Chapter 6: The Other Side

Minov - City of Siam

Date of 241.08-20

Rin Langat, civil servant of the Mercantile Coalition, was good at getting what he wanted. What he wanted was information, information that was usually hard to come by. It sometimes carried a high price, but was never unobtainable if you asked the right questions or pulled otherwise hidden strings.

The jarring rock of the civilian transport docking into the station brought him back to reality. Across the ship’s intercom blasted an announcement of their arrival on Minov, more specifically the city of Siam. The pilot also noted a heat wave descending from the striking orange bluffs to their right. Langat took a sip from his hydro-pouch, then stuffed it into an inner vest pocket.

To acclimate the body, his water was spiked with extra nutrients. Mother nature was deadly even light-years from Earth.

By principle, Minov was under control of the Coalition. But control required funding and occasional military presence. These were things that Langat knew were of finite supply. Puppet governors and magistrates served a purpose in the Coalition's stead, though to limits of their own.

He also knew his history well. His report would be one of many that determined the appropriate application of force, and priority targets.

The Coalition may have faults, but it was damn good at a few things.

While he worried about where the next ten years would lead, it supplied his paycheck as of now. Though it did not put to bed valid concerns, corporate entities were fighting amongst themselves for power and pettiness within the government. The once unified PMCs were now ready to bite at each other's necks. Civil unrest slowly brewed on the frayed edges making diplomacy tenuous as ever.

With all that in mind, Langat appeared before a window of a local gun shop.

Based on his reflection, the glass could do with another cleaning. He fluffed his short mohawk and flicked some dirt specks off of his check. His skin also seemed paler than normal. Making a mental note about adjusting his diet, he walked in the front door.

An old man stood behind the counter, focused on an object in hand. He was eyeing the polish on a pistol’s handle. His spectacles hung from the edge of his nose, daring to jump off. A scuffed cap tilted at an angle rested on his head. Langat cleared his throat and casually approached the man.

“Afternoon.” He faintly waved a hand to the occupied man. “How’s business lately?”

“Same old, same old. The name is Markev, one Hezal Markev.” His sight stayed on the polished handle. “What can I do for you?”

“Not too much, just browsing for the most part.” Langat drew his own pistol and laid it on the counter. “Though I’m also looking to sell this one. Had it a while, probably a bit too long at this point.”

“Then you’ve come to the right place. I've been in the business for over forty years, and owned this store for at least twenty.” The man finally turned his attention and addressed Langat directly. “I’ve got the best selection for the next few worlds, trust me on that.”

If you say so, old man…

Markev pulled a pair of gold color bifocals from under the counter and swapped them with his spectacles. They contrasted well with his maroon vest, giving off a regal image. Langat felt a sense of learned wisdom vibrating from him.

“Quite a nice place you got.” Langat appreciated the use of refined wood throughout the store. Display cases with a variety of weapon types spotted the entire floor, secured with reinforced glass. Shotguns, rifles, pistols, and a few oddities in between made their appearance. “How much did it all cost?”

“When you’ve been in business for as long as I have, some things you manage to acquire over time.” He offered a sly smile. “Call it the fruits of my studious labor.”

“Congrats on your success.”

Fruits of war rather than labor, in my opinion…

“Thanks.” Markev lowered his face for a closer examination of the weapon. “You’ve kept this piece in quite a fine condition. The upper receiver barely has a scratch on it, the bolt chamber is cleaned and polished to a pearl, all in all there's very little carbon build up.”

"Treat it like my firstborn, if I had one." Langat chuckled. “A misfire could mean life or death.”

“The handle’s wood has retained its form and grip. This carving is rather interesting, and then…huh.”

Langat rested an arm on the counter, letting his weight rest on it. “Then what?”

Markev did not budge a needle’s width in his hunched posture. Langat figured his eyes glazed over the emblem imprinted near the handle’s bottom, a silver roundel. Some symbols had ways of creating fear. The Coalition crest, specifically his section, was an example of such a symbol.

“Mr. Langat, I have a reputation and certain procedures in how I conduct business.” His eyes and head crept upwards. “That marking noted, was this procured officially?”

“I can tell you I didn’t steal it.”

An honest goddam truth, with a small omittance…

Langat felt the judgemental eye of Markev burning through his skin. The man was like a gargoyle, posture fixated in concentration and eerie as all hell. The slight hunch of his back accentuated the mental image.

“Alright, let's run with that.” Markev spoke dryly, taking a half step back from the counter. “I go to great lengths to retain my professionalism and will do whatever needs to be done to keep it that way. You don’t have any harmful intentions do you?”

“Nothing that would put you in a bind.” Langat nodded in agreement. He leaned a little bit further in, fingers rubbing part of the glass. “I’m not in the business of inconvenience, just information.”

“Some would say those two go hand in hand.”

“Some people talk too much, ironically.”

Old guy but he’s not lost it yet, and fairly accurate…

Information moved mountains and could make the impossible possible. It also usually screwed people over, specifically one more than the other. Hence why Langat did not envy a politician’s career. Weapons could kill, but information could permanently fuck someone over.

“Fine, I probably know what it's about.” Markev softly sighed, pleased enough with the exchange of words. He slid the pistol off to the side and briefly checked the front door. “Want to make a bet on it?”

“I’m pretty sure I’d lose that one.” Langat straightened up but kept both hands gripping the ledge of the counter. “Recent events got some people antsy and they want answers. I'm their errand boy, nothing more and nothing less.”

“Recent events? Minov has become a hotbed of recent events. Adonia, the rogue general, taking the top billing.” Markev mimicked Langat’s posture. “One place you can start, Mr. Einsberg, the former people's politician of the area. He's kept tabs on the underground’s movements, and more than simple riots.”

“Fucking hell, more bloodthirsty assholes are just what I needed.” Langat ran a hand through his hair, the mohawk more spiked than before. “I guess the magistrates are finally becoming irrelevant. Shit, it was only a matter of time.”

“On the second, I’m not surprised. But to the first, you should know better than anyone.” Markev had a maniacal grin. “Corporations and politics, that's how the verse works these days.”

“Verse?”

“Apologies, it's something I picked up from a customer recently. Had one of the more interesting personalities and fashion styles.” Markev straightened out his back and gave a few twists to one side, a satisfying crack or two resulted. “I kinda liked his brown coat.”

“Everyone is trying to be a special snowflake these days.” Langat shook his head. “Anyway, is this source as reliable as he sounds?”

“He's a politician, wade through the bullshit and you'll find nuggets of truth.” He shrugged. “Beyond that, I don't get involved in the nitty gritty details. We all prefer to keep that professional distance.”

“Of course.”

Which meant that this visit was pretty much over…

The bell that hung above the front entrance jingled, announcing a new arrival. Langat knew it was his cue to leave. A third party was not a headache he would like to deal with at the moment.

“Thanks for what you had, tough luck on my baby.” Langat grabbed his pistol and holstered it. “I guess I'll see what happens in the political arena.”

“I’m not envious." Markev shuffled behind a taller section of the counter. "Those people have their head so far up their assholes most of the time.”

"Agreed."

Langat turned his heels and headed for the front. He heard Markev's humming fade behind him as he left. His right toe crossed onto the welcome mat. He heard it, subtle, but only he heard it. The other customer had moved deeper within the store.

"Mr. Langat, I would like to reinforce my stance as you go." Langat swiveled his head around to a grinning Markev. "I have a reputation, and like to keep it that way. Keep the word of mouth positive for me if you don’t mind."

Langat returned a fleeting chuckle before turning away. His eyes caught it on the swivel back, a loaded and hot KTM-220. The machine gun was disguised as a display piece near the wall and close to the ceiling. With the simple push of a button behind the counter, Langat would have been riddled with holes.

Markev was one not to tolerate bullshit, not bad…

Langat left the store armed with a new lead, hopefully. He had a paycheck to earn and did not want to give the Coalition a reason to pull it. As much as he liked to look at his firearms, results were needed.

A few blocks down and he reached into one of his deeper pockets. He pulled out a displacer switch, a tiny and simple thing. About 10 yards down the road he pressed the switch. His next step, a fireball burst out the front of Markev's store and a smirk on Langat’s face.

~~~

Linova - On Route to Shiva Installation

Date of 241.08-20

A Coalition transport plunged through the planet’s atmosphere and descended towards the frozen hellscape. Almost immediately from hitting atmo, the ship fought an aggressive blizzard all the way down. First Lieutenant Serral DeSorna was sitting in his seat with toes curled and fists clenched. Across from him was Sergeant Malkum, stoic as ever. DeSorna’s beret clung offset to his head due to the ship’s rattling.

“We're almost there or what?” DeSorna yelled across the way only to receive a thumbs up.

Thanks for the sympathy…

Seconds later both of them were shaken in their seats, more so than before, as the ship hit a pocket of turbulence. DeSorna stabilized himself by grasping the safety bars.

“Some days, I’d rather tell my superiors to fuck off.” Malkum bobbed his head in agreement or with the motion of the transport, one of the two. DeSorna groaned in sync with the transport. “Much prefer my desk and chair over this shit.”

The transport careened towards the Shiva Installation, surviving mother nature. With a small jolt, the transport landed and felt like it slid about a foot to DeSorna. He vented an air of relief.

Most likely frozen over. Fuck, so glad for the extra fun…

The rear ramp lowered to the ground. A howling wind forced its way inside, causing DeSorna to quickly pull his gloves on. Icy fangs were ready to bite the first one to disembark. Fate would have it that it was him. Already, this planet did not give the best reception.

DeSorna stood at the top of the ramp, teeth chattering, and his welcome party below. Malkum went to talk with the pilot.

A woman in a winter officer uniform stood at ease. Her green eyes were almost hidden behind a white balaclava and the flurry of snow. Her rank was pinned on the coat's lapel by a single gold bar, a Second Lieutenant, one of his own ranks.

He began his descent down.

“Welcome to our little pocket of hell.” She addressed him as he approached. The weather agreed with her statement and kicked up another notch. “I’m Lieutenant Freya, part of the response team. I assume you're the official investigator.”

“Name is DeSorna, and that would be correct. I can't wait to hear what the fuck happened.” He embraced the planet upon leaving the safe confines of the transport, and not a happy embrace. “Is the weather always this bad?”

“More or less, been worse as of late though.” Screeches of nearby Arnacks carried on the strong winds. Her voice wavered, lips quivering with the cold. “If you don’t mind, please follow me so we can continue this inside.”

“Lead the way with all haste.” More honest words he never spoke than those. “I do have one more with me, will catch up soon enough.”

A heavy crunch followed each footstep. As he figured, a thin layer of snow and ice held a firm hold on the exposed metal. Assuredly the platform had heating modules, though it seemed they had their limits.

In front of them were the towering cliffs and exposed upper levels of the Shiva installation. Through the limited visibility, DeSorna could somewhat make out the outline of the building. Additionally, he spotted one large gaping hole in the side. It was about the size of a dropship though marginally slimmer.

The facility's 10 by 10 foot door split open down the middle as they approached, refreshing heat wafted over them.

“Bottom line, I'm here because the higher ups are paranoid." He huffed in annoyance. "Personally, I think they worry too much. I guess that's their job though."

“Maybe, but maybe not. Wait and see for yourself first.” They had entered the metallic cave and the door slowly sealed behind them. She kept a steady pace, leading him into the bowels. “Augustrad has been notified of this situation. They want him in, the Governmental Council insists.”

“Really?” DeSorna knew of Augustrad, almost every Coalition military personnel did. A promising star through the ranks for his wit and brashness. ”That’s going to bring in extra baggage. I hope the GC is aware of their decisions more than their track record states.”

“Only time will tell.” She chirped.

Famous last words of more than one…

They continued their walk as DeSorna welcomed the regulated temperature in comparison to the freezing hell that seemed to be the norm of the planet. Whatever his future career may hold, he hoped to the stars that it would never be a station on Linova.

“I’m told you’re from Engris, MI Division.” Her voice calmed since they were out of danger of their limbs being frozen off. “How much fun is it really sifting through data files all day?”

“It's better than contracting frostbite, and yes you're correct.” He retorted, continually rubbing the warmness back into his hands. “Quick question, who’s the OIC of this facility?”

“A Captain that you don’t need to worry about.” She forced her way between a gaggle in the corridor, and DeSorna slid through right behind her. “He was away from post at the time, on personal leave in the city.”

“Then who in the blazing nova was in charge at the time?” DeSorna’s voice partially cracked.

“A Second Lieutenant, James Welker, and..." Her head cocked back and her eyes rolled. "...he’s straight out of the academy.”

“Fucking great, a newbie.” Not that he or even Freya had significantly more experience than the fresh Lieutenant, but enough where it counted. "I can already predict how that conversation will go."

"Yeah, don't beat your head too much on it."

Far enough inside and multiple levels down, DeSorna saw clear signs of the incident. Bullet holes in the wall, blast marks from grenades, and spent shells piled littered the floor. He only glanced inside a charred room before quickly turning away.

Freya led him into a more open central intersection of the hallways. The wreck of two fallen Striders lay in the middle of the room, one blown into pieces. A couple of spilled supply crates filled the far corner. Overhead, portions of the lights were either completely out or flickering.

“Damn, I’m glad I wasn’t present based off of this.” Despite the aftermath, DeSorna’s eyes were drawn to the opposite door. ”Fill me in, especially on that particular hole.”

“Initial analysis, there were two objectives in mind. First objective was three levels above us, the Central Data System (CDS). Auto turrets are but smoking rods now. Second objective was this storage room.” She pointed to the blown open door with a smoldering center hole. “Restricted level access is required to get in there.”

“They packed some firepower?”

“To burn through this, probably.” She sheepishly shuffled her feet and shrugged. "Either way, this was not a spur of the moment attack. It was deliberate."

"Deliberate? Yeah, think you're right." DeSorna pushed the thought aside for now, occasionally biting his lips. “Why bother coming to this room? What was kept in here?”

“A lot of things. I can’t pull up exact details, restricted of course, but missing from stock is some kind of experimental drug as far as I can tell.” Freya had pulled out a data-pad and was speedily scrolling through. “Security feed showed them removing a single two man crate, cryo-insulated type container.”

“Alright, that’s a start.” DeSorna walked up to the door and ran his hand over the melted edge. He could have sworn to still feel residual heat, even through his thick gloves. “Do we know who our interlopers are or any of their contacts?”

“Right now, no.” She hung a few feet back. “Any recognizable faction or unit markings were scratched off. Your first impression?”

“Smash and grab, a bold one nonetheless.” He turned back to Freya. “Do you have theories that differ?”

“Once I know exactly what was in that crate, I’ll have something concrete." She dropped the data-pad to her side. "I do feel as if this was the true target, the CDS hit is likely a diversion.”

“That's a thought.” Langat scratched an itch on his neck, hand resting on his collar after. “Why?”

“Information is valuable, but not always worth the risk.” She propped a hand on her hips, letting her womanly figure come out of her uniform more than usual. “If that was the sole reason, then I question the danger of potential backfire. There are less prolific targets to hit.”

“True, though sometimes it may be worth making a statement as well.” DeSorna gave his chin a few finger rubs. “But I’m not overly concerned, at least not yet.”

“Concerned of what exactly?” She inquired.

“That this is of a foreboding nature. It’s only a matter of time before they get tracked down and justice will be upheld.” He took in the scene one more time. “Honest opinion, play stupid game and win stupid prizes. Whoever instigated this has pretty much signed a death warrant, or worse. They'll be shot on site.”

“You believe that, completely?” Freya almost lost her balance as she took a step back, a single shell casing the culprit. “What about the relay station?”

"They obviously had help." DeSorna rolled his eyes before settling on Freya. “Track down merchants and traders, someone supplied the ships. No government would make a move like this lest it gets traced back to them.” He realized 'officially' was the key idea. As far as behind closed doors go, governments sanctioned many actions. “We survived the Kronus Conflict. If something bloodier than that occurs, then this whole sector is likely screwed.”

Hell, the sector is screwed as long as humanity has the power to make decisions…

He ran the scenario through his head one more time. Could this get really bad? Another conflict in the endless waltz of war?

The Coalition had lasted for as long as he knew humanity existed in this sector. If some idiots think they could run down the standing symbol of security and stability, then go ahead and try. Every actor had a cue to hit and part to play.

Freya interrupted his theatre of thought. "Do you wish to see the other site?”

She looked at him with concern. There he went again, going off on mental tangents a little too often.

“I've seen enough." DeSorna turned on his heels as if straight out of the academy, boot snapping to form. "Keep me informed with any additional info, otherwise, I'll get to work on my report.”