Mike hummed tunelessly as he walked through the halls of the Royal Palace. Servants, courtiers, bureaucrats and miscellaneous hangers-on fluttered around him, seeking enlightenment on their quest for the Holy Grail of Truth amid the fire swamps of Rumour. Mike continued to hum, switching from the ever-tuneless Jennifer Lopez to the tone-deaf warbling of Celine Dion. When a particularly large cluster of palace employees aimed their previously pointless amblings in his direction, he slipped through a carded access doorway, and into one of Terra Group’s restricted boltholes.
He’d left Vickie to enjoy some alone time with Rich, as his friend slowly realigned her head toward the appreciation of the basic smelliness of Llessur Atner. Even as Mike thought that, he realised he was being unfair. Slightly. Llessur was just being a doting mum, and heaven knew that Becki hadn’t done much to endear herself to the Dowager Queen. Well, except to help save her from a life of exile and exact revenge on her husband’s murderer.
Hmmm.
Mike shrugged, grateful that it was officially Not His Problem. He was leaving, and there was only one thing he needed to tidy up here at the palace before he left.
He tapped lightly on a half-hidden door, obscured by roof timbers that had fallen during the revolution that had placed Thayer on the throne. Mike’s failure to clean the timbers up and repair the damage was one of the reasons Sci had placed him on report. Mike had had other reasons for keeping the area a little unsafe, however. It kept it private.
The door opened slightly, and a dark-haired woman poked her head out briefly, before retreating and allowing Mike entry.
"How go the plans?" Mike asked, pulling his hood back as he stepped into the rubble-strewn room. A small holo-projector sat glowing in the middle of the room, part of a mysteriously diverted shipment that Sci had taken a great deal of flak from General Cracken over. He cocked his head to one side and looked at the hologram shimmering in mid air.
"We’re ready to begin initial clearing," the woman reported. "More than a year, Mike."
"I know. Those people have suffered enough. I guess it’s just been impossible for Thayer to do everything, and, well, we know that these people aren’t exactly the favourites of the Council…"
Another man stepped from the shadows cast by the hologram’s glow. "More properly," he began, "they are despised. They represent all that is nothing about Mendellia, all that is-"
"Doc," the woman warned, a faintly menacing smile on her face.
"Sorry," Doc mumbled. "It’s just…"
"I know," Mike said, smiling at his colleagues. "We still don’t know exactly what Eugor Atner had planned for them. But to the council, they’re Someone Else’s Problem, to be hidden away as long as possible. They don’t fit the perfect Mendellian image."
"As far as we can figure out," Doc said, staring at his datapad, "they were to be used as brainwashed foot soldiers. From what you tell us, the process used on Captain Loran was a test, with the prisoners to be used as the first wave of a completely subservient army, Atner’s own bodyguard, most likely."
"More than a year since they were taken. They’ve probably been given up for dead, if anyone cared for them in the first place. Finally we can do something for these people," the woman said. Mike had never learnt her name.
"Well, we’re ready to go. The location is ideal," Doc said. "And with a little help from Lt. Clark, we’re able to go to it. Even with the council’s likely objections."
"I’ve never liked politicians," Mike said. "And after someone on the council tried to plant a bomb on the Red Home last year[1], I’ve liked this bunch of politicians even less. Once I pried into their files a little, I was able to find out about this dirty little secret. This project is the sort of thing I signed on to Terra Group for, helping rebuild Mendellia. These people may have been homeless, but they have as much right to make something of their lives as any born and bred Mendellian, and it is to be hoped that they will make the most of this opportunity we shall give them."
Mike paused, suddenly aware that he sounded like a schoolboy sociology essay. He moved closer to the holo-projector, and stared at the plans in front of him.
"It won’t be easy," the woman said, her long black hair cascading midway down her back. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the image, absently chewing her lip.
"That’s why I’ve gotten you the access codes. And why you got an expert hacker working on ways to reroute funds through various agencies. No-one is likely to notice the extra funds you’ve siphoned off for this mission, not if your hacker does her job correctly."
"How’d you know it was a she?" the woman asked, curiously. "I mean, we never made it a secret, but we never told you, either."
"I have my ways," Mike replied, lost again in the plans before him, plans for a smash-and-grab job on a secret prison. "Are your people all ready?"
"Yes. You have the final access codes we will need?"
Mike delved into his pocket, and pulled a scrap of paper from it. He handed it to the woman, who took it carefully. "Not electronic?" she asked.
"I wanted a retro moment. Besides, the less there is tying me to this, the better, and I can’t promise that making a copy of that information wouldn’t have been detectable. Bad enough having to break into the file in the first place, but my droid handled a lot of the slicing."
"I did wonder," she said, risking a small smile. "Your profile doesn’t list computer hacking as high on your skills list."
"Normally I’d be curious about where you obtained my profile, or what your profile on me reads, but I don’t think that we have time."
"No. We have to go now. You won’t see us again, Lieutenant, so I’ll say thank you now."
"You’re welcome. Make sure those people get out safely, and maybe I’ll be open to helping your people in the future. You obviously know how to contact me."
This much was true. Mike had been meeting with these people regularly over the last few weeks before the trip to Paris. It had all been triggered by a note left on the door of the Red Home, past several layers of security that would normally only allow access to members of Terra Group.
Or their trusted colleagues.
Mike had a suspicion about which of their colleagues had provided access to the hangar, especially as the note had been composed in a sufficient manner to pique his curiosity and dislike of the majority of Mendellia’s ruling council.
He smiled at Doc and the anonymous woman, and turned away, easing the door open, and vanishing into the shadows beyond. The door clicked shut behind him, and the two people left in the room exhaled in relief.
"I thought for sure he would realise who we are," Doc said. The woman shook her head.
"No. Considering how close he is to us, I was worried when he was made our contact. But our friends seem to not have told him about us."
"And he really hates the council."
"Sharon told me all about the bomb incident when it happened. He wasn’t very pleased."
"I guess someone somewhere knows how people like that get elected to office," Doc mused, staring moodily at the plans for the evenings assault.
"Connections. Like our friend Tnaife D’reve. Everyone on the island knows that he was involved with Eugor Atner’s rise to power, and now he’s sitting on the council. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that he was the one behind all this."
"Ume, you still haven’t forgiven Laine D’reve. Or his wife," Doc said, with a grin.
"I guess not," the woman replied. She pulled at the black hair, and sighed as the wig came away in her hands. Shaking her head, she released a mane of glossy blonde hair, which fell to her waist. "Still, it’s nice to have a symbol for all the woes we have to face in the Intelligence Directorate. And if that symbol is a sleazy, slimy, weaselly little scumbag, then so much the better."
"The Directorate gave you a full psych profile before you signed up, didn’t they?" Doc asked, grinning.
"They allowed me to skip it. Said my reputation and IQ were sufficient to convince them that any burning desire for messy, bloody, gory revenge could be worked around."
"I remembered your last birthday, didn’t I?"
Mike spent a restless few hours in his room, before succumbing to the call of the Terra Group hangar. He used a crane to put Xtreme into one of the Terra Group X-Wings, and eased the craft gently out through the magcon field and into the night sky beyond. One quick pulse of the fusial thrust engines placed the sleek craft high above the clouds, where Mike programmed a racetrack pattern into the autopilot, and ordered Xtreme to monitor comm frequencies for any unusual activity.
The raid went off perfectly. The twenty-four prisoners were released, and the Intelligence Directorate mission, which Mike learned was off the record, on the QT, and strictly hush-hush, was a complete success. The prisoners would be relocated far from potential harm. It was as black as any mission possibly could be, less than half a dozen people knowing about it. Mike made a note of those that did, and logged a request on the Red Home computer for any and all information pertaining to those people.
He didn’t like being in the dark, even with colleagues. And there was something about the woman in particular that made Mike want to know more.
The newspaper the following day made much of the raid, to Mike’s surprise. The rescued prisoners were labelled as dangerous political dissidents, awaiting trial for their crimes during Eugor Atner’s reign. Mike folded the paper so that the story was face down on the breakfast table. As his datapad pinged quietly with confirmation from X3 that the search on the ID people was complete, he looked up and saw Becki walking tiredly toward him. Another stage of the mission beckoned, but at least Mike would have something to read if he got bored.
[1] Day In The Life [return to story]