The guard who had leered at her was named Byoran Calladan, and Christie found a few excuses to wander down to the security office when he was on duty. She flirted with coy enthusiasm, as would a high society lady seeking a more adventurous romance, and they began to date. However, she kept the cautious relationship at a distance, playing on the man’s insecurities.
“Hmm,” she replied to another one of his rants while they sipped coffee in a mid-town café.
“Sorry, am I boring you?” he said, eventually.
Although Christie had actually been interested in his views on disorganized training schedules for VennZech’s protection teams, she couldn’t show it.
“No, not all,” she said, as her eyes wandered around the room. “But you do always like to talk shop.”
“I thought you were interested in that part of the business? The ‘real-life’ stuff, as you put it. You know, you should pay a bit more attention to these issues. Caldera can be a dangerous place for Helvets, even more so an Earther.”
“Is it though?” Christie asked. “Sometimes I wonder if the company isn’t just trying to scare us into thinking we’re having more fun than we really are.”
“You’ve heard about the attacks. You think that’s fun?”
“From the news, as you have. And it does stoke the romantic atmosphere, doesn’t it? To be out on the frontier with the barbarians?” she laughed with contempt.
Byoran smiled. “I get it. Your little office fling didn’t turn out to be quite so dangerous as you’d thought, did it? My job is just pointless busy work to you.”
“Oh please,” Christie said. “Don’t be so childish.”
“I’m not childish.”
Christie raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t give me that look,” he said. “You know full well I can’t talk about the more interesting things I have to do.”
“Gosh. Well, at least I’ve found one of the rare men who can make that kind of claim.”
Byoran scoffed and looked away. “You know, I don’t know if this thing between you and me is going anywhere, but all I can do is once again try and convince you to take some firearm training. I am not kidding when I say that this place could get dangerous. See, I can care about people even when they’re being stuck up.”
“I really thought the frontier would offer some excitement,” Christie said, as though she hadn’t heard him. “But it’s all the same old talk. Perhaps I need to take a trip into the colony to meet these awful people that are supposed to hate Helvets.”
“You don’t have a clue what’s happening on this planet, and you’ll get yourself killed.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Byoran stared at her in angry silence. “Okay, I’ll break the rules and give you a hint, but I’m not telling you this because I want to get you into bed. If you go and do something stupid, it’ll be my guys that have to respond and put themselves in danger to rescue you.”
Christie smirked. “How frightfully chivalrous.”
“Just shut up and listen. I happen to know that VennZech has brought more substantial security to this planet than they want anyone to know about. That’s how serious the threat is. I know you’ll keep that to yourself, because you’re an Earther and you know how the game works.”
“Are you the substantial security?”
Her tone was biting, while her expression stopped just short of insulting. She watched the cycle of anger, shame, and opportunism play out in his subtle reactions. If only he could show her what kind of a man he really was, maybe, just maybe, she would sleep with him. That would almost be enough. But word of the conquest would spread like wildfire through the company. In the overly masculine community of security professionals, his star would rise a little faster. And, of course, everybody would know that she was only using him for her personal agenda—that was how Earthers operated. They just couldn’t possibly imagine what that agenda might be.
Christie might even have felt a little ashamed by her manipulation, were it not for the brilliant research provided by Effi that revealed who ‘Byoran’ really was. Christie had almost called such a well-placed weak link a godsend, before biting her tongue.
Reckless opportunism won out in Byoran’s mind, and he leaned forward to speak in hushed tones. “I’m talking about weapon systems. Advanced ones. Moved throughout the city in case of need.”
Christie shook her head. “That doesn’t really add up. It’s a small town, and people would notice something new and out of place. There would be all kinds of gossip.”
“Well, they’re hidden in key locations.”
“If they’re that well-hidden, they’ll hardly be of any use to us in case of an attack, will they?”
“We rigged some shipping containers—” Byoran stopped himself. “Look, don’t tell anyone about this. But the intel from the high office is that something bad is going to happen, soon. All I want to know is that you’ll keep out of trouble? Stay in the safe areas.”
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Christie eyed him with doubtful suspicion. Eventually, she allowed her expression to soften. “Okay, let’s say I believe you. If something were to happen, where exactly should I go? To be safe?”
Byoran described a handful of locations near her living district and the town center. Several were worryingly close to the city’s popular tourist sites. Rayker was almost certainly trying to make it nearly impossible for Valkyrie to secure them without exposing themselves.
Christie was about to show her appreciation with the suggestion of a more intimate dinner date, when a distant explosion interrupted her.
Wreckage from the maintenance shuttle lay strewn across the highway, and traffic was already backing up when Weslan arrived. Stuck in the endless mass of vehicles, he jumped out of his car and ran the half-mile to the scene where the police had only just begun to establish a cordon. There were no survivors. A blanket had been laid over what remained of the pilot.
“Sentinels,” Weslan said as he flashed his ID. “Do we have a departure point?”
“Starport container yards, according to the witness over there,” replied one of the sergeants. “I’ll bet it was heading to orbit.”
“Look.” Weslan pulled the officer over to the twisted scraps of metal. “You see these scattered impact points along the hull?” He gestured to the jagged punctures he had learned to recognize after reading extensively on the subject.
The sergeant nodded in confusion. Rackeye was a place for petty theft and the occasional cartel murder. He was way out of his depth, and he knew it.
“It was an anti-aircraft missile stolen from a VennZech shipment a few weeks ago,” Weslan continued. “When the forensics team arrive, tell them to scour the flight path for any fragments of the rocket’s body or engine.”
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant said, grateful to have someone around who seemed to know what was going on.
Weslan caught sight of a news crew setting up nearby as the police managed to reroute traffic around the crash. Where the hell was Whist? Difficult as his boss was, he would at least be much more capable of handling the press. But with no sign of the man, Weslan had no choice. He approached the crew, and showed them his ID.
“Please stay well back from the scene,” he ordered, “Don’t interfere.”
“Can we just get a quick word?” the reporter demanded desperately.
Weslan shook his head as a camera aimed at his face. “We have no details at this time. Obviously, we need to secure the area and carry out a full investigation.”
“Are you concerned about terrorist involvement?”
Weslan paused before answering. In theory, he shouldn’t implicate anybody, even though he knew full well what had happened. But the city was living under a cloud of fear, and citizens would probably jump to their own conclusions. Better to reassure them that the authorities were in control.
“We’re taking the terrorist threat very seriously, and if that is what has happened here, rest assured severe action will be taken to track them down and bring them to justice.”
“But you have no reason to believe this was an accidental crash?” the reporter said, now in her smooth broadcast voice.
Weslan scratched his neck and wished he wasn’t there. Be vague, but honest.
“At this time, we suspect the crash was the result of a deliberate shoot-down.”
“Who has the ability to carry out such an attack on Caldera? Can you confirm there is a link to the robbery of VennZech weapons by League separatists several weeks ago?”
Of course that rumor had gotten out. “That’s… I can’t comment on that yet,” Weslan said firmly. Now he had definitely done enough damage. “Stay back here—if I catch you interfering, I’ll have you detained.”
As he returned to the wreckage, he prayed he hadn’t just ended his own career.
Twenty minutes later, Whist showed up looking furious. “I caught your interview on the audio feed. What the hell were you thinking?”
Weslan flushed with anger. Though he had obviously made a mistake, he certainly wasn’t in the mood to be scolded like a child. “If you had gotten here on time,” he hissed, “like every other unit, you’d have been able to take care of it.”
“What are you a goddamned idiot? Say nothing. No comment. Investigation ongoing.”
Whist shoved past him and strode over to the forensics chief. “Did you get an ID on the pilot?” he demanded.
“Sure did,” the protective-suited woman replied.
In a bag she held a recovered memory chip from a shattered phone. She had already scanned it, and showed the data file to Whist.
“Cartel man,” he snapped and turned back to Weslan. “This was probably an internal hit. And you had to go and run your mouth about terrorists!”
Weslan cocked his head and crossed his arms as the chief tried to get Whist’s attention.
“Um… sir?” she said.
“What?” he snapped.
“We also recovered remnants of the missile that struck the craft, and confirmed it was a VennZech model.”
She held up another bag containing small chunks of metal as she glanced between him and Weslan.
Whist waved her away.
“All that confirms,” he said to Weslan, “is that the cartels set up VennZech, and there’s just some violent internal evolution going on—”
“Why, in the name of god, would they turn on one of their primary employers after years of good relations?” Weslan demanded in response.
“You don’t know jack about the complexity of cartel—”
“And you don’t know a weapons test when you’re looking at one. The shuttle was heading to orbit along the same flight path as the passenger ships. Whoever stole those missiles wanted to make sure they worked. The next attack could cost hundreds of lives!”
“That’s a ridiculous leap of logic.”
“You’re a drunken old fool whose career has nosedived into the gutter, and you can’t see what’s in front of your face,” Weslan yelled. He didn’t care who heard him now, or how professional it looked. “I spent all of yesterday going through employee statements about harassment and death threats. This planet is on the verge of a catastrophic uprising, and lives are in the balance.”
Whist’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “Divine sent you that information, did she?”
“The director of corporate operations on Caldera is coordinating with us, yes.”
“Get over here.”
Whist strode forward and seized Weslan’s arm, dragging him away from the crowd of stunned law enforcement officers.
“I looked into Divine’s ident,” he hissed in Weslan’s ear. “It’s a fake—I can prove it. I think she might actually be a cartel operative.”
“Would you listen to yourself?” Weslan said, with an appalled expression. “A cartel plant rising to the top of one of the galaxy’s biggest corporations? Have you finally lost your mind, or has the alcohol melted through your last brain cells?”
“We are being manipulated,” Whist said, his voice now pleading, his eyes wide. “I need you to listen to me.”
“I think you just want all of us to be held responsible while this city burns to the ground. Will that justify whatever miserable hatred you have for the League? Forget it—I don’t care anymore. This is my home. I’m taking control of this situation, and if you try to stop me, I’ll have you charged with dereliction.”
He shoved his way past his partner and reached for his phone.
“Agent Espher?” he said as the call clicked through. “It’s Weslan. Marsella—please—I really need to speak to you. I need your help.”