Imperial Agent would doubtlessly get bored about whatever project he found on this barren rock – or, even better, be reassigned by Imperial Intelligence – and he would be left to enjoy the peaceful monotony of running a frontier colony.

  Oh, he knew about the Freeholder cell operating in his station, of course. They were reasonably sneaky, as far as those went – clearly, someone who knew what they were doing was in charge – but at the end of the day, he’d specifically set up the layout of his station to make sure there were convenient abandoned factories and warehouses all in the same district. These things were always going to happen anyway, so it was simply more efficient to have them all clustered in the same area.

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  And while the Freeholders had quite a bit of practice hiding their purchases and supply acquisitions, it was significantly more challenging to disguise power draw, especially when no other building in the sector was active.

  Commander Trask let out a slow, frustrated breath as he finally deactivated his communicator, sagging back into his chair as if the weight of the station itself had settled onto his shoulders. He had hoped—perhaps optimistically—that the patrols would scare the Freeholders into lying low for a while. The next logical step would’ve been to quietly wind down the extra security measures and claim victory with minimal hassle. But now, after today’s incident… Trask groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

  It wasn’t supposed to turn into a firefight. A loud, messy scene in the middle of the sector was precisely the opposite of what he’d wanted. And now, the Minister, who had about as much patience as a bored housecat, would likely come sniffing around, hungry for updates and reassurances he had no interest in supplying.

  “Sir?” The soft, familiar voice of Liera, his ever-watchful secretary, broke the silence as she poked her head around the door, one eyebrow raised. “Is this a bad time?”

  He sat up, smoothing his expression into something resembling composure. “Depends on your definition of ‘bad,’ Liera,” he replied with a tired half-smile. “Have any more good news to add to today’s bounty?”

  She offered him a sympathetic smile as she stepped into the room, a slim dataslate in hand. “Only if you consider a stack of reports detailing last week’s resource losses to be ‘good news.’”

  Trask sagged, letting his head fall back to gently thunk against the cushioned, genuine leather of his office chair. The pencil pushers in accounting might have kicked up a fuss at the expense, but as far as he was concerned, it was worth it.

  “This might cheer you up a little,” Liera chuckled, pulling her other hand from behind her back to reveal a plate of lemon squares.

  “You are a saint, woman,” Trask groaned appreciatively, bypassing the dataslate she was holding in favour of reaching for the sugary goodness on the plate. It did his waistline no favours, but at this point that particular ship had sailed anyway, so he didn’t much care. “Why did the damn patrols have to actually work?” he whined through a mouthful of stress relief.

  Strictly speaking, he shouldn’t be sharing ostensibly classified information with his secretary, but he’d quietly bumped up her clearance level years ago. If he couldn’t complain about his work to someone, what was the point of having a secretary at all?

  “That Agent Falk is going to be expecting you to keep working at this now that it’s had some success, I’d assume?” she asked knowingly, stealing a lemon square for herself.

  Trask sighed, nodding. “He’ll expect escalation. Progress. Evidence that our station is so deeply invested in ridding itself of Freeholder scum, we can hardly catch a break for all the good we’re doing.”

  She gave him a look of understanding, carefully considering her words before speaking. “If you’re hoping they’ll settle down so you can end the patrols quietly, it might be worth... finding ways to steer the focus. Remind them where they’re supposed to be lurking, as it were.”

  Trask’s gaze sharpened, a flicker of interest sparking in his eyes. “Encourage them to stay in certain sectors, you mean? Nudge them back into more controllable areas.”

  She nodded. “Exactly. If the Freeholders can be kept to the industrial sector, the patrols could focus there exclusively—enough presence to look diligent but with far less risk of disrupting our day-to-day. Let Falk see what he wants to see without having them poking their heads where they don’t belong.”

  Trask allowed himself a small, appreciative smile, the tension in his posture easing ever so slightly. Some Commanders would be horrified at the comparatively unqualified woman offering her opinion on station matters. They would probably fire her on the spot for taking the liberty.

  “You know, I don’t know if I’m paying you too much or not enough, sometimes.” He mused.

  “Oh, never enough, sir,” she laughed.

  He chuckled, his gaze drifting back to the datapad and the growing list of complications it represented. “Just one quiet month, Liera. That’s all I ask. One month without any... interruptions.” He waved a dismissive hand. “But instead, I’ve got Falk breathing down my neck and Ministerial scrutiny piling on every time a patrol so much as catches a glimpse of a Freeholder shadow.”

  Liera gave him a long, considering look. “Admit it, you wouldn’t leave this post for a cushy desk in the Core if they offered it tomorrow.”

  Trask’s lips quirked up into a reluctant grin. “I didn’t claw my way up the ranks to become just another bureaucrat, Liera. I’d rather handle this mess than rot in the back office of some sanitised station.” He let out a resigned sigh. “Though some days, the Core sounds like a damn paradise.”

  “Then I suggest you make peace with the chaos here,” she replied smoothly. “Because, like it or not, you’re now in the business of finding a way to look busy without actually being busy.” She paused, arching an eyebrow. “And, of course, keeping Falk out of your hair while doing so.”

  Trask chuckled, though the humour barely reached his eyes. “Oh, he’ll keep. Falk doesn’t know half the games we’re playing here. And as long as he stays in the dark, I can keep everything under control.”

  “Then here’s to the art of misdirection,” Liera replied, toasting him with another stolen treat. “And to hoping today’s mess doesn’t turn into tomorrow’s crisis.”

  Trask snagged the final square from the plate before she could steal that one too. “Did you just come in here to give me more work and steal all my treats?” he pouted.

  “No, that’s just a bonus,” she snarked. “I’m actually clocking out early, remember? Date night with Rob.”

  “Ah, of course. Give him my regards, won’t you?” Trask waved her off with a smile, already turning his attention to the dataslate.

  For all that Agent Falk shouldn’t be a problem, Imperial Intelligence tended to be very good at sticking its nose where it didn’t belong. Trask had spent years setting up the careful balance in this station, and the idea that it could all come crashing down this close to the finish line because one man got a little too curious… Well. It didn’t bear thinking about.

  No, Agent Falk would have to be carefully managed – in a way that either didn’t impact his existing plans or, ideally, in a way that advanced them. Liera’s idea of isolating the Freeholders to the abandoned industrial sector was an excellent start, but he hadn’t gotten this far without having backup plans for his backup plans.

  Trask frowned, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against the dataslate as he scanned the recent reports. After a moment, his eyes drifted back to a specific segment on the slate—power consumption metrics across the industrial sector. The Freeholders’ activity was most visible there, after all, and while they’d no doubt become more careful after today’s chaos, they still couldn’t operate without power. Trask’s frown eased into a slight smirk as a plan began to take shape.

  Agent Falk wasn’t an idiot, after all. He would doubtlessly check these sorts of readings himself at some point to help him narrow down that Kallan fellow he was so interested in. But with a few modifications…

  Pleased with this train of thought, Trask straightened, glancing toward the door where Liera had just exited to make sure she was gone. Satisfied with his privacy, he reached under his desk and pressed a well-hidden button, allowing a highly modified dataslate to drop into his waiting hands. Logging in with a set of credentials that he definitely shouldn’t have access to, he carefully started editing data.

  It was possible he was overestimating Falk, that these modifications wouldn’t be discovered at all. Still, it cost him nothing but time, and if it did end up panning out… well, wouldn’t it just be a terrible shame if the Minister ended up implicated in this sort of political quagmire.

  And while he wasn’t entirely sure of Falk’s original mission in the sector, he wasn’t an idiot – this close to the border, with a ship like that? The chances of it involving the Xenos were relatively high, which meant he would be very interested in the story this data told.

  Hell, he might even try to drop some hints about it himself… but no. Trask might consider himself something of a hobbyist when it came to this spy stuff, but that didn’t mean he was willing to start swimming in those depths professionally. Better to set things up and let the chips fall where they may.

  Of course, all this would probably implicate that Darius fellow even more…

  But Trask didn’t particularly care about him anyway.

  With that settled, he finally allowed himself to relax, setting the dataslate aside. He leaned back, a wry smile playing on his lips. Yes, this could work. Falk would get his action, the Minister would get a report, and—if all went well—the Freeholders would slip back under the radar, hiding or dead, ideally leaving Trask to enjoy a quiet station once again.

  “Here’s to a job halfway done,” he murmured to the empty room, raising his last lemon square in a mock toast to himself.

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