The Last Watchmen Read online

  Dekker grinned. Just as I thought. The MEA’s covering up the incident at Osix. The possibility of a resurgent Mechnar threat would destabilize the people. His subtle threat of an information leak won them the contract.

  “Bidding is over,” the bureaucrat announced. “The job goes to Dekker’s Dozen for his bid amount, plus five percent.” The premium implied hush-money.

  Exasperated, Dekker never hid his frustration with the bid process. Potential data leaks were across the board. The MEA should have hired Dekker privately without risking the security of the prisoner, and he let the bureaucrats know it. Because of the defunct process, the time and date of the prisoner transfer had become public knowledge.

  Dekker switched off the monitors and the secure data feed whirred as details for the new job downloaded. He looked up to see Vesuvius coming in.

  With a sober expression, Vesuvius displayed the katana. Dekker’s face fell with shock and dismay.

  “Shin?” he asked, recognizing the markings. His voice was as close to trembling as it would ever come.

  Emotions still bottled up, Vesuvius nodded and bowed her head.

  Dekker hesitated, unsure of what to do. “Um…” he fumbled and then stepped forward and embraced her. She buried her face in his broad shoulder. Shin had long been one of Dekker’s best friends, but he was like a brother to Vesuvius.

  Finally, in the security of Dekker’s arms, she let out her emotions and broke. Only in his arms, nowhere else, would she ever allow that. Not even with Guy.

  In that moment, the contract became unimportant. Dekker didn’t bring it up. For a long time, he simply held her.

  ***

  Vesuvius dreamed. She remembered; the memory overtook her when her guard was down—as she slept.

  Flames terrorized her, flames and the howls of her dying father. This memory haunted her more than any other. Vivian was just a girl, barely beginning to cope with the changes in her teenage body. She remembered the kitten, a gift from her father on the anniversary of her mother’s death. She loved that kitten.

  The flames became gushes of water—they nearly drowned her as they quenched the blazing apartment—drenched everything with cold wetness. It had come too late, though, to save her father, the famous war general, Harry Briggs. The memory remained preserved in crystal lucidity.

  A Krenzin zealot burst through the door of their home; he stunk like the inflammable canister he carried. Her father tried to stop him, but had only been doused, himself. The media called it a ‘peaceful demonstration gone wrong.’ Flames engulfed both zealot and general with an inferno that couldn’t be extinguished, killing them both.

  She remembered the stench of burning flesh as it lingered in the air. She remembered the blackened cadavers of her father and of the Krenzin ‘peaceful demonstrator;’ the body of her scorched kitten lay next to her father’s.

  There was the thought that haunted her. You can’t take care of anything. You couldn’t care for a kitten, let alone a child.

  ***

  Vesuvius awoke in a cold sweat, her dreams too lucid to tolerate.

  She’d awoken in Dekker’s quarters, in his main room, curled into a ball on his couch. He’d laid her there to rest; she just didn’t want sleep at her own place—she didn’t want to be alone with her grief. Vesuvius glanced at the closed doors to Dekker’s bedroom: it had always been an impassable barrier. Not even during the serious days of their relationship had she been behind those doors.

  It was a mystery she seemed unable to solve. Try as she might, there were aspects of that man that seemed forever closed off to the rest of humanity.

  Pounding her pillow, she rolled herself back into the blankets. In a few hours morning would come and they would have a job to do. At least for tomorrow, she didn’t have to think about the funeral.

  ***

  “You know, those weapons are illegal,” a snooty corporal said in his nasal tone. “Only beam-weaponry is allowed per MEA regulations.”

  Disapprovingly, he looked Dekker up and down. The Investigator flashed him a smile. Dekker wore his favorite weapons, a pair of semiautomatic flak pistols, strapped to his hips and in plain sight.

  “Those things are near the top of the banned weapon’s list, actually.”

  “Are you going to take them from him?” Vesuvius challenged. She knew the MEA’s law enforcement had a ‘hands tied’ judiciary system. They were bound by so many layers of protocol and legality that the paperwork even to report him would take hours. She glared at the corporal. “Do you really want to slow down this prisoner transfer, or maybe you’d like to keep Austicon around?”

  The corporal pretended he hadn’t heard Vesuvius. He also pretended he hadn’t seen Dekker’s weapons and waved them through the security checkpoint.

  Guy chuckled, “So this lunatic eluded us for years, only to get accidentally locked in a cryo-unit by a bunch kids on a field trip? This is gonna be fun. I can tease him about that, right?”

  “Don’t run your mouth in front of him,” cautioned Dekker. “He may have an ugly soul, but he is the most dangerous man in the galaxy. His skills demand respect. Let’s not antagonize him.”

  Guy shrugged. “Well, I hope those kids used the reward money for something worthwhile.”

  ***

  The Dozen split into three groups. While the job seemed simple by any account, Dekker insisted they maintain the highest alertness. One group remained aboard their armored transport. Another group deployed to the loading zone, weapons ready. Dekker, Vesuvius, and Guy would escort the prisoner to their craft.

  “I almost feel sorry for Shaw,” quipped Guy.

  Shaw’s team remained outside in the frigid air which currently registered ten below centigrade. The max-lock detention center, built in the middle of Antarctica, discouraged escapes by nature of its climate. The prison’s surveillance monitored the entire continent via heat signatures which were even more pronounced by the cold.

  “If you’d like,” said Dekker, “I can always let you trade places.”

  “No thanks. I’m good.”

  Vesuvius was in no mood to engage Guy in playful banter. Shin’s death consumed her thoughts. After all these years, you’d think I’d be used to my loved ones dying.

  The security team led the Investigators on a short walk through sterile corridors until they came to a small retaining room. On the far side of the room, Austicon sat behind a transparisteel barrier watching video feeds of his past exploits. He’d been stuck in the Antarctic detention center for nearly three years as the MEA compiled case evidence against him. Waits of this length were only normal if the death sentence was sought, a rare occurrence. Still, even some Krenzin cried out for lethal justice against the notorious terrorist—especially those with ties to the old Krenzin Parliament which fell by Austicon’s hands. Austicon’s terrorism led to the emergence of the theophilocratic rule of The Pheema.

  Austicon grinned sadistically as he watched old footage of his crimes played over and over on various channels. His upcoming trial had become the center of media attention. Pixilated explosions peppered the digital playback as the Krenzin Parliament building detonated over and over again.

  Security guards exited and locked the room behind them as the transparent barrier lifted. They weren’t paid for this and didn’t want to have liability for anything that happened after Austicon’s cage opened.

  “Prognon Austicon,” Dekker said, weapons ready.

  The criminal looked up, his reverie broken. “Dekker,” he said. “Ironic that you should be the one chauffeuring me about. We go way back, don’t we? And far forward as well, I should suspect.” His tenor words dripped with a sinister tone.

  Dekker kept his gaze fixed. Prognon Austicon had an old face, but his body looked virile enough; a long silver mane draped over his shoulders. Even in what appeared as advanced age, he remained extremely dangerous. Enigmatically, he’d always registered as a human in scans, but the assassin had spent over two hundred years as the most wanted
man in the galaxy, and he hadn’t aged so much as a day in all that time.

  “How many years did you waste trying to hunting me, eh? I suppose that this token transport job will help you to recoup a little portion of those losses.”

  Dekker ignored the taunt. “Fasten yourself to the cart,” he demanded.

  Austicon stood upright and stared into Dekker’s eyes. Dekker’s guns stayed level at the prisoner’s vital organs. “I wonder,” he mused. “If I tried to escape, would you kill me?”

  The prisoner chuckled. “My guess is no. You have too much at stake; murdering an inmate would ruin your reputation. Plus, you wouldn’t get paid for today’s transport.”

  Prognon Austicon feigned a lunge at Dekker.

  The Investigator didn’t even flinch at the mock attack.

  “The only thing keeping you alive right now is due process. Your life should have ended a long time ago. I’d have pulled that trigger years ago if the bounty was DoA.”

  Austicon stood with his back against a wheeled dolly. Mechanical straps automatically wrapped around him, holding him to the vertical, bed-like table. He glared at Dekker with cold regard, “Your eyes tell me you’d shoot.”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  The criminal shifted his gaze to Vesuvius. “Hello, beautiful. I’ve seen you before.”

  She scowled at him.

  “Oh, you’re pretty too. But I was talking about your fancy blade.” He bounced his eyebrows as if to allude to some secret. Austicon gleefully pursed his lips and refused to say another word.

  ***

  The most critical moments fell upon the Investigators. If a group of strong-arms wanted access to Austicon, this transport would be the best time to act. It was perhaps the last possible opportunity before the assassin would be on maximum lockdown until the trial. They flew with the Rickshaw Crusader’s weapon turrets hot and ready.

  Their armored transport sped just above the ocean. They’d safely secured the storage hold where Prognon Austicon lay strapped down like a piece of cargo.

  Not a gunner, Vesuvius preoccupied herself by monitoring the planetary media feeds. True to the senselessness of the modern bureaucracy, the government sponsored propaganda kept very little secret about the highest profile prisoner transfer in decades. Vesuvius scowled when the top story shifted to an interview with The Pheema.

  Following the dismantlement of Krenzin political factions, The Pheema and the religious segment assumed full leadership of the race. As the political and religious leader, the Pheema’s followers regarded him as both prophet and king.

  “This trial is unjust: a blasphemous miscarriage upon the sanctity of life. I am calling upon the faithful to band together and protest this violation of our most sacred beliefs.” In the background of the video, a Krenzin could be seen setting himself on fire in the ultimate form of protest.

  “Stupid Krenzin,” she muttered to herself. Tolerance Law keeps chipping away at any realistic concept of justice. She turned the feed off; listening to The Pheema took more tolerance than she could muster.

  She paced across the floor of the passenger area. Austicon’s earlier comments had set her on edge. Vesuvius examined her sword. There was no way Austicon could be linked to Shin’s death; he’s been imprisoned these last three years.

  As Vesuvius drew the katana, a jag on her fingernail caught and unraveled the sageo: the decorative silk cord that wrapped around the sheath. She cursed as it tugged free.

  Examining the loosened fabric, she noticed additional markings adorning the sheath: markings that had been covered up. Curiosity welled up. She gently unwound the sageo and exposed the kanji underneath. The etched, foreign symbols seemed to shine.

  “Sword made by Muramasa, a gift for Harry Briggs, Godfather to my Son.”

  Vesuvius was about to explode. That’s how he recognized the sword!

  She made a beeline for the cargo hold, and for Austicon. When she arrived, he wore a smug grin, as if he’d expected her.

  Austicon spoke in a mild tone, “Now that’s how I remember it.” His eyes aimed at the katana. “Without that wrapping.”

  Vesuvius drew the blade and pointed it at his neck. The silk cord fell from her hand, fluttering to the floor.

  “You must be little Vivian,” he said. Your father always spoke so highly of you whenever we spoke. I can see in your eyes that you have many questions.”

  “Harry Briggs would never have associated with the likes of you!”

  “Well,” he said coolly, “If you already know so much, then why are you here… unless you’ve come to kill me?” His eyes challenged her.

  Vesuvius tensed, and then relaxed. He was right; she had questions. But she didn’t know if she could believe his answers. “How did you know my father, you worthless piece of slime?”

  “Your father knew me well enough to know the danger in speaking to me like that.”

  Vesuvius flicked her wrist. The blade twitched and sliced a large section of hair from Austicon’s temple. The lock fell, revealing that the criminal had long been absent his left ear.

  “I’d like to think that this very blade took that ear from you. It can surely take the other. Now what was your real relationship with my father?”

  The criminal grinned as if this were a game to him. “Many years ago, I met with him several times in the dark of night. Your father had grand political ambitions, goals and plans to make the floundering MEA a stronger body under his helm. Well, let’s just say that both he and I knew that the MEA’s election process could be a real killer.”

  Vesuvius cracked him across the face with the hilt of her blade. A small spray of blood splattered from his mouth.

  Austicon laughed maniacally. “Believe what you like. But I have spoken no lies.”

  She glared at him. Hate smoldered in her eyes; she noticed the neck tattoo where she’d cut away his hair. She turned his face away to better look at the marking. A red tree: a slender trunk with crimson leaves had been inked into Austicon’s skin, normally concealed by his silver locks.

  She recognized it from her childhood. Some of her father’s files had that same symbol. “Tell me what it means,” she demanded. Intuition told her it informed her of its importance.

  The irony clearly amused him. “Dekker hasn’t told you about his special club and the Red Tree? I’m amused—I thought you were close. But even if I tell you, why would you believe me?”

  Vesuvius pressed the folded steel to his throat. “You will tell me, or you’ll wear an awfully wide smile to a long overdue funeral.”

  “I’ll tell you,” he offered, “if you perform but one simple task for me,” he said lecherously.

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “Go to the cockpit. On your way, kill each of your comrades; after you set your autopilot, come back and free me. Then, we will leave for a prearranged location. Once there, I’ll tell you everything.”

  She spat on his face. Cussing violently, she turned and exited.

  “Remember,” he called after her, spittle dripping off his chin, “leave nobody alive!”

  ***

  Agitated beyond measure, Vesuvius stomped into the cockpit; she threw herself into the navigator’s seat. In front of her, Dekker sat in the copilot’s chair while Matty piloted.

  “Something wrong?” Dekker asked without taking his eyes from the instruments.

  “I’d like to kill Austicon.” Vesuvius’ voice was cold. “I think that he may have been involved with my father’s death.” She decided to believe a nicer version of what Austicon hinted at. She couldn’t bear to think that her father might have been in league with that slime, even with the leadership of the MEA at stake.

  Dekker spared a glance back. “Why’s that?”

  She sighed. “Austicon knows… something...”

  A tiny strobe on the pilot console flashed urgently. Vesuvius stopped talking and buckled into her seat.

  Matty searched the scanners for the alert. “Real-space reversion in orbit directly o
verhead—a big mother, too. Class D, oh crap, it’s a Shivan Interdictor!”

  The attack ship emitted no transponder signal, keeping the ship’s identity secret. The intent of such a disablement was obvious: assassination.

  Dekker barked commands through his headset. “Ready on those guns, everybody! Watch for the dropships. They’ll come in fast and hard.”

  The Shivan species came from a superheated, high gravity planet. Their heat resistant, stocky bodies had developed heavy-duty nervous systems that gave them resilient inertial inhibition. Their physiology enabled them to perform unorthodox dive-bombing techniques that only their species could perform, barely affected by gravitational factors that would incapacitate any other species. Interdictors could drop into real-space extremely close to planets and release interceptor drones.

  Drop-shaped interceptors shot straight down through an atmosphere, twisting like drill bits to slough off the intense heat. Even hardy physiologies could withstand only a fraction of the resulting heat and g-forces.

  Through the cockpit screen, Vesuvius watched vertical streaks of light dropping in the distance. Just meters above the ocean surface, the interceptors turned at right angles towards the Dozens’ transport, firing their weapons. The Shivans’ jet wakes shot geysers of salt water into the sky.

  Several of the Dozen’s lasers found targets. Matty threw the transport into a roll and took only a few glancing blows as he accelerated past the enemy. Klaxons warned the pilot of minor damage.

  Vesuvius swore as the Shivans turned to pursue the Investigators. While a few lasers found marks, the Shivans still numbered nearly thirty.

  The Crusader bobbed and weaved to keep the brunt of the attack off of them. Dekker shouted orders to his gunners and they laced the ocean surface with laser fire. A curtain of steam screened them momentarily.

  The shivan’s broke through the steam and slowed. They frantically searched for their prey which had disappeared.

  Momentary confusion was all that Dekker needed. In the middle of Shivan formation, the Rickshaw Crusader shot vertically skyward, breaking through the ocean surface with guns blazing. In a split second, most of the Shivan interceptors erupted in smoke, fell crippled, or plummet below the surface, destroyed. Momentarily retreating in complete disarray, the remaining interceptors regrouped and turned to mount a counter attack.