Recompense for the Scorned
01 Aug 2021Jaime Ward
Capitol, Achenar24 hours ago...
"Do you insist on wearing that helmet? I feel as though I am speaking to a machine," Senator Tancred Vanderhorst said, his brow furrowed at his visitor. The harsh militaristic outfit clashed with the elegant finery of the Senator's office. Despite his own formidable build, the Senator felt uneasy. There was a sense that he was in the presence of a predator, hungry and stalking, and that he was the prey.
Tancred only knew of the man's surname: Ward. The limited information he'd been able to gather from local law enforcement networks was that he was a bounty hunter, and a skilled one at that. He had accepted an invitation to discuss a contract regarding the elimination of a certain individual that was responsible for acts of terrorism on the Imperial border with the Pegasi region.
The situation was spiraling out of control in that area of space, spurred on by revolutionary elements that Tancred believed had already been dealt with several years prior. The removal of several puppet governments had a destabilizing effect, causing the supplies of precious resources flowing to the Imperial heart to decline sharply. If decisive action wasn't taken quickly enough, then all of Tancred's hard work would go to waste. He would lose standing with his peers.
Which was why he had agreed to entertain Ward.
Ward was silent for a moment, considering. Then he gave a simple, resounding answer: "No."
Tancred's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "I wlll not pay a contractor whose face I do not know." Ward didn't capitulate. Tancred pressed further: "If this is how you conduct your affairs, then consider our dealing concluded."
"I don't think you are in any position to determine when anything is concluded, Senator," Ward said, turning his body slightly away from the Senator. He turned to look at the door, then seemed to survey the rest of the office, before his gaze fell on the Senator once more. "I require something from you."
A laugh rumbled from Tancred's barrel chest, shaking his head. "Perhaps you have forgotten your place, Ward. I invited you here to discuss business. Your bravado is unnecessary. My terms are fair. Now, if you will, take off your helmet."
Ward remained motionless for several long, agonizing seconds. Tancred stared at his reflection in the opaque faceplate of the helmet, the urge to call security growing like a knot in his chest. With slow, practiced movements, Ward reached for a pouch on his belt, pulling out a comm tab.
"You may want to sit down for this, Senator," he said, holding the tab between his thumb and forefinger. "It's very important that you hear this before we continue our discussion." He pushed a button on the small, smooth device and a holographic emitter mounted on the ceiling projected a recording onto the Senator's desk.
Tancred instantly recognized the scene, ice spiking in his veins as he sat down.
******
Governor Valeria Larsen tipped back her glass of wine, an awestruck look in her eyes as she took measure of Chione. It was truly a sight to behold from the habitation ring of Hiram's Anchorage. Too often she only saw things from the surface, but from up here she could see the big picture.
"I am curious, Governor,” came a deep, rumbling voice from behind her.” Do you have ambitions beyond your station?" As one of Denton Patreus' representatives, Tancred Vanderhorst carried considerable power - both as a patron and a military commander. His hulking form had stretched out from a plush sofa, a knowing smirk playing at the edges of his mouth, as he, too, sipped his wine. "All of this could be yours."
Larsen laughed without mirth. "I do not envy Senator Faveol or his pet Legion. My specialty has always been administration, not politics." She turned around and shook her head, studying her counterpart with cold eyes. "Though I loathe both with equal measure, my skill in management has given me more power than you might think."
Larsen strode across the room, setting her glass down on a fine ivory tabletop where a hologram of the Legion's holdings spun lazily. She studied it, seeming to weigh the potential of a thousand different futures. "Senator Larsen does have a charming sound to it, I will admit," she said, giving the projection a flick of her forefinger and setting it spinning. "But I cannot stand the egos of those I would be forced to endure by becoming such a figure. I already suffered through Evanson's incessant flapping about that damnable Loren woman."
"It would seem that those sorts of problems solve themselves, given enough time," Vanderhorst replied. "Such is the case in the Senate as well."
"Did you come here to persuade me to challenge Faveol?" Larsen asked, looking over her shoulder at her guest.
"Of course not," Vanderhorst replied, the smirk on his face shifting into a smile. "You know why I'm here. I am simply curious why you would remain an underling with such an illustrious and proven track record."
"I am no underling," Larsen said, though it sounded more like a hiss. "At my command is the whole Legion. Were I to snap my fingers, I could have this system locked down in an hour. The only person who could prevent that is 22,000 light years away."
"You act as though he isn't coming back. Or that he won't."
"It is our duty to ensure that when he does, he is treated with the cold indifference he is due." Larsen turned around to face Vanderhorst, folding her hands in front of herself and giving a humorless smile. "Which I am led to believe is why you are here."
Vanderhorst finished his glass and set it down on the end table, sitting forward. The sofa creaked slightly as he did, his brawn making the seat appear small around him. "What would it take to ensure the referendum on secession fails?"
Larsen's eyes narrowed. "Rigging the vote is no small favor to ask, Tancred. Corruption of this kind, if revealed, would end both of our careers."
"Not a factor."
"Your certainty is no comfort to me."
Vanderhorst stood up, towering over Larsen. His years in the Imperial Marines had gifted him with strength and presence that few others could match. A hand gestured to Chione, beyond the window. "This world and its resources are far too important to the Admiral. The tantalum reserves may run dry in time but Prism is a symbol of Imperial superiority. That damnable Loren woman you speak of kept it in His Majesty's possession when the Federation came to reclaim it."
He curled his outstretched hand into a fist, holding it in front of him, towards Larsen. "We must - and will - tighten our grasp. For if the people in your care elect to leave the Empire, far worse will happen. Better to do so through parliamentary procedure than through bloodshed. Prism has seen enough of that."
"Whatever happened to democracy?" Larsen said bitterly, smiling despite herself. "Evanson and his ilk have filled the population with ideas of independence and freedom apart from Emperor Lavigny-Duval's hand. The pro-secessionists will not take a defeat lightly, especially since the polls favor their position."
Vanderhorst tilted his head and gave a small shrug. "By the slimmest margin."
Larsen puffed her cheeks, thinking. After a few moments, she shook her head. "If you anticipate a bloody outcome, then what is your endgame?"
"The removal of Vespar Faveol and Cuthrick Delaney,” said Vanderhorst. “By whatever means necessary. If the referendum fails, Faveol will have to spout tripe about the need to remain with the Empire. This will anger the secessionists. They will turn on him and he will be unsafe. The wise play for him will be to return to Liaedin and retake his place as Senator, since that position was recently and tragically vacated."
"The devil's hands have been busy," Larsen said.
"Vespar is my friend,” Vanderhorst replied. “I owe him the right to choose his fate. But he is not above sacrifice for the good of the Empire."
"What makes you so certain the secessionists will go after Senator Faveol?"
"The oldest tactics are often the best,” answered Vanderhorst. “Propaganda. Manipulation. We provide the means and the motive and the secessionists will find the opportunity."
"And what of Delaney?"
"He will see the writing on the wall. He will either bow out gracefully and become a private citizen - as I am sure he has grown weary of being a public one - or he will find himself in such a place where the light simply does not find him."
"And Evanson, if he returns?"
Vanderhorst laughed softly. "He may be a fool, but he is not stupid. He has already dodged the gallows once. Being rebranded an insurrectionist in the aftermath of the referendum's failure is a death sentence this time. He has no friends in high places after this. He will not have the luxury of mercy."
Larsen reached for the bottle of wine, pouring herself another glass. With both in hand, she approached Vanderhorst, who held out his own. "Oh, to be rid of such foolish naivety," Larsen said, filling his glass for him. "You make it sound so easy."
"None of this happens without you," Vanderhorst said. "Remember: this is the less bloody approach. Prism will not be allowed to leave. This simply avoids the fleets and the urban warfare."
"Does it?" Larsen replied. She smiled as Vanderhorst bristled, and held up her glass to his. "To democracy, dear Tancred. The safest hands are still our own."
******
The recording ended. Tancred did his best to mask his surprise, trying to keep a neutral expression on his face despite his desire to hurl himself across the room and choke the life out of the bounty hunter.
Ward placed the tab back in its pouch, maintaining his stoic posture. He let the weight of the recording linger in the air before he spoke again, his voice steady, confident: "Two years ago, you and Larsen conspired to rig the referendum vote because you were unwilling to entertain the idea of a free and independent Prism system. You got your way - Prism remained steadfastly Imperial, and radical elements within the Prism Defense Forces were expunged. Larsen has been enjoying the peace and quiet, with Faveol as a silent mouthpiece for her policy decisions. You subverted the democratic process and got away with it."
Tancred swallowed hard, already aware of how that recording would be used if he didn't cooperate. "Go on."
"Now you have a problem in Prism once more - seems some of those pro-secessionist elements have reared their heads again. You, in particular, stand to lose quite a bit if the unrest boils over and the shipments of tantalum stop. I believe your mining interests are experiencing a downturn, aren't they?"
"Where did you get the record?" Tancred asked, deflecting from the question Ward posed.
"Where I got the recording, from whom, and to what ends are none of your concern. You have a problem growing in that region, and I can provide a solution. But as I said, I require something from you."
"And what is that?"
"There is a secret project being undertaken at the Tiverion Academy in the Didiomanja system. You know as well as I do that they are not simply training fresh Imperial Navy recruits. They prefer to recruit at a much younger age."
For the first time since he arrived in the Senator's office, Ward moved, beginning a slow trot around the room. His gaze never left Tancred's, and Tancred swore he could feel a pure and deep hatred emanating from the bounty hunter.
"You have an associate with deep connections to the Tiverion Academy named Gideon Hathaway."
Tancred gave a curt nod. "I do. But what we do there at the Academy is essential to ensuring the Imperial Navy has skilled pilots capable of--"
"--going toe-to-toe with the enemies of the Empire, including the Thargoids. Yes. I've heard the pitch. It's very good. Unfortunately, it's very unethical."
"So you are going to blackmail me into giving up details about the projects being undertaken there."
Ward shook his head. "On the contrary. You provide that information to me, and I will destroy the recording in my possession. I have no agenda of my own, but my employers do."
"Who are your employers?"
"I think you already have a hunch. They're in almost every system, after all. Solving problems deemed otherwise unsolvable. Paying the right people off. Settling accounts." Ward gestured with his hands as he spoke, holding his palms open and outward. "This is simply an exchange and I merely facilitate it."
Tancred's eyes dropped to the desk in front of him, his mouth suddenly dry. "Interstellar Factors."
"The one and only."
They were using him for leverage. It wasn't that they would release the recording if he didn't cooperate, it was that the recording even existed in the first place. Had Larsen been compromised when they'd spoken? No, the recording is as damning for her as it is for me. They have a secret of ours, and they're using it to gain access to more. But to what ends?
Tancred lifted his gaze to Ward, who once again assumed the same unexpressive posture as he had. "You are recording all of this, are you not? That is how you operate, correct?"
Ward gave a slow nod.
Tancred's voice rose, becoming defiant. "How dare you come into the home of an Imperial senator and try to blackmail him!" he shouted, his fists curling solidly, rough knuckles turning white. "I will see you arrested!"
"It's too late, Senator, this is all documented," Ward said, tapping the side of his helmet with his finger, and without a hint of concern. "You so much as lay a finger on me and everything, including this meeting, will come out before nightfall, and you'll be in a jail cell. And me?" Ward gave a mirthless laugh. "I'll be moving on to my next house call."
Tancred surged up from the comfort of his chair, storming around the grand rosewood desk and reaching out towards the bounty hunter with his huge arms. Ward quickly bobbed and ducked as Tancred tried to grapple with him, briefly losing sight of the hunter before feeling a sharp jab in the back of his neck.
All at once, his world went sideways - then upside down. He barely registered the pain of the impact on the floor of his office, then could barely tell if he was dreaming or not.
He saw Ward standing over him. "I was afraid it'd go down this way, but it doesn't much matter to me."
Slowly, the hunter crouched down so Tancred could see him. He slowly removed his helmet.
Tancred's eyes widened as memory penetrated the growing haze clouding his mind. He recognized the face. "No... not you."
The hunter stared down at Tancred with cold, indifferent eyes. "You have about thirty seconds to decide whether or not you'll tell me what you know about Hathaway's pet project at Tiverion."
Tancred tried to summon the saliva to spit at the man, but his tongue was thick and stuck to the roof of his mouth. "Go to hell," he managed to slur out. He couldn't focus his eyes, the room began to spin.
"We'll do it my way, then," the hunter said just as Tancred lost consciousness.
******
24 hours later...
Tancred shot upright in his bed, beads of sweat dripping down his face. His eyes darted around the darkened bedroom, seeing nothing but the faint glow of city lights from the window. He'd dreamt of running in the night from a pack of wolves, their teeth sharp and flashing in the moonlight, baying for his blood. He'd tried to fight them off, kicking and tearing and thrashing and biting back before he had his throat ripped out by one. It was a nightmare that had recurred throughout his life, from childhood onward.
But as he tried to clear his thoughts and collect himself, something felt off. He threw off the covers and stepped out of bed, the lights on the bedside table warming and casting light for him to see.
Tancred shuffled into his office, stopping at the threshold. A sense of fear and foreboding bubbled just below the surface of his thoughts, but he couldn't place a reason for it. He carried himself to his chair, sat down, and called up the local Galnet feeds.
A hammer blow struck him in the chest as he read the headlines.
FORMER SORBAGO SENATOR TANCRED VANDERHORST AND PRISM GOVERNOR VALERIA LARSEN IMPLICATED IN PRISM SECESSION REFERENDUM FRAUD
Tancred swore under his breath, his pulse growing to a roar in his ears as his eyes struggled to process what he was seeing. Within seconds of seeing the headline, his holofac's message inbox exploded. Calls started pouring in from patrons and other members of the Imperial political arena, as well as the media. He shouted. He screamed. He clawed at his own face in fury and frustration. Anger billowed in his chest, fury rising in his throat.
How? Who did this?
Before he could even think about answering the question, there was a banging on his front door. Tancred watched as several uniformed officers stepped into his residence.
"Senator Vanderhorst," one female officer said, retrieving a pair of cuffs from her duty belt, "it is my duty to inform your that you are being detained for questioning by the Imperial Internal Security Service..."
******
Ward stared at the Galnet feeds, his mouth drawn in a tight grimace. Vanderhorst had been taken into custody by Imperial law enforcement pending an investigation into the recording. Larsen wouldn't be far behind, but knowing how she operated, she'd find a way to squirm out of the legal consequences - and that meant other consequences would have to be visited upon her. It would have to be more than merely sedating and dosing her with hexedit after acquiring some measure of illicit leverage on her.
He ran a hand across his face, the soft sound of sandpaper as his fingers passed through his beard. His gambit didn't work in the way he'd hoped, but it was worth it to see Vanderhorst thrown to the wolves for his part in the secession referendum fraud. Video footage from Leeson City on Chione showed protests and riots, people violently throwing themselves against the implements of Imperial law enforcement. Though he couldn't be there in person, he found some solace in taking down Vanderhorst. He saw inspiration and indignation in the faces of the protesters, all clamoring for independence once more. He shut the feeds off and stared out into the darkness of the void.
I'm not any closer to getting what I need to bring down Hathaway. But I can at least take out his associates That's a start. He'll take notice once enough pieces are off the board.
A message notification appeared on his HUD.
"I'm guessing that was you. Nice work. Though Prism is going to be a shooting gallery soon. I hope you have plans on getting ahead of that. - JH."
Ward deleted the message.
No. I don't.
The truth was that he hadn't thought that far ahead, and he didn't intend to. Fighting revolutions and trying to protect people was the calling of another man in a past life. What he wanted now was far simpler. He had spent almost a decade fighting for causes better left to die by the wayside. Too many lives wasted for nothing, too much ground taken and then given up...
Too many deep losses.
The consequences of his actions needed to resonate. The people who used him as a pawn and used his blind zealotry in the past had to answer for their crimes.
Vanderhorst was one. Larsen, another. Gideon Hathaway was near the top of his list - but his was not the top. The one that held that sacred spot was unnamed and unknown - and Ward knew he'd need to chase that lead down eventually.
He closed his eyes, could see her face clearly. The terror in her eyes. Her last words, pleading.
The Tradition's engines warmed, and the Cobra moved through the darkness in the heliopause beyond the edge of the Achenar system. It angled away from the distant point of light to take aim at another before soundlessly slipping into the twisted unreality of witchspace, traversing the distance in the blink of an eye, the galaxy none the wiser to who Jaime Patrick Ward was.
But they would know his deeds soon enough.