Son of Sedonia

18

Confidence


KABBARD RELEASED HIS throbbing right hand from the control wheel. Grumbled as he flexed the thick-knuckled fingers. Themis Traffic Control had kept him and his boys in a holding pattern for the past ten minutes and counting. Something about issues with a transport inspection in the main hangar.

“Once the bay is clear, you’ll be green for docking,” some silver-tongued schmuck on the other line had said. Kabbard could almost taste the bullshit. He seethed in his chair as he turned the wheel for another pass. Warden Drummond probably thought the visit to be a surprise inspection and was busy sweeping every wasteful practice and dirty secret under the rug. A visit from Sato’s personal watchdog has that effect. He thought bitterly.

As Kabbard reached for the comms for the fifth time, the schmuck’s voice slithered through his inner ear.

“Sorry for the delay, Mr. Kabbard. You and your team are cleared to dock in the Main Hangar. Do watch for debris on your way in, sir. We’ve stirred up quite a bit with today’s excavations.”

“I’m sure you have,” Kabbard replied. “Tell Drummond to meet me on the deck. My employer has a...concern.” That ought to get the sloppy bastard sweating. A sneer creased Kabbard’s angular features. Before the schmuck could reply, Kabbard killed the comms, gripped the wheel, and dipped out of the holding pattern toward Themis.

Flying this thing was one of the only real perks of the job. A jet-black Zeus 12. A military class personal transport modded with a trove of aftermarket avionics, propulsion, and weaponry. Some of it, like the seventy-millimeter Manticore fleschette rockets, technically illegal. Aggressive curves ended in sharp points at the bow and stern, cradling the Geiger-12c reactor engine that spanned the underbelly. The thing maneuvered like a nuclear-powered dragonfly. Keeping that kind of power locked in a circle for ten minutes seemed to deepen the insult, but now he made his presence known. He entered the approach canyon and cleared the engine’s throat with a burst of blue flame. Even with the thin lunar atmosphere, the concussion shook dust from the canyon walls. Inmates working below scurried for cover.

Andreas and Nicks followed behind him in their boxier, broad-winged Fury gunships. Nicks was a solid, loyal man, but Andreas was a different concern. Since demotion, the man had had it out for Kabbard, questioning every move and watching every step with those shifty bug-eyes. It kept Kabbard moving, guessing, thinking—the kinds of things that kept a mind sharp. Being Sato’s Chief of Security was, more often than not, cushy. Cushions make a man soft.

The three of them braked in front of the main hangar, came about, and taxied inside as the giant airlock doors hummed to a close. The secondary hatch in front didn’t open right away. It reeked of another delay meant to stall Sato’s minions. Kabbard ground his teeth and tapped the control panel. Finally, the airlock gate creased open with a rush of light and air. As the squad taxied into the hangar, Kabbard spotted Warden Drummond’s slouching, feeble posture among the greeting party. Christ, this guy gets worse every time I see him. Probably hasn’t been planet-side in over a year.

The Zeus and Fury ships descended to a humming stop on the deck. Kabbard waited in the cockpit, staring at Drummond. He could see the soft bastard searching for signs of life in the opaque tinted canopy of the Zeus. Once the Warden squirmed to his liking, Kabbard flipped the release and opened the canopy. Climbed out.

“Mr. Kabbard!” Drummond blurted, “How good of you to visit. What is—er—uh...to what do we, uh, owe the pleasure?”

Kabbard ignored the slimy grin and took a quick look around. Too many eyes and ears.

“Not here,” Kabbard said, removing his gloves, “your office.”

Drummond’s grin withered.

“Of-of course. Right this way,” said Drummond. Kabbard nodded to Andreas and Nicks.

The hangar offices loomed over the deck with narrow windows that stared down like dull green eyes. The three of them followed the Warden up a flight of titanium stairs, across a long catwalk, and through a hatch just below the windows. It was painful to watch Drummond navigate the corridors that followed. The man was nervous, sure, but he seemed lost in his own prison. Kabbard was about to say something when they arrived at the Head Office door. Drummond placed a pale, trembling hand on the ident scanner and waited for the beep. The doors slid open.

Kabbard cringed at the smells of plastic out-gassings and something like rotten eggs. Yet, while dingy and yellowed, the office looked outwardly tidy. Papers in stacks, pictures on the desk, and an old-style interface panel with real-time prison stats hovering silently in the air. Drummond waddled to the chair behind the desk and sat.

“Now then, John, what is it?—”

“Four hours ago we received a POI flag from one of your acquisition chambers. Someone killed the signal and presumably disabled the RFID chip before we could get a full trace and lock. I need you to cross-reference the exact time of the flag with all new inmate tags and assignments,” Kabbard said.

“But if your POI was tagged and assigned—I’m sorry, but chances are he’s already been Dosed. He’ll barely recollect his own name, let alone anything else you want to extract—er—ask him. What is the name, by the way?” Drummond turned to the hovering interface and opened a search prompt in the air with a circular gesture.

“August 7th, 2080. 20:08:32 SST.” Kabbard stared hard-eyed at the Warden. The man shrank in his chair, brushed a wisp of stringy gray hair out of his face, and entered the information. Data ticked rapidly past until three entries appeared on screen. Two in white, one in red.

“There are three possible tags at that time,” said Drummond. “Is there any other information you can provide?” Kabbard squinted at the display.

“Why is that one in red?”

“Let’s see…” Drummond flicked his fingers through the interface. “Ah. Decommissioned. Looks like the Dose didn’t fully take. It’s rare, but it happens. The asset is usually lobotomized though, so we have to dispose of them.”

“Where?”

“If he’s been Decom’d, I’m afraid...”

“Where?!” Kabbard shouted. Sato had given specific orders that no one be allowed to examine the target. Drummond cringed. He tapped a few more sections of the interface, expanding the data stream.

“You might be in luck. Says here that Inmate 272312-A is in Infirmary Detention awaiting a pre-Decom examination. You should hurry though, the—” Kabbard turned to leave with Andreas and Nicks in tow. Drummond continued.

“I’ll send one of my boys to escort you!” Drummond called after them, “But the technicians don’t leave much behind after an exam! All that’s left is sent to the crematorium!”