The team had been in the Eastern Fringe for three days. One of the worst areas in Washbalt’s almost endless slums, the Fringe was well located for their proposed mission, close to the buildings of the Inner Core. Like most of the Alliance’s cities, Washbalt had a large secure area where the middle classes lived and where most commerce took place. Inside these protected areas there was typically an enclave reserved for the Political Class, Corporate Magnates, and elite visitors. Sector A in New York, Gold Coast/Old Town in Chicago, Beacon Hill in Boston…all the cities had a zone where the elite and privileged enjoyed a lifestyle the other 99.5% of the population could only imagine. All except Washbalt…it had five such areas…and the Inner Core was the most luxurious of all.
Alliance Headquarters was a massive building straddling the Inner Wall, the perimeter surrounding this bastion of privilege. It had entrances in both the Inner Core and the main business district. A towering monolith, it was a symbol of fear to all. Even the elites of the Political Class were wary of the Alliance’s massive intelligence operation. Its tentacles stretched into every corner of society, and more than one powerful politician had found himself disgraced, career destroyed by the machinations of those who worked within that kilometer tall tower. Some had even found their way to a grisly end in the infamous cells of Sub-Sector C.
Cain wasn’t afraid of Alliance Intelligence, at least no more than he would be of any dangerous mission. He refused to allow the carefully constructed mystique to exert its affect on him. Men with guns were men with guns, and these would not be the first ones he’d faced.
Nevertheless, he was afraid. Not of the mission, not of the enemies he had to face, not even of the consequences of failure. He was afraid of himself, of the past. For three days he had negotiated with the leaders of the Stone Hands, the most powerful and violent gang in the Fringe. In that time he had seen horrors, images that took him back more than two decades, to the streets of the Bronx. Back then he had preyed on the helpless Cogs just as the Stone Hands did, doing things he couldn’t imagine now. He’d spent his life since atoning, protecting the Alliance’s colonists from those who would do them harm. Now he was even protecting them from the Alliance itself.
Each moment spent in the urban hell reminded him of that time long ago, chipping away at the fragile peace he’d made with himself. He just wanted to complete the mission and get away from Earth as quickly as possible. But dealing with a gang is difficult, especially for an outsider. He knew their ways and how to deal with them, and his people were tough enough to take care of themselves…something a few of the more unrestrained gangers found out the hard way. But it still took time.
The platinum he offered was valuable anywhere, but in the crumbling slums it was a massive treasure. He’d kept two bars to show off; the rest they had buried in the sub-cellar of an abandoned building. Carrock, the Stone Hands’ leader, was about to have them all shot for disturbing him when Cain threw the two bars at his feet.
Now they had been negotiating for three days. Not because it required that much time, but because Carrock wanted to test Cain, to see what he would do or say while he waited. It was a poker game of sorts, each trying to get the measure of the other. Carrock was worried Cain would try to cheat him on payment or do something that would bring heat down on the gang.
Cain had an edge, though. Carrock had no idea Erik knew how the gangs functioned, that he knew it because he had lived it. Cain wanted to make sure the Stone Hands lived up to their end of the bargain…which meant providing weapons and leading them through the undercity. He didn’t tell Carrock they were planning to hit Alliance Intelligence; no one would agree to participate in something with the kind of repercussions the true mission carried. Instead, Cain had invented a robbery of the building across the street, the headquarters of Gavrit and Carlson, one of the largest importers of priceless extra-terrestrial stones and artifacts…an entirely plausible target.
The hardest part of waiting around was doing nothing while gang members victimized the helpless Cogs. Erik Cain was different now; he had been reborn through years of hard service, and he found it almost impossible to stand aside and watch the very crimes he’d willingly committed a lifetime ago. His troops could have helped; they wanted to intervene, but Erik stopped them. They may not have been able to change the big picture, but there wasn’t a doubt in Erik’s mind that they could have saved lives. But they didn’t…more guilt for him to bear, since it was he who stood in the way. Their mission was to get Garret out, and that was all that mattered. Getting into a fight with the Stone Hands wasn’t part of the plan. They needed the gang.
Now he was on his way to meet Carrock and make the final arrangements. With any luck, this time tomorrow they would be under Alliance Intelligence HQ. Unless something went wrong.
“Which way is north? I’m not going to ask you again.” The gang member couldn’t have been more than seventeen. Erik had him in a headlock and was twisting his arm behind his back. It was going to break any second.
“That way.” He was crying, his voice cracking. He motioned with his head…as much as he could with Cain’s arm around his neck.
Erik had seen the kid beating a helpless woman two days earlier, though he wasn’t sure if the little scumbag had killed her or not. Shithead’s not so tough now, he thought. Cain really wanted to kill the bastard, but they still needed him. “You’re going to help us get into the Alliance Intelligence building.” He loosened his grip, just enough so the kid could speak.
“Are you crazy?” It was a spontaneous reaction, one that prompted Cain to tighten his grip again.
“Do you see these guys?” Erik twisted the kid around, forcing his head toward the bodies of his two companions. When they had reached the original destination, Cain gave a quick signal, and Teller killed both in less than three seconds. They were sprawled out on the ground, one a particularly disturbing sight, with his head twisted sickeningly, open eyes staring up lifelessly.
The ganger was whimpering now, gasping for air. “Ple…please…”
“Then do as I say.” Cain loosened his arm, though less than he had before.
“I think it’s that way.” He tried to motion again, though it was hard with Erik holding him so tightly. “We don’t ever go there. It’s crazy to mess with them.”
“Crazy or not, that’s where we’re going.” Cain glanced down at the bodies. “And unless you want to stay with them…” – his voice was cold and ominous as he pointed to the two corpses – “…you’re coming with us.”
The kid was terrified and sobbing, but he nodded his agreement. Erik motioned with his head, and the whole group started moving. They had a mix of weapons – a few ancient assault rifles, some actual firearms, and an assortment of pistols and explosives. It wasn’t what Erik wanted for a team assaulting one of the most difficult targets he could imagine, but it was the best they could get from the gang. If Stone Hands had any better weapons, they weren’t going to sell them, not at any price. They were just too hard to come by.
Cain was looking for something specific. Vance hadn’t been able to give him as much intel on Alliance Intelligence HQ as he might have liked, but he did provide some useful info. Martian Security definitely had a source on the inside. Erik supposed for an instant he should probably be upset by that. He was, after all, an Alliance Marine. The Confeds weren’t the enemy, not really…but they were a foreign power. It only took him a second to decide he didn’t give a shit. He didn’t trust Vance, not really, but he’d take the Martian’s word over that of anyone in Alliance Gov.
It took most of an hour, but he found the way in…it was there just like Vance said it would be. The Alliance Intelligence building was self-contained, completely off the city’s grid, and its power was generated by a subterranean fusion reactor. There was a duct, a backup system used occasionally to expel excess steam into the unused tunnels around the building. Now it was going to serve another purpose, one its designers never intended.