Hailstorm
23 Jun 2022Robert Lees
3308-06-23 1430“What the hell is that?”
The voice of Lees’ handler flared over the comms, as a jet-black Mamba looking rather worse for wear touched down gingerly on bay forty-two of Fontenay City and quickly began its descent into the hangar.
“It’s a repair and rearm, Slep,” came the deadpan reply.
“Look at the state of this. Jumalauta, Roberto. I’m reading sixteen percent hull integrity. Barely a ship anymore.”
“Got me home at least. She did well.”
“You--” Slepow faltered, making no attempt to hide his indignation. “You realise that’s my afternoon gone, right?”
“Drinks are on me later, old friend!”
“You’d better believe--”
Lees cut the radio, threw an old jacket over his flight suit and stepped out. His nose wrinkled at an acrid odour of superheated propellant. He had forgotten to stow hardpoints on landing - possibly netting him some cynical looks from the flight control nest - and he now noted a faint glow on the barrels of the fragment cannons as their incendiary residue mingled with the station’s oxygen.
The problem was - he thought to himself as he boarded the concourse lift - that a compromised navigation beacon was too good of a party to pass up. An impromptu stress test for his newly engineered bounty hunting beauty, provided by the good folk at Zorgon Peterson. He thought of Patricia, his Viper stored somewhere deep in the docks beneath his feet. He would always have a soft spot for the old Mk III, but life was too short to be wasted on old habits and nostalgia. Today’s foray into dealing swift justice to the legitimately challenged had marked the beginning of a fruitful new relationship with the prototype racer.
‘Swift’ of course being the keyword. With a boost speed just shy of six-hundred metres-per-second, and uncanny acceleration through turns, the Mamba had threatened its pilot with g-LOC at several points throughout his jousting runs, bathed in the gentle heat of the Strigenses red dwarf. Lees invited several more strange glances from City patrons milling about the concourse, as he swung his limbs and bounced awkwardly to the terminal bank, coercing his blood to find its way back around the more remote corners of his body.
He punched into authority contacts and was greeted with an automated message from Joshua Vang. The smug features of the Vice President beamed back at him, glitching slightly. Lees watched quizzically as the credits that should have transferred instantly to his account instead evaporated before his eyes. The transaction skipped from three odd-million down to nothing. At a loss for an explanation, he pinched his brow. He would have to find another way to cover damages, and make things up to Slepow.
* * *
When he reached the Limpet early, he was surprised to learn that someone had beaten him in securing a table. The familiar face he found at the private booth wasn’t the one he was expecting.
“Hello, Bob! Marvellous of you to join.”
“It’s good to see you, sir.”
Lees was on cordial terms with Commandant Auronio, whose perpetual cheery disposition never failed to amaze him. The higher-ups had always given him the benefit of the doubt; always pulled strings so that he might be equipped to deal with issues - or indeed ignore them - as he saw fit. He was well aware that the lack of any real muzzle or leash made him complacent and insubordinate, and he was all but convinced that they did this to test him, or worse: make an example of him. Regardless, a direct visit from a commanding officer was a rare thing. There was something about this surprise meeting that set the faintest of alarm bells ringing inside Lees’ head.
“The pleasure is mine, I assure you. There has been encouraging news from our neighbours in Strigenses about recent activity at their arrival star. Though, curiously, reports show no bounties collected from the region.”
“Just been making some interim adjustments, sir. I filed the kills when I arrived, but something wasn’t right. The vouchers didn’t go through.”
“Yes, curious indeed. Now come, do sit. I have a special task for you.”
Lees accepted the invitation with an exaggerated display of reluctance. He hated when the Commandant used that word.
“You know, they really were impressed with the way you handled that machine. You seem very well acquainted with it. An interesting choice in name, too. Bardiel: the writings of Enoch, I believe?”
Lees flashed his eyebrows and cautioned an apologetic smile, which apparently wasn’t anywhere near enough to deter his enthused superior.
“‘My bow set in passing clouds, surrounding the Throne of Glory. Angels of hail turned to burning coal.’ Ahh! I always thought your way with words suited your way with business, dear Bob! It’s so important that we retain an appreciation for the arts. See the beauty in our world and in our work; all the more so when it comes to this particular... A particularly delicate profession such as this.” He spread his arms, gesturing to indicate the home port around them - his broad frame personifying the Forces in its entirety. “Don’t you agree?”
“With all due respect, sir, perhaps you could explain the artistry in launching escape pods full of terrified VIPs from a banged up ‘Vette outside the airlock.”
Auronio let out a roar of laughter, startling a man who had arrived with drinks. “So you see! Humour is another of the humanities that may be lost by those with dangerously little taste. Another piece of the soul that mankind risks leaving out in the black. But not us, Bob. We may be Sirius, but we still know how to be extremely funny.”
The laughter recommenced as Lees sipped his whiskey, now strangely a little nervous. The attendant returned to his post, leaving them alone in the booth once more. The Commandant took a healthy gulp from his own glass and wiped a tear from one eye. A short silence passed between them.
“Funnily enough,” he resumed, raising a pointed finger, “there was an ancient text in which the angel Bardiel played quite a different role.”
“Sir?”
“He was known, by some folk or other, as the disgraced son of God. A sort of divine parasite that destroyed harvest and travellers, sowing discord among men...” The Commandant’s expression suddenly darkened. “Do you remember how you got that Mamba?”
“I bought it right here. Fontenay’s shipyard. Why?”
“And do you know why you couldn’t claim the bounties secured from it?”
Lees shut his eyes and let out a deep sigh of resignation. While he was thankful they never treated him like a rabid dog, it was times like this that reminded him who was firmly in control.
“The warrant scanner.”
“Strigenses was a complete success. Those delinquents you erased - it’s like they never existed. The scanner infects the target with malware, converting it into a digital beachhead. GalNet receives routine communications from the ship, interpreting it as spam. The system takes care of the rest.”
“There’s no way a virus that destructive would go unnoticed.”
“The ship’s computer is completely degaussed in the process. No records, no receipts. Even the black boxes recovered were all ones and zeroes. Those poor devils disappeared without a trace. It worked beautifully.”
Lees shifted uncomfortably. “How could you be sure I’d only scan the cons? They must have realised what was happening. What if they’d survived and reported it?”
“We both know you’re far too professional for that!” Auronio’s eyes lit up again as he dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. “Now listen. We are planning for an election in HIP 21010. Terribly sticky system. A few political targets that have eluded us for too long, Bob. I’m afraid we need you to perform some wetwork. And we need you to fly your new friend with her secret weapon.”
“You’re asking me to kill innocents?”
“I am instructing you to take out marked ships, and make sure you use that KWS before they go pop!”
This wasn’t the first time Lees had been sent on a black op. It was never easy to stomach, but the implications of the mission before him gave way to new concern. Not only had they easily been able to keep such an elaborate arrangement from him; they had somehow made certain he would be the one to see it through. Lees wasn’t sure what appalled him more. They were about to make people vanish from history - reducing them to nothing more than calibration errors within empty sectors of data. In the modern world, you could leave a body and still be invisible. But even if the whole system were to crumble to ash overnight, the ages-old myth of the Angel of Hail would live on. In the minds of those who knew. As an echo of the past - or as Auronio would say, as art.
“Details will be with you soon, Commander. One of your comrades has already started raising false flags. You will likely incur bounties, but ATR will not be a problem.” He finished the last of his drink and rose from the table in one deft motion. “Don’t forget to scan, Bob! Good hunting! Terve, herra Slepow!”
Slepow looked understandably bemused as he almost bumped the Commandant on his way into the booth. He sat across from Lees, eyeing him from the spot their leader had left a second earlier, shrugging his hands on the table with the same bewildered expression. Lees looked back at his friend, then down at his glass, finally feeling the tension leave his shoulders.
“... How about those drinks?”
* * *