literature

A Small Price to Pay

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Special Agent Jamison Banks paced across the stark white subway station, wearing a face and uniform that were not his own.  Their previous owner, a lieutenant in the Tarani State’s “Protective Services”, had met with an unfortunate accident involving vats of industrial-grade acid.  With Banks in his place, no one would ever know he’d disappeared.  A small price to pay for averting a war, Jamison thought, hand resting on the pistol holstered at his hip.  He glanced down at his smartwatch and smoothed out a wrinkle in his black and gold dress uniform.  Almost midnight.  Target will be here any time. Wiping sweat from his ebony brow, he paced over to one of the sleek benches dotting the station and sat.

At this hour, the private military station was desolate.  Jamison glanced over his shoulder to see if he was truly alone.  A few well-placed bribes had seen to it that both of the station’s guards and its human attendant would be elsewhere tonight, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t turn him over to Protective Services.  An oddly sweet sounding name for a secret police force, he mused.  Wearing the uniform of such torturers, thugs, and fanatics made his skin crawl, but Banks pushed those thoughts aside.  A small price to pay for averting a war, his mind repeated. The Confederacy is counting on me.

Apart from the humming security shields over the station’s entrance and exit, silence reigned.  Look natural.  You’re just a normal Protective Services officer waiting for the tram to take him to the barracks.  Banks turned on his smartwatch and pretended to check the weather.  Behind him, the sound of boots on concrete broke the silence.  The click of a card sliding through a scanner followed.  

“You are cleared for entry, Grand Admiral Petrakos,” a perky, computerized female voice said.  “Have a pleasant day.”  Jamison heard a man let out an unintelligible grumble.  Then a security shield dropped, followed by the sound of more boots.  Dammit, he’s not alone.  Guess our intel from the Tarani Liberation Front wasn’t accurate.  Should’ve expected as much from those rebels. Banks took a deep breath, his mind scrambling to come up with a new plan.  Folk at the Academy always said you were good at improvising.  Don’t prove them wrong.

Banks glanced up from his watch as three figures brushed past him and stopped at the boarding platform’s edge.  All three wore the spotless white uniform of the Tarani Navy, and each carried an elegant V-18 plasma pistol.  In the center stood an old, balding man whose face resembled a raisin.  So that’s Grand Admiral Petrakos: Conqueror of a dozen systems, architect of atrocities big and small, and the Tarani military’s Chief of Staff.  He’s so much smaller in person.

He shifted his focus to the figures on Petrakos’ flanks.  Both wore blue stripes on their sleeves: symbols of the Naval Commandoes.  On his right stood a stocky, tanned man.  The bodyguard scratched at his stubble and peered down the rail line.  The guard on the right—a pale, dark-haired woman of average build—stood at an angle, keeping one eye glued to Banks.  She knows I’m the only possible threat in here, Jamison realized.  Her lip curled at the sight of his uniform, and she gave him a glare filled with enough hatred to melt steel.  Interservice rivalry at its finest.  Exactly what I’m counting on.

Jamison recalled his handler’s words when he’d taken this mission.  “Admiral Petrakos is planning an invasion of the Confederacy of Allied Worlds,” the mysterious woman had told him.  “And our military isn’t ready.  We have orders to derail those plans, straight from the President himself.  You’ll kill Petrakos, and to all the world it will look like a member of their secret police slew the head of their military.  Many are bound to think it was ordered by the Secretary of the Interior himself, as he and Petrakos are bitter rivals.  A scandal for the ages.  God willing, the fallout will give us time to build up our forces.  Details are in the dossier.”  So far, the dossier hadn’t failed him.

Banks shook his head.  Focus. He stared down at the smartwatch again and surfed through news articles from State owned media.  From the corner of his eye, he spotted the female commando relax her stance.  Jamison’s eyes flicked to the other guard.  The stocky man still stared down the subway line.  In between them, Petrakos stood ramrod straight, hands folded behind his back like the career soldier he was.  Now, his instincts whispered.  They’ll never know what happened.

Closing out the news app, Banks let his hand stray toward his own V-18.  Then, fast as a snake striking a mouse, he tore the plasma pistol free.  The commando on the right caught his movements, and her hand flashed to her holster.  Her lips moved as if to shout a warning, but she never got the chance.  Jamison’s pistol let out a rap, and a blue bolt of plasma caught the woman square in the stomach.  A gasp escaped her twisting lips, and the pistol slipped from her grasp as she slumped to the ground.

Surprised by the sound of gunfire, the other two Tarani spun to face its source.  Time slowed as Jamison took aim at the second bodyguard.  His pistol rapped twice, and the stocky commando crumpled to the floor, wounds smoking.  The man had never even touched his own service weapon.

As Jamison brought the V-18 to bear on his true target, a breath caught in his throat.  In his wrinkled hand, Grand Admiral Petrakos held his own weapon.  A contented smile spread across the elderly officer’s face as he extended his arm and took aim.  Without bothering to think, Banks opened fire.  His first two shots struck the wall behind Petrakos, leaving scorch marks.  Wisps of smoke rose from the wall.  Banks’ third shot slammed into the Grand Admiral’s thigh, and the elderly man fell to one knee.

It’s done, Banks thought as he fixed his aim on the officer’s chest.  From the edge of his vision, he caught the Grand Admiral’s arm rise.  The pistol’s muzzle glowed bright blue.  A bolt of plasma streaked past Banks’ head, close enough to singe his face.  By then, Jamison had already fired.  The shot struck its mark, and Petrakos fell backward onto the rail lines.  Now it’s truly done.  A bitter taste seized his tongue.

Banks holstered his pistol and surveyed the scene.  Smoke wafted from his fallen opponents, and the stomach churning stench of burnt flesh assaulted his nose.  A pang of regret touched his heart.  Terrible, dirty work.  Then cold logic took over, and his stomach calmed.  A small price to pay for averting a war.  A war that would kill millions.Without looking away from the corpses, Jamison tapped an innocent looking program on his smartwatch, signaling for pickup.  He spun and locked his gaze onto a security camera.  Let it see your face, he told himself, recalling the orders in the dossier.  Let there be no doubt that a member of Protective Services shot down Grand Admiral Petrakos.

Wrenching his eyes from the camera, Banks stalked over to the station’s exit and slid ‘his’ ID card through the card reader.  “You are cleared to exit, Lieutenant Iger,” the electronic voice said.  “Have a pleasant day.”  The buzzing energy field over the exit dropped, and he scampered up the stairs to the surface.  Orion better be ready to leave, he thought, recalling his contact in the Tarani Liberation Front.  In exchange for funding, the TLF had agreed to help Banks get on and off of Tarani Prime.  If everything else goes according to plan, I’ll be back in the Confederacy within a week.

#

Director of State Hua Li leaned back in her office chair, sifting through dozens of situation reports as she fought off sleep.  Casualty figures, work camp details…Father left out the part about how much paperwork went into running a nation, especially one that stretches across dozens of star systems.  Her automatic door let out a hydraulic whoosh, and Li wrenched her gaze from her tablet.  Saleet Amin, her secretary, strode into the office.  He clutched a data drive in one hand, and thin stress lines streaked his normally smiling face. “What now, Saleet?” Li asked.  “More reports from the occupied worlds?”  Will those rebels never learn?  They’re beaten.  Best to lie down and accept it.

The bearded man shook his head.  “Much more serious, Madame Director.”  He tossed the data drive onto her desk.  “Our spies in the Confederacy of Allied Worlds managed to place bugs inside their intelligence agencies.  One of them recorded a meeting between an agent and handler, in which they discussed a plot to assassinate Grand Admiral Petrakos.  A copy of that recording is on this drive.  The dates have been cross referenced, and this plot will be executed soon, if it hasn’t been already.”  
Li set her tablet aside, plugged the drive in into her display terminal, and pressed play.  “Has the Grand Admiral been warned?” she asked, watching the recorded meeting unfold.

Saleet bit his lip.  “Military Intelligence hasn’t been able to contact him all night.”

A frown flashed across Li’s face.  “Try again, on my frequency.  Tell him it’s a priori…”  She stopped as her door whooshed open again, revealing a panting woman in the black and gold uniform of Protective Services.  “What is it…” Li stopped to read the woman’s insignia, “…Captain?”

The woman, whose face was pale as ocean foam, raised a hand.  “Secretary Sullivan sent me.” She stopped and stooped over, gasping for air.  “W-we just…found out…Grand Admiral Petrakos and his bodyguards were murdered.”  The secret police officer stood up straight, having finally regained her breath.  “Security footage shows a Protective Services officer did it.  The Secretary had his face checked against personnel records and found a match: one Lieutenant Iger.  Our surveillance net hasn’t spotted him since he fled the scene in an aircar.  It’s as if he were a ghost.”

Li’s eyes flicked between the Captain and the recording on her terminal.  I think I see what happened here.  “Thank you, Captain.  You’re dismissed.”  The woman gave a sharp nod, spun on her heel, and swiftly marched out of Li’s office.  The Director shifted her gaze to Saleet.  “Call an emergency meeting of the Cabinet.”

Without a word, Saleet rushed off to his own office, leaving Li alone.  As the door shut behind him, she spun her chair to face the window looking out over Footfall, Tarani Prime’s capital city.  Well, Petrakos, you wanted a pretext for war with the Confederacy.  Now we might just have one, and at a bargain price for that matter.

#

The dinky little space station hanging over Earth’s moon could hardly be called clean or modern, but Jamison Banks didn’t mind.  A successful mission, my head on my shoulders, and a ticket home, he thought, nursing a lukewarm beer at a bar whose name he’d forgotten.  Transport home won’t arrive for another day or two, and the jump from Sol to the Confederacy will be another few days.  Might as well savor my victory until then.  Jamison stared at the TV hanging over the bar, which showed a tight game between two basketball teams he didn’t recognize.  Just as the clock neared zero, “Breaking News” flashed across the screen.  A chorus of groans rose from the bar patrons around him.  

Banks raised an eyebrow as the words “Director of Tarani State Makes Major Announcement” streamed across the ticker at the bottom of the screen.  He glanced at the bald, plump bartender wiping off glasses a few feet away.  “Hey, can you turn it up?”
 
The bartender’s lips twisted, but he said nothing as he snatched a remote from under the counter and turned up the volume.  “This recording was included with today’s dispatches from the Tarani State,” one of the newscasters said.  The screen cut to the diminutive Hua Li standing on the steps of the ironically named Assembly of the People.  Dozens of aristocratic members from the rubberstamp legislature sat behind her.  Odd that they’re doing this outside.

The Director raised a hand and spoke.  “For many years, Grand Admiral Alexander Petrakos defended the Tarani State from the reactionary, regressive regimes surrounding us, and under my father’s benevolent governance the Grand Admiral led the charge in liberating the people of those systems from their oppressors.  Now, as you all know, this courageous man was taken from us yesterday.  But do not weep, for his death has revealed the true culprits behind the problems plaguing our great nation.”  Banks had to roll his eyes at Li’s propaganda speak.  Always playing the victim.  At least it sounds like they bought our ruse.

Director Li held up a data drive and waved it overhead.  A trace smile danced across the dictator’s face.  “We have acquired information that shows the Confederacy of Allied Worlds was behind the cold blooded murder of Grand Admiral Petrakos and his valiant bodyguards.”  Jamison’s heart nearly leapt from his chest.  No.  All of that information is encrypted and locked away behind the best security in the galaxy.  They couldn’t have found anything that would prove our involvement.  Then doubt set it.  Could they?

The camera drone panned out, revealing a thickly packed crowd stretching as far as the eye could see.  Many waved the State’s red and green bicolor flag, or wore its colors and symbols.  As her people roared at the news, the dictator slapped an open palm on her podium.  “One of their assassins infiltrated our society, killed an officer of the Protective Services, stole every piece of his identity, and collaborated with reactionary elements on this very planet to slay our greatest protector and two of his dedicated bodyguards.  Just as we’ve long suspected, the Confederacy has supported cruel, regressive elements seeking to destabilize our glorious nation.  That cannot be allowed to stand.

“This morning, I called upon the Assembly to declare war on the Confederacy of Allied Worlds, and they have unanimously agreed.  With our superior military might, we will liberate the Confederacy’s citizens from their corrupt, murderous leadership and crush the subversive elements of our own nation.  All who oppose us will flee as the heavens tremble beneath our righteous advance, and they will know the error of their ways.”  The Assembly members behind her rose to their feet, clapping like they’d always been conditioned to.  Another roar erupted from the crowd below, and Banks glimpsed a satisfied smirk dart across Li’s face before the recording cut out.

The newscasters turned to jabbering about the declaration of war, but Jamison sat motionless on his stool.  His guts twisted, like a towel being wrung out to dry, and for a second he feared his drink might come back on him.  Pointless, Banks thought, staring down at his hands.  All those little sacrifices are pointless now. He thought back to his days at the Academy, when he was full of idealism and the world seemed brighter.  His insides twisted again.  Principles sacrificed, and what do I have to show for it?  A war we aren’t even ready to fight.
A modified version of the very first "real" short story I wrote.  It was originally part of an assignment from way back in my high school creative writing class to write an ironic short story.
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