Episode 2: Dirty Politics

They were already halfway through dinner when Wesley finally came in and joined them at the table. As he sat down next to Briggs, he looked over the processed foodstuffs that were laid out on the table and grimaced. “I understand you’re nostalgic for your Army days, Captain, but do you really need to recreate the food quite so accurately?” “Very funny, Wesley. You finish setting the course?” said Briggs. “Yep. We should be on Salisbury in about three days time. And to answer your next question, no, we shouldn’t be running into any Alliance on our way there,” said Wesley. “Shouldn’t?” Wesley sighed. “I know this might be something of a shock, Captain, but I’m not actually blessed with the power of second sight. All I can tell you is that the chances of us running afoul of a patrol boat this far out are as close to zero as we can hope for.” “They sure as hell better be. I’m not exactly planning on getting arrested for transporting illegal firearms on my ship’s maiden voyage.” “Of course not. You probably want to have at least two or three flights under your belt before you get pinched for weapons smuggling,” Wesley said with a grin. “Sure. Maybe four if I pray hard enough,” he replied sarcastically. Around the table, the rest of the crew was eating and talking. Chen and Staverton were engaged in a heated political debate, while Marshall was telling prison horror stories to a wide-eyed Kase. “So he’s lyin’ on the ground, right? And blood’s just pourin’ out of ‘em. And the guards don’t give a shit, they can hear what’s goin’ on but they just keep eatin’ donuts or whatever. So I scream at ‘em, ‘YOU LIKE THAT MOTHERFUCKER? NOT SO FUNNY WHEN IT HAPPENS TO YOU, IS IT?’ And he’s tryin’ to get up, but I just kick ‘em in the head again and he goes down. He keeps tryin’ to get to his knees, and every time I just kick ‘em as hard as I can. From the way he was groanin’ and shit, he musta been hurtin’ real bad. Eventually the guards musta got annoyed by all the noise ‘cause they came in and started beatin’ on me. Didn’t matter though, ‘cause I got my point across, you know? He never fucked with me again after that.” As Marshall finished his story he took a long swig of beer. “Jesus… hey, do me a favor, will you? Remind me never, ever to go to prison,” said Kase in between bites. “Aw, hell, it ain’t all that bad. Well, I mean, some of ‘em are. If you do ever get pinched, make sure it’s by the feds, not locals out on the Border or the Rim. Alliance prisons are a fuckin’ joke compared to lockups farther out. I practically felt like I was on vacation or some shit when I was inside on Sihnon. Out here on the Rim, though…” He grinned devilishly. “Well, let’s just say you really don’t wanna get sent away in these parts.” “I think I’m starting to have second thoughts about this whole gun-running business…” “For Christ’s sake, Marshall, stop trying to scare the man,” said Briggs. “If he quits because of you, I swear to God I’ll throw you out the airlock.” “But then you’d have to find replacements for both of us,” countered Marshall. “In that case, just shut up.” They talked and joked for the rest of the meal. After they had all finished and cleared the table, Briggs and Chen sat alone, having some after-dinner vodka. “So, how do you like it so far?” asked Briggs. “The vodka? I hope you didn’t pay more than one platinum for this bottle,” said Chen. “It was one and a half. But don’t fuck with me, you know what I mean.” Chen chuckled. “I must say, this work sure beats being a lowly office drone. Working for that Alliance puppet hwun dan for two years came closer to killing me than any soldier or terrorist ever could.” “I still can’t believe you of all people couldn’t get a better job than being a clerk, even if it was in the Governors office. I mean, you went to college, for chrissakes.” “Yeah, and a fat load of good that did me. You obviously don’t realize how bad the blacklisting is for ex-browncoats, especially if you worked in intelligence. I know guys who were division chiefs during the war who nowadays work manuel labor.” “Bullshit.” “I swear to God. The Alliance doesn’t care much about the rank and file or the low level officers, but if you did anything that might have actually made a difference, you’re pretty much fucked career wise. Even all the way out on the Rim.” Chen finished off his glass in one gulp, then poured some more before continuing. “I still can’t believe those motherfuckers actually won. Two years and I still can’t fucking believe it.” “I hear ya.” Briggs suddenly laughed. “I was just thinking what they would do if they found out what your real job was during the war.” “Shit, man, don’t even say that,” said Chen with a shudder. “I’d probably be hung from the tallest building in Londinium while little kids paid a tenth-platinum for the chance to throw rocks at me.” “I wonder what they’d do to me. Probably cut off my balls or something,” said Briggs with a laugh. “Damn straight.” “Remember that time we hit that university on Ariel? I was watching the Cortex feed the next day, and they were just going fucking crazy. ‘THESE BROWNCOAT SCUMBAGS ARE GONNA PAY FOR WHAT THEY’VE DONE! WE SHOULD THERMONUKE EVERY PLANET THAT’S NOT UNDER ALLIANCE CONTROL! RAH RAH RAH! MORE ANGRY YELLING!” They both laughed at his imitation of an outraged Alliance pundit. “As if they didn’t do the exact same shit we did. They act all high and mighty, when they were slaughtering civies just as often, if not more so.” “It’s not like they could ever really pin it on the Independence Coalition. Half the time the top brass wrote up the official condemnation of these ‘horrific terrorist attacks’ before the shit even happened. Not that it made a difference in the end, of course,” said Chen. “Maybe not to us. There’s definitely a good portion of the Central Command that would be sitting in some Alliance pit for war criminals right now if it weren’t for all that secrecy.” “Yeah, yeah, I know. Hell, that was part of my job. Keeping it all a big fat secret.” “Yep. The secret everyone knows but no one can prove.” They chuckled and drank some more vodka. They had had this discussion many times before. Considering the things they’d done together during the war, it wasn’t surprising they felt the need to constantly revisit the subject. As the night wore on they ended up finishing off most of the bottle, and Briggs had to stumble drunkenly back to his bunk. He laid down on his bed and passed out instantly.

* * * *

As scheduled, the Mercury arrived on Salisbury three days later. It was a small planet on the outer edge of the Kalidasa system, covered largely by undeveloped prairie. The ship landed near a small rural settlement called Cainsfield, where a man named Paul Wilson was waiting in the town bar. Wilson was thirty-nine years old, but years of hard life in the country gave him the worn, rustic look of a much older man. He was clad in jeans and a dirty brown coat which concealed the six-shooter holstered at his side. He had an impressive beard of nearly black hair, which made up for his balding head. He sat alone at a table in the corner of the saloon, nursing a glass of bourbon and facing the door so he could see who came in. About two weeks back, he had heard word from a friend that some gun-runners were going to be coming to this neck of the ‘verse. It wasn’t long before he made contact with them, exchanging a few words expressing his interest with a man named Briggs. If the guns they were bringing in were as good as this Briggs fellow said they were, then this would prove to be a happy day for Paul Wilson. He looked up from his drink as the saloon’s doors opened and three men came inside. He recognized the middle one as his man Briggs, and waved them over. As they sat down across from him, he took a moment to take in their appearances. The one on Briggs’ right was an Asiatic man in his mid-forties. He had an aura of calm around him, and somehow gave off the impression of deep intelligence without saying a word. If it weren’t for his powerful build and hard features, he could pass for some kind of professor. The man on Brigg’s left, on the other hand, couldn’t have been more different. He was huge, easily over six and a half feet and with bulging muscles that seemed ready to burst out of his skin. His arms, neck, and the top of his shaved head were all covered in tattoos, most of them featuring themes of violence, fire, and death. Unlike the other man, he had a distinctly thuggish demeanor, his faced fixed in an expression of casual disdain. That left Briggs himself. Although he had seen what he looked like when they set up the meet by wave, coming face-to-face with him was a bit of a shock, even to a world-weary man like Wilson. Physically, he was about six feet tall, with a compact muscular frame. He had short light brown hair, and a small, knotty beard that was no match for Wilson’s own. Old yet still deep scars crisscrossed his face, and there was a chunk of his right jaw missing. The thing that unnerved him, though, was the man’s eyes: When he looked into them, he saw a hollow emptiness that seemed to pierce into his very soul. They say you can tell a lot about a man by looking him in the eye, and even a tough old country boy like Wilson had to admit that there was something a little frightening about Briggs. Still, he was the one who had invited them to this backwater town, and there was business that needed to get done. “Can I buy you fellas a drink? Salisbury bourbon, best in the ‘verse,” he offered. He spoke in the thick country drawl that was common to inhabitants of the Rim. “That would be great, thank you,” said Briggs in a somewhat reserved tone. “Is this a good place to talk?” “Oh yeah, don’t worry. Marty over there’s a good friend o’ mine,” said Wilson, gesturing towards the bartender. Marty was currently filling three glasses of whiskey. Other than him, the saloon was empty. After he brought over their drinks, they got down to business. “Excellent. As we discussed, I currently have a supply of ASI-06 military-grade assault rifles that I’m looking to offload. Considering the quality of the hardware, I’m willing to offer quite a reasonable price,” said Briggs. “Well, just how reasonable we talkin’? The people I represent got some coin to pay with, but we ain’t exactly rich neither. Thing’s been tough, these past few years.” “I’m sure they have. Which is why I’m only selling them at one-thirty apiece.” “Only one-thirty? That’s awful steep, you know.” “We’re talking about high-grade, fully automatic Alliance military-issue assault rifles. These are what their grunts carried during the war, and if there’s one thing you and I know about the Alliance, it’s that they arm their soldiers well.” Wilson raised an eyebrow. “You served?” Briggs nodded. “SID. 3rd Special Forces Group.” Gesturing at his own dirty brown coat, Wilson replied: “732nd Airborne. I actually met a few of you SID boys during the war. Them were some stone-cold killers.” Briggs smiled with pride. “Yeah. We sure were. Tell you what, since you’re a fellow browncoat and all, maybe I can afford to give you a little discount. How’s one-twenty a rifle sound?” Wilson thought it over. It would run his people a pretty penny, but then again, these weren’t some old knockoff Type-Ks. The ASI-06 was a serious piece of equipment. “Alright, one-twenty. We’ll be wanting twenty of those babies. How soon can you offload?” They got another round of drinks while they planned when and where the transaction would take place. Later that night, Wilson had a carriage full of modern weapons, and Briggs was several thousand platinum richer.

* * * * *

“Homesick already?” “Not particularly, though Beaumonde’s a wonderful planet. I just think some of my connections there might prove useful when it comes to offloading the rest of these guns.” “What ‘connections’ exactly are we talking about?” “Let’s just say I know some people that would no doubt be interested in what we have to offer.” Briggs and Chen were walking down the street in Salisbury’s biggest city, a town called Oakville that was home to about three hundred thousand people. They were there to refuel and re-up on basic supplies while they plotted their next course of action. Right now, Chen was making an argument for stopping by his homeworld of Beaumonde, which was in the same system but still relatively far. “It’s not like we have any where else to go,” said Chen. He had a point. They still had eighty-five rifles that needed to be cleared out, and no other buyers lined up. “If we go to Beaumonde, we’re sure to run into someone who wants serious heat and has the coin to pay for it. I can practically guarantee it.” Beaumonde was by far the most developed planet in the Kalidasa system, being one of the few worlds on the Rim to have a fully-functioning government (before Unification, of course). Prior to 2511, the planet enjoyed a relatively high standard of living, a thriving economy, and one of the most powerful militaries of any independent planet. Like all outer worlds, the planet fell on hard times after Unification, and many of it’s 300 million citizens turned to crime. The new Alliance controlled government was completely ineffective at policing post-war Beaumonde, which made it a haven for criminals of all stripes. “We’re gonna hang around this rock for a few more days. If we can sell a few more before we leave we’ll get a better price than on Beaumonde. If we don’t hear anything soon, though, we’ll head out,” said Briggs. “Sounds good.” They ended up staying in Oakville for three more days. Kase was in charge of finding the right fuel and whatever else the ship needed to stay afloat, while Briggs, Chen, and Marshall tried to find another buyer. Meanwhile, Wesley and Staverton both generally stayed in the bars near the ship. Despite it’s size, there wasn’t much more to do here than in Cainsfield, besides drink or walk around. After the third day in town, Briggs decided that there was no point staying on Salisbury any longer. Soon they were once again sailing through space, this time headed for Beaumonde. On the ship, the crew tended to split into two social groups: one consisting of Briggs, Chen, and Marshall, and the other of Wesley, Kase, and Staverton. Although they all got along well and ate dinner together every night, there was still a slight divide between the men in charge of the criminal side of things and the people who kept the ship running. Staverton especially seemed to avoid socializing with the “criminals” outside of the occasional casual conversation. When putting his crew together, Briggs had been extra careful to ensure that no one he recruited would have a problem with sometimes violent criminal activity. Although Staverton had assured him that she didn’t care what the rest of the crew was up to and that she would fix them up just the same, he still had the occasional doubt about the doctor. For now, though, everything was running smoothly, and as long as things kept that way he would be happy. About two weeks later, they arrived in a large city on Beaumonde. Thanks to a wave Chen had sent to a friend while they were getting close, four men standing next to a parked hovercar were there to greet the crew as they opened the cargo bay door and stepped out. “Joe! What’s up, my man? How you been?” one of them said to Chen as they went up to the group. Chen smiled and clasped hands with each of the men in turn. “I’m doing good, Ryan. Just finished my first job with this here transport ship.” The one called Ryan turned to shake hands with Briggs. “Ryan Donaldson. And you would be the captain, I presume?” “That would be me. Alec Briggs,” said Briggs as he shook hands. Donaldson raised an eyebrow as he looked at Briggs and then back at Chen. “Hey Joe, what are you doing takin’ orders from this young guy? You must gotta good ten years on him!” he said with mock outrage. Chen laughed. “What can I say? Beats sitting on this rock for the rest of my days. And besides, I’m not really the ‘captaining’ type.” “Not to mention that you didn’t spend a small fortune on your own gorram ship,” said Briggs. “Yeah, that too.” Donaldson introduced Briggs to his group. The other men were named Jerry Gunther, Charlie Smith, and Lee Ming. While the rest of the crew elected to go off and explore the city, Briggs and Chen got into Briggs’ hovercar and followed Chen’s friends as they led them to a restaurant/bar nearby. As the six of them sat down around a table in the restaurant, Chen’s friends introduced themselves further to Briggs. All of them were old war buddies of Chen’s that he knew through his long Special Operations career. Donaldson was a colleague of his from the Beaumonde Intelligence Service, while Gunther served with Chen in the elite Counter-Terrorism Task Force. Smith and Lee Ming both knew him from the Beaumonde Army Special Forces. During the war, Donaldson joined the Independence Military Intelligence Agency along with Chen, Gunther joined the special operations wing of the Independence Marines, while Smith and Lee both enlisted in the Army Special Infantry Division. Nowadays, however, all four of them had to scrape by on whatever menial work they could find, as the Beaumonde Armed Forces had been disbanded after Unification. After their food arrived, the discussion turned to the Mercury. “So, gun running, eh? I hear that’s quite a profitable business, especially around these parts,” said Donaldson as he dug into a plate of fried rice. “We’re hoping so. All types of firearms have been flowing into the black market since the end of the war, so there are some great prices down on the Border planets. But with the Alliance snooping around combined with the huge demand on the Rim, the price goes way up out here. We can turn a big profit just by hauling the goods out here, never mind the usual discounts for bulk and whatnot,” explained Briggs as he chomped on a juicy cheeseburger with onions and mushrooms. He washed it down with a pint of local beer. “We’re here on Beaumonde looking to line up some buyers to finish off what we have in stock before we head back to the Border.” “That won’t be difficult. The Alliance has cracked down hard on illegal firearms on this world. There was a big campaign to wipe out smugglers and snap up all the guns that were already out there. They did a pretty decent job at it, too. Folks around these parts are fiending to get re-armed,” said Donaldson. “I could probably hook you up with someone in the next few days, if you want,” said Smith. “I know some people that would definitely be interested in assault rifles, especially if you give them a fair deal.” “Thanks, that would be very helpful,” replied Briggs. As they continued to eat, they began talking about the war. Briggs had been pleased to learn that Smith and Lee were both fellow SID soldiers. They had both been stationed on Hera at the end of the war, and fought in the Battle of Serenity Valley as spotters for Independence air strikes. Briggs wasn’t at Serenity Valley, but he knew how disastrous it was for the browncoats. The decisive battle had led directly to the Alliance’s bloody takeover of Hera, depriving the Georgia system of a major economic breadbasket and striking an irreversible blow to the Independence war machine. “Anyways, after the war we all came back home to Beaumonde. We’re all from this area, so we still keep in touch and meet up every so often,” said Lee. “Yeah, but usually we don’t eat this good. Thanks for that, by the way,” said Smith to Briggs. As real food was something of a luxury on the Rim, Briggs had been kind enough to treat Chen and his friends with the profits from the deal on Salisbury. “So you’re from Segnov, huh?” asked Lee. “Not exactly. I’m from Segnovia, but not Segnov proper,” said Briggs. Seeing the confusion on Lee’s face, he continued. “Segnov has a provincial moon system, meaning the two moons are considered part of the Segnovian government. Segnov is the planet, Segnovia is the nation. Or at least it was, before Unification. I was born and raised on Ravik moon, but I’m still considered a native Segnovian.” “Chen tells me you fought in the civil war there,” said Gunther. “Yep. Nine years in the PAS, four in the infantry and five in a commando unit.” “I’ve heard that was a pretty nasty conflict,” said Gunther. “That’s an understatement if I ever heard one. Almost seven million people killed, a little under half of ‘em civilians. Most of the rest of the dead were members of the militias – we called ‘em ‘millies’. And Segnov’s not exactly the biggest planet in the ‘verse.” Briggs took another big bite of his burger before continuing. “A hell of a lot more people might have died in the Unification War, but I have never seen as much sheer inhumanity as I did on Segnov.” “Like what?” asked Smith. Briggs laughed darkly. “You know what a BB is?” Smith shook his head. “Stands for Baby Bomber. We’d round up all the captured civies in a town and pick out all the kids between about six and twelve. Then we’d strap a type of bomb to them that went off when they let go of the trigger. We’d tell them that if they let go while they were near us, we’d kill their whole family. Then we’d send them off in the direction of the enemy and tell them to let go once they got close. Of course, the other side did the exact same thing. I can’t tell you how kids I saw running towards me that exploded when I shot them. Got a shrapnel wound that way, actually.” None of the men at the table seemed unnerved in the slightest at what he described. Donaldson was nodding as Briggs talked. “That’s actually a very common tactic,” he said. “I’ve usually heard them referred to as ‘suicides’ or something similar. And they don’t always use children.” “We tried using adults or teenagers a few times, but they didn’t scare as easy. Usually they’d just blow themselves up right away and take whoever was strapping them up out with ‘em. With kids, they’re so terrified of what we’ll do to their families that they’ll do anything we ask. Clearing minefields, suicide bombings, even fight for us if we had enough guns and ammo. And when it comes to the militias, the vast majority of the fighters were under sixteen.” “I wonder why we never thought of that during the Unification War,” said Smith. “Are you kidding me? Command would have thrown a fit,” replied Lee. “You’re right. I tried that type of shit a few times when I was a Lieutenant in SID. Caught hell from my commanding officer,” said Briggs. “Gave me all this bullshit about a ‘code of honor’ and the ‘right’ way to fight a war. In my experience, there’s no such thing as right and wrong. There’s winners and there’s losers. That’s all there’s ever been, and that’s all there’ll ever be.” “So I take it you didn’t join the Independence looking to be a big damn hero, did you?” asked Donaldson with a trace of irony in his voice. Briggs finished off his drink, then looked Donaldson in the eye to emphasize his point. “The only heroes are the dead,” he said flatly. There was a short silence at the table, which was soon broken by Chen. “War sure is hell, ain’t it?” he said. “Gorram right it is. Gorram right…” replied Briggs.

* * * * *

Two days later, they received a wave from Smith asking to meet up in a nearby coffee house. Briggs, Chen, and Marshall all went together, as this would hopefully turn out to be a business related meeting. Soon, the four of them were sitting around a table in the corner of the café. Briggs and Marshall drank black coffee, Chen had tea, and Smith ate a piece of imitation pie (really just flavored nutrients) with some milk. “You remember what I said a couple days ago when we first met?” said Smith after he introduced himself to Marshall. “You mentioned that you might be able to help us find a buyer,” replied Briggs. “I already have. This guy’s got money, he’s reliable, and he’s very interested in what you have for sale. But that’s not everything.” Smith leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “You see, this guy’s a rising star on the political scene here. Former PRF who’s disarmed and looking to work within the Alliance political establishment instead of trying to take it down.” “He’s PRF?!” said Briggs, surprised. The Patriotic Resistance Front was the most notorious terrorist group in recent history. Made up primarily of former browncoats, it had carried out violent attacks on the Alliance ever since the end of the war. Although it initially had the support of many disgruntled citizens on former independent worlds, the PRF’s vicious methods eventually started to alienate them from the general populace. Briggs had a few friends from SID who had joined, and he still kept in contact with them when it was possible. Still, the news that a member of the PRF had put down his gun to play the politics game was something of a shock. “Technically not anymore. The guy’s name is Jack McNichols. He was a commander in the PRF until about a year ago, when he left the organization and got himself elected to the local Planetary Parliament. He has this whole message about the need for the people who fought for Independence to stop resenting the Alliance, and instead work within the system to ensure that their interests are being represented. A lot of people are saying that in two years he’s gonna make a run for Governor. God knows he’d do a better job then the asshole we got right now.” “That’s all fine and dandy, but what does this have to do with us? If he’s not with the PRF then what does he want guns for?” Smith grinned devilishly. “Well, I happen to know Jack personally. Personally enough to know that this whole ‘working within the system’ spiel is one giant load of bullshit. He saw an opportunity to line the pockets of him and his cronies, and he took it. He may be done bombing Alliance police stations, but he’s doing as much work for the PRF as ever. He’s got enough power and influence to be able to move large quantities of illegal goods around without the slightest fear of the Alliance catching wind. You see where I’m going with this?” Briggs nodded. “I believe I do.” “Wait… so this McNichols guy got himself elected to the local Alliance government, but he’s still a fuckin’ terrorist? You gotta be shittin’ me!” exclaimed Marshall. “Well, it’s not like he’s really lying. He’s just ‘working within the system’ in his own way,” said Smith. “It’s not like I give a shit either way. As long he’s good for business, I want to meet him,” said Briggs. They talked for a little bit more, than Smith gave him a slip of paper with an address and a time written on it. Briggs memorized it, then set it on fire with his lighter. He used the burning paper to light a cigarette before saying goodbye to Smith and walking out the door. At six in the morning the next day, he was standing in an alleyway between two abandoned warehouses in a seedy part of town. As per Smith’s instructions, he was alone. It wasn’t long before he heard footsteps behind him. “Don’t turn around, Briggs,” a voice said harshly. He obeyed. “We’re gonna inject you with something to knock you out for a little bit. I assure you that you’ll be fine when you come to.” A second later someone grabbed his arm and plunged a hypodermic needle into one of his veins. He instantly felt pleasantly drowsy, and before he knew it he was fast asleep. When he woke up, he was lying on a soft and comfortable couch in what appeared to be someone’s living room. He groggily got to his feet. “I’m up!” he yelled. He heard footsteps, then two severe-looking men holding assault rifles walked through the door. They looked at Briggs, then motioned with their heads for him to come with them. He followed them down a short hallway and into another room which looked like an office. Sitting at the desk was a light skinned man in his early fifties, with grey hair and a worn face. As he entered with the two guards, the man looked up at him and smiled. He got up and walked around his desk to shake hands with Briggs. “Mr. Briggs! Name’s Jack McNichols. My friend Charlie told me all about you. Said you had some military-grade assault rifles for sale,” he said before returning to his desk. “That I do. Eighty-five ASI-06s, and if you take all of them I can give you a good discount.” “Please, have a seat.” McNichols gestured towards the chair in front of the desk. Briggs sat down before continuing. “If you take all eighty-five, I can give them to you at a hundred platinum each. Anything less and it’s one-ten.” McNichols nodded slowly, like he was considering Briggs offer. “Normally I’d be inclined to haggle, but I actually want to talk to you about something else, Mr. Briggs.” “I’m here to sell gums, Mr. McNichols.” “And sell them you will. I’ll give you eighty-five hundred platinum for everything you’ve got. But I also want to offer you a job.” “What kind of job?” “You did some espionage work during the war, did you not?” Briggs raised an eyebrow. “Possibly. Why do you ask?” “As I’m sure Charlie told you, I’m a very ambitious man. I plan on running for Governor of this rock some day, and that will be much, much easier if I have access to certain… ‘documents’.” “I don’t suppose the nature of these documents is relevant.” “Not at all. But if you could retrieve them for me, I would prepared to reward you handsomely.” “Why do you need me? I’m sure Smith or one of his friends would be more than able to do the job.” McNichols shook his head sadly. “As much as I like Charlie, I can’t use him. It’s not that I don’t trust him – I can’t use anyone who’s local. If they got caught there’s still a risk - however small – that it could lead back to me. You, on the other hand…” he shrugged. “And besides, Charlie and those boys aren’t interested in this kind of job. They’re just doing the same thing as most ex-soldiers: trying to get honest, or at least semi-honest, work. None of them are ‘real criminals’ so to speak. But a man like you, who isn’t afraid to do what’s necessary to get the job done… that’s a man I can use.” Briggs was a little confused. “I don’t quite follow you. I thought you just want me to steal some documents?” McNichols sighed. “I do. But in order to get the information necessary to retrieve said documents… let’s just say it could require some ‘creative interrogation’.” Briggs smiled softly. “Creative interrogation is one of my strong suits.” “That’s what I’ve heard. So you’ll take the job?” “Only if you take the entire shipment. I need to get those rifles off my hands so I can head back to the Border and restock.” “Hell, I’d buy them anyway. I have friends who could use them.” “I’m sure you do.” McNichols proceeded to give Briggs all the information he’d need to get the documents. They were housed in an office on the top floor of the Governor’s Administration Office, located on a data chip that was locked inside a safe. The safe was specially built to be impossible to crack or break into, and the only person with access to it other than the Governor himself was the Chief Administrator for Beaumonde, a man named Brian Moore. While the Governor himself was ostensibly “elected” by the residents of Beaumonde, Moore was simply sent by the Alliance to ensure that the local government stayed in line with what Parliament ordered. In reality they were all puppets of the Alliance, but at least most of them tried to hide it. Not Moore – he was an Alliance man through and through, and proud of it. Whatever the documents contained, they were in Moore’s office, and he was the one Briggs would need to interrogate to get the code to unlock it. When McNichols was done, Briggs was given another injection, and woke up some time later in the same deserted alley that he was at earlier. He made his way through the city back to the Mercury, where he started making plans.

* * * * *

Briggs and Chen followed Moore for weeks. They learned where he lived, where he liked to drink, where he liked to eat, where his kids went to school, where his wife worked, and more. He had three kids, a seventeen-year old son named Patrick, a fourteen-year old daughter named Emma, and a ten-year old son named Robert. His wife was a doctor at a major hospital on Beaumonde. His parents lived on a country estate on Londinium. During the Unification War he served in the Alliance security forces, helping set up transitional governments on newly captured Independent worlds. Before long, they had enough information about Moore to scare the living shit out of him. On one chilly Friday evening, Moore left the office at seven o’clock as usual. Like he always did on Fridays, Moore took his car over to Rousseau’s Fine Cuisine, a fancy restaurant where he met with his Alliance friends to talk shop. Or at least, that’s where he was heading when his hovercar’s warning system told him that there was a serious problem with the engine. Not wanting to fall right out of the sky, he set it down in a free parking lot and took out his Portable Cortex Unit. But before he could wave a mechanic, he felt something pierce the back of his neck. A second later he was unconscious. When Moore came to, he was sitting in a hard metal chair with his hands handcuffed behind his back. He was in an empty room with dirty, stained walls and no windows. If it had a door, it must have been behind him. It was so cold he was shivering, something his heavily rattled nerves no doubt made worse. What was the last thing he remembered? He was driving on his way to have dinner and drinks with the guys like he always did on Fridays, but something went wrong… The engine! That was it. There was a problem with the engine, so he parked and called a mechanic. Or did he? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that one minute he was driving, and the next he was here. Wherever that was. He was startled by a voice behind him. “I see you’re awake, Mr. Brian James Moore.” Whoever was talking emphasized every syllable of his name. “I’d like to have a little chat with you.” “Wh-wh-who are you?” he responded. His voice was shaking so bad he could barely get the words out. “I think the important question is, who are you?” “What… what do you mean?” He was scared out of his mind. What the hell was this? “Luckily for me, I can already give a pretty good answer to that particular question. As I said, you are Brian James Moore. Born July 21st, 2463 in a town called Harkens, New Kansas province, Londinium. You currently live at 99125 Hawkinson Drive. Your parents are Peter and Susan Moore. They still live in Harkens, at 4123 Ridge Road. Your wife, Elizabeth, works at Chiang Hospital as an epidemiologist. Your two oldest children, Patrick and Emma, both attend Beaumonde Leadership Academy. Little Bobby goes to an elementary school called Billings. You seem to have done quite well for yourself, Brian. Cushy Alliance job, pretty wife, kids in private schools… I’d say your life is damn near perfect. Wouldn’t you agree?” Moore’s heart was racing. How the hell did this son of a bitch know so much about him? “What do you want from me?” “That all depends on what you want, Brian. Do you want your wife and children to be safe? What about your parents? Or your sister?” Now he was really scared. “I swear, if you touch my family I’ll – I’ll…” “You’ll what? Report me to the authorities? It won’t matter. They’ll never find me, and your family will still be dead. Or worse.” By now he was holding back tears. “Please, don’t hurt them. I’ve got money, I’ll pay you whatever you want – ” “I’m not interested in money, Brian. I want information.” “…What do you mean? What information?” “There’s a safe in the Governor’s office that only you and him know the code to. I want that code.” So that’s what this was about. Some piece-of-shit looking to get ahead in politics by blackmailing the Governor. It all made sense now. “I don’t know the code. Only the Governor – ” “Don’t fuck with me Brian. I want that code.” The man was close now, so close that Moore could feel him breathing down his neck. Now he was speaking softly, directly into Moore’s ear. “You’re going to tell me the code. And if I find out you’ve lied to me, Brian, I’ll make Elizabeth watch while I feed your kids to my dogs. Do you understand me?” A single tear rolled down his face as he nodded. “Please, don’t hurt them! I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you…” And he did. He told the man the code, repeating it several times. “Good. Now that wasn’t so hard, wasn’t it? And remember, I’ll know if you’ve told anyone what happened here. If you ever feel the sudden urge to wave the feds, just imagine how your wife would feel watching her children get mauled to death.” Moore felt another needle plunging into his neck before he blacked out.

* * * * *

“You are one sick bastard, you know that, Alec?” Briggs laughed in agreement. “What can I say, I get the job done.” “Seriously though? Fed to your dogs? You don’t even have a gorram dog. Why not just say your gonna shoot them or something?” “Come on, Joe, you know as well as I do how to properly interrogate someone. I believe the official term was ‘Creative Imagery’. Put something in their head that’ll stick, or else they might get second thoughts down the road.” He took a drink from the small bottle of imported vodka they were sharing and passed it back to Chen, who was enjoying a cigar. They were sitting at the kitchen table on the Mercury, going over Briggs’ successful encounter with Moore. “True, true. Well, as long as you got the code,” said Chen after he drank some. “Gorram right I did. I was even courteous enough to drop him off a few blocks from his house.” “You’re such a gentleman,” Chen said sarcastically. Briggs lit a cigarette. “Whatever we gotta do to get paid. Speaking of which, how are things coming along on that computer program of yours?” He was referring to the virus that they planned to install on the Administration Office’s computer system. The virus would stay dormant and hidden until a preset time, when it would suddenly disable the power in the entire building. The backup generator would come online within minutes, but that was enough time for Briggs to break into the Governor’s office and steal the data chip. “It’s almost finished. Good thing I had to learn so much about computers when I was working for the BIS.” “You hack into their network, I hack into their minds. Isn’t teamwork wonderful?” “I’ll drink to that.” They sat there drinking and smoking for a while before retiring to their respective bunks. Chen spent the next day hard at work with his laptop, while Briggs hung around the common area and played cards with Wesley and Marshall. The three of them were gambling with their cuts of the Salisbury sale, smoking weed and cigarettes and generally having a good time, much to Chen’s annoyance. It was late in the evening when he finally finished programming the virus, and by that time Marshall had won a pretty penny from his captain and pilot. They had to wait another week before they could put their plan in motion, however. When they did, it was a sunny Monday morning after the first snowfall of the mild Beaumonde winter. Briggs and Chen were striding down a crowded downtown sidewalk, moving at a brisk pace so as not to miss their appointment. They were both decked out in crisp suits and ties that they had bought the day before, so they blended in perfectly with the teeming mass of harried businesspeople and professionals that surrounded them. They were on their way to the Governor’s Administration Office, which was housed in a fifty-story skyscraper in the heart of the city. Chen had worked there until he joined Briggs’ crew, and he had plenty of friends in the building. Using these contacts, he managed to arrange a job interview for Briggs (with a fake name and credentials, of course). While Briggs was being interviewed, Chen would tag along on the pretense of saying hi to his old colleagues. When they entered the lobby, they were soon confronted by a bored-looking security guard next to a metal detector. He instantly recognized Chen. “Joe! I thought you quit a few months ago?” said the guard. “I did. My buddy Mike here’s interviewing for a position in the Commerce Office. I thought I’d tag along and see how everyone’s doing,” said Chen cheerfully. The two of them made small talk as Briggs and Chen placed their wallets and PCUs on the X-Ray machine belt and walked through the metal detector. “I’m surprised he remembers you,” said Briggs as they headed for the elevators. “I’d always make a point of chatting with him for a little bit every morning. Thought it might be useful someday,” said Chen with a grin. When the elevator doors finally opened, they got in with a crowd of people and pressed the button for floor thirty-two. They rode the elevator in silence as it stopped on a half-dozen floors before reaching their stop. Chen led the way down the halls before stopping in front of a door marked ‘COMMERCE OFFICE CENTRAL ADMIN.’ “Here it is. Just go in and give the secretary your ‘name’. I’ll see you tomorrow,” said Chen. “Sounds good. Say hi to your friends for me,” replied Briggs. After he opened the door and went inside, Chen set off back towards the elevators. He rode down to the seventeenth floor, got out, and went to visit his old workplace. As soon as he stepped through the door he was greeted by the receptionist, a pretty woman named Charlene. “Joe! I didn’t expect to see you again!” she said with a wide smile, which he returned. “Me neither, but it turns out that transport ship I signed on to had a shipment bound for Beaumonde, and I couldn’t resist stopping by. Is Carl in yet?” “Yeah, he’s in his cubicle. You should make it quick, though – you know how Mr. McCormick is.” McCormick was Chen’s old boss, a generally easy-going individual who nonetheless had little patience for timewasters. “Don’t worry, I just wanted to drop in and say hi to everyone. Maybe see if anyone’s free for lunch.” “Of course, head right on in.” Chen thanked her and went through the glass doors into the office space which housed a vast array of identical cubicles. He quickly located his buddy Carl Weiss, who like usual was intensely focused on the financial reports that covered his Cortex screen. “Still slaving away, I see.” Weiss turned around in surprise, then grinned and got up to shake Chen’s hand. “Damn, Joe, you shoulda told me you were on Beaumonde! How you been?” They spent a few minutes catching up, before Chen asked if Weiss could go find another friend of his and bring him over. The person Chen asked for worked in a cubicle at the opposite end of the office, but he pretended to forget where. After Chen watched Weiss scurry off to get him, he quickly sat down at his friend’s terminal and got to work. He attached his PCU to the terminal, and a screen immediately popped up asking if he wanted to download any files off the PCU. When he choose ‘Yes’, another screen popped up asking for his password. Although a decent worker, Weiss was notoriously lax when it came to basic computer security. He had used his wife’s maiden name as his password ever since he started working in the Commerce Office, something he had told Chen once when he needed him to get something off his terminal while he was away on business. Chen rapidly typed it in, then selected the virus he had written from a list of files. It downloaded instantly. He quickly closed the window and unplugged the PCU, leaving the screen exactly as it was when Weiss was working on it. A minute later, Weiss returned with a mutual friend of theirs. They talked for a while before Mr. McCormick came around. Although pleased to see Chen, he told them to catch up outside the office. Before he left, Chen made plans to meet some of his workmates for lunch later that day. His mission accomplished, he took the elevator down to the lobby and exited the building. Forty-five minutes later, Briggs walked out of the Central Commerce Office. By the end of it he was pretty sure the interviewer could tell that Briggs didn’t know the first thing about interplanetary commerce laws, but it was no matter. He walked around the hallways until he found the men’s room. There was someone in one of the stalls, so Briggs took a piss while waiting for him to leave. After the guy departed (without washing his hands), Briggs moved fast. He went into a stall directly beneath the grate on the vent, and stood on the toilet seat to reach it. He pushed the grate up and set it down inside the vent, then grabbed the edges and lifted himself up. It was a tight fit, but he managed to get himself all the way in. He swiftly placed the grate back in it’s place right before the bathroom door opened and someone else came in. Now we play the waiting game, he thought to himself.

* * * * *

Briggs lay there motionless for over sixteen hours. At one o’clock in the morning, Chen’s virus kicked in and the power for the entire building went out at once. Briggs got down from the vent, replaced the grate, and sprinted towards the stairs. He ran to the top floor as fast as he could, and kept running until he reached the front door of the Governor’s office. Normally a powerful electric shock greeted anyone who tried to enter without entering the proper pass code, but with the power out he could simply kick the door down. The inside of the office was surprisingly spartan in nature. There was a glass desk with a large leather chair behind it, a few similar chairs scattered around the room, and the same type of carpeting as the office he had done the interview in. The main distinguishing feature was the breathtaking view of the city, as three of the walls were extremely clean glass. Briggs didn’t have time to take in the sights, though. He went over to a portrait of the man who was in charge of the terraforming of Beaumonde and removed it from the wall, revealing a keypad-locked safe behind it. This safe was powered by it’s own special generator, and so was unaffected by the temporary blackout. He placed the portrait on a nearby chair, entered the code, and opened the safe. He then grabbed the solitary data chip that lay inside it and headed back for the stairs. He didn’t have time to exit the building, so he ran down a few flights and headed for the first men’s room he could find. He hid in the vents the same way he had before, laying there until morning. The next morning, he waited until the restroom was empty and the hallway outside was quiet, then lowered himself down into the stall. Briggs was still dressed in a sharp suit and tie, so he had no trouble leaving the building with the chip. He took a taxi to a street corner a mile away from where the Mercury was docked. then walked the rest of the way. When he was safely on board the ship Briggs sent a wave to Smith, telling him that ‘he had the package’. Smith showed up an hour later. “McNichols’ gonna be happy about this. As are you, once this” – Smith raised the big satchel he was carrying – “is in your hands.” Briggs pulled the chip out of his pocket and handed it to Smith in exchange for the satchel. He glanced inside and confirmed it was full of ten-platinum pieces. “Five grand, like we agreed?” “Five grand, count it. And I’ll be back tomorrow with eighty-five hundred for the rifles.” “We’ll have them ready. Nice doing business with you, Mr. Smith,” said Briggs, offering his hand. Smith shook it. “Please, call me Charlie. Remember, any friend of Joe’s is a friend of mine.” The next day, he returned with several other men and another satchel containing eighty-five hundred platinum. After they loaded the remaining ASIs into a big transport hovercar, Smith told Briggs to contact him if he ever wanted to do some more work for McNichols. He talked with Chen for a bit before departing, asking him to come back to Beaumonde as often as he could. Chen promised he’d try, and if the work was always this good Briggs wouldn’t mind coming back more often either. After the cargo bay door had closed, Briggs’ face broke into a wide grin. “We got paid today, that’s for gorram sure,” he said to Chen. Chen nodded in agreement. “I’ll go round up the crew. As much as I love this planet, I want to get flying again as soon as possible. If that’s alright with you, Captain.” “It sure is, Joe. It sure is.”