Clay thought it seemed like a good idea at the time—hiding right under the noses of everyone looking for him—but the practical application was less than ideal. Finding a reasonably private room and a decent communications setup he could use had cost him the last of his hard cred, as well as the smokers in his jacket. He held on to the stuncaps, however. So far, they were the only effective weapon in his arsenal against ninjas.
A century-old, beat-up communications console Clay had procured from a junk shop on one of the upper levels of the city projected Ness’ holo. The quality was blurry and shaky, but it would do for the price. Clay paced around it, arms crossed, deep in thought. “It wasn’t the right time. We still need the girl to get to Hēi Gēzi. You said it yourself: he trusts her, and only her. If I kill her too soon, then he goes to ground, and we never see him again. As long as she’s still alive, there’s a chance I can get her to trust me and deliver both of them. Besides, how long do you think I’d have lasted if I had killed her? You saw the kind of force they went into Harba City with. Cerberus would have put a bolt in my head as soon as I stepped out of the shrine. As it is, she’s taken the heat off me and led Cerberus and the government troops away.”
“How much will she trust you now that you’ve stolen Keraunos from her? You’ll likely get a shuriken to the throat like poor Locke did.”
Clay smirked. “If they kill me, they’ll never see the datarod again. If they kill you, they’ll never find the cipher. She was right. Everybody who comes in contact with Keraunos ends up dead. That’s why we have to keep it split up.”
“So, now that we have Keraunos, Ursza and Hēi Gēzi are expendable.”
“Quite the contrary,” Clay said.
“How do you mean?”
Clay sat down, rubbed his temples, and leaned forward. “Because, as much as I hate this place, there is a simplicity to it that I’m finally beginning to understand,” he said.
As if on cue, the console beeped an attention signal. Clay acknowledged it, and a second holo materialized in one of the empty seats at the table. “Agent Man,” a chirpy voice said, smiling broadly. You remember me, of course?”
“I’ve been waiting for your call. Of course, I remember you. Hello, Ren.” Clay smiled. “Do you remember me?”
“Only briefly, I admit, but I left some notes to assure myself that you aren’t nearly as bad as first impressions make you seem.”
Clay laughed. “Well, that’s reassuring anyway. So, what have you got?”
“A man named Halferne has a message for you. He asks what the time on Mount Pilatus is.”
Clay and Ness exchanged looks. It was the reverse of the handshake code they used at the Iotian jump gate. It was not a valid code for establishing bona fides in an unarranged meeting, but its specificity indicated that this Halferne knew precisely who and what Clay was.
“Tell him time stands still in the face of that beauty,” Clay replied, wondering if this Halferne knew the significance of the potential responses as a duress code.
“He wishes a meeting to discuss the current situation. He suggests two hours from now at the Nakano Municipal Museum of Antiquity.”
Ness shook her head with a resounding negative, which did not go unnoticed by Ren. “He assures me he intends you no harm and merely wishes to meet you, and should you prove the man he believes you to be, strike a bargain that would be mutually beneficial to you both.”
Again, Ness shook her head, glaring at Clay, frustrated that he would not even acknowledge her.
“I gather your friend there is not convinced. You, however, understand my vetting process and its importance, I assume?”
Clay nodded, ignoring Ness. “Tell Mr. Halferne I will be delighted to meet with him.”
Ren smiled. “Then, my job is done here. Good luck to you, Mr. Clay,” he said, then winked out of existence.
“Clay, Halferne is an enforcer for Chancellor Prevo. They call him the Raven. That’s the last person you want to meet with while they have a warrant for your arrest,” Ness protested.
“Ren wouldn’t let him contact me if he detected any kind of malicious intent.”
“Ren is a Harba City index. You seriously trust him? Malicious intent is an entirely subjective term. What if the leucotome is fake, and he’s a plant for one of the factions—”
“If he is, he could have sold me out when I was sitting right there with him instead of allowing me to contact Ursza.”
“What if he did sell you out, and that’s why Halferne’s contacting you now?” There was a sudden chime on her console, and Clay saw her pulling up multiple holofeeds. “Holy shit,” she said, slack-jawed.
“What is it?”
“New correction. You’ve just been arrested.” Ness gestured, suddenly replacing her image with one of the feeds.
The headline read, “Sol Division Spy Arrested on Notosian Soil.” The image was of a man who looked nothing like Clay. Yet, the summary gave a very accurate history of his career, including high-level details of many classified missions that had never been released in any public forum.
“They just arrested an innocent man they thought was me?”
“It’s all Prevo and Mother Eye. You can bet there’s a public relations reason for that arrest, that person, this time, and the ‘official’ story behind it.”
Clay sat back in his chair. “So, they know who I am and why I’m here, for how long though? I didn’t give Ren that field code. If he wanted to turn me over for a bounty, somebody would have stormed my room by now. Instead, they arrest someone else, and this Halferne guy calls me and arranges a meeting. I’m unsure what’s going on, but I have a feeling The Raven has the answers.”
Clay entered the Nakano Municipal Museum of Antiquities two hours later, which hardly lived up to its name. While the building looked like a museum and held some impressive exhibits, none of them could genuinely be called antique, except in terms of the lifetime of the Notosian colony. Most exhibits were vintage starship components or armaments dating back to the colony’s founding. He wandered the halls, eventually coming to a display of paintings and sculptures in the corner of the building farthest from the main entrance. Most were digital or holographic, but the larger ones along the outside wall were conventional. These, he found interesting enough to stop and study.
The paintings were mainly created by the original settlers of Notosia and used only indigenous materials developed without fabrication or other synthetic means. He was, frankly, surprised that Notosia had managed to produce artists of any kind during its early history, even more so to see the quality of art that was made. While no art student, he knew enough to appreciate that their use of color, contrast, and negative space betrayed trained and skilled artistry. These weren’t just political agitators and unreformable criminals. There was mastery here. Once again, he began to see depth and the potential for beauty in what he once described as a “shit-pit world.”
“I wondered what would finally catch your eye and make you stop,” a thin, elderly voice with confidence and mischief said from behind him. Clay turned and saw a short, gray-haired man who had to be nearly a century old standing in the gallery entrance. He dressed at least thirty years behind current fashion in an ill-fitting white suit that was probably purchased new at the time. He was balding, but the remaining hair was thin, curly, and chestnut brown. His smile was that of an imp or some otherworldly creature that dealt with but had no sympathy for, the physical realms of man, and he moved with the spryness of youth. He nodded at Clay, then pointed a bony finger at the painting. “Do you recognize the scene?”
Clay did not want to admit he did not but studied the informational text beneath it regarding the Achaean army’s siege of Troy. “I’m afraid I’ve never been a student of Homer, Mr…”
The older man rubbed his chin. “Halferne, of course. Abil Halferne.”
Clay was taken aback. Halferne appeared confused. “I’m sorry,” Clay said, “it’s just that you don’t look like the dreaded enforcer of Supreme Chancellor Prevo.”
“Enforcer?” Halferne smiled. “Oh, that. Yes, well, you’ll have to excuse the somewhat distorted accuracy. Truth is invariably the first casualty of war, and this planet is always at war.” His face frowned briefly, then returned to its more playful appearance. “I’m not an ‘enforcer. ‘ At best, I’m an … advisor … I suppose you would say. One of several dozen, and not one of the ones the Supreme Chancellor listens to most of the time.”
“Really?” Clay humored the man. “What exactly do you advise him on?”
“Oh, the foolhardiness of pride, the consequences of injustice, the stain of cowardice. I wouldn’t bore you with the details.”
Clay shrugged. “I suppose those things are important, however.”
“Very much so, but I don’t believe our Supreme Chancellor will ever understand subtlety. He can be painfully one-tracked in his thinking. He may have ruled this planet for a decade without being overthrown—a significant achievement, I grant you—but he would never fully grasp this painting, for example.”
Clay looked at it again, half-expecting a secret message to appear suddenly in the swirls of color. “I’m afraid I don’t either.”
“Oh, it’s straightforward. You see, it depicts Achilles, a great soldier and leader. He faithfully followed his commander, Agamemnon. Now, amid a tough war, Agamemnon took Achilles’ love, a slave named Briseis, as his own simply as a symbol to assert his power and personal honor over his men. This angered Achilles, who eventually decided to leave the field of battle. He even tried to sabotage his own forces to get back at Agamemnon. He saw his personal honor and obligation to Briseis as more important than his duty to his homeland.”
“I see,” Clay said, carefully assessing the conversation. “So this is your way of telling me—”
“We have Miss Venter, yes.” Halferne nodded, the mischievous smile leaving his face instantly.
“And you’re hoping I will sacrifice my duty to my homeworld and my orders from my government to get her back.”
“I realize I may be making assumptions about your character, but you do seem to be a man who regards honor highly.”
“You realize my orders are to kill her.”
Halferne studied him for a moment, then smiled slightly. “I also know you are struggling with those orders and are unsure what to do about them. I am offering you a solution.”
“Which is?”
“I will supply you with the location of a clinic on Thurin. You will get the girl there, leave her only with the people I specify, and tell no one where she is – forget she exists. Above all, make sure your government does not continue looking for her. You could, potentially, tell them you carried out your directive and eliminated her.”
“You would go that far? Last I checked, both the girl and I were considered terrorist sympathizers. I assume that carries a death sentence. Why are either of us still alive?”
“You are alive because the Supreme Chancellor doesn’t know where you are. The girl, I fear, won’t be alive much longer if we do not act quickly.”
“You mean he thinks he has me locked up in a dungeon somewhere.” Clay frowned, watching Halferne’s stoic face for any sign of emotion. “I saw the vid feed, Halferne. Please tell me that wasn’t your idea and an innocent person wasn’t arrested and soon to be executed as a spy just so that you can get your hands on Keraunos.”
“Mother Eye has always been extremely unreliable regarding the truth, Mr. Clay.” Halferne sniffed. “She, like Prevo, does take advice, if you know how to phrase it properly.”
“And Prevo actually trusts her when she says I’ve been dealt with?”
“Our Supreme Chancellor is reliable in that he believes what is most convenient for him to believe, as do most people.”
“If you have control of Prevo’s truth on this planet, then there must be better ways to undermine him. I can’t believe you care enough about that girl to commit outright treason.”
“You would be surprised where my loyalties lie and what my motivations are, Mr. Clay,” Halferne said earnestly. “Regardless, this agreement would have to come with additional assurances. After you deliver Keraunos to me, you will report it destroyed and ensure Division 5 closes the case. Let it go and never speak of it, or your knowledge of it, again.”
“So, you’re only asking me to lie to my superiors but also betray my orders and fail my mission. This isn’t exactly a career-building proposition you’re presenting me with.”
“You impress me as a man who values his honor over his career. Or am I wrong?”
“What are you going to do with Keraunos?”
Halferne smiled. “As I said, report it destroyed. This will be the truth should your report be scrutinized.”
“You know what Keraunos is,” Clay said, dumbfounded but impressed. “Don’t you?”
Halferne stared at him, expressionless. “Yes.”
“And you won’t tell me.”
“Does it matter?”
“If I’m to sacrifice my career and betray my world by letting you have it, I think I deserve to know.”
“Why the sudden interest? Did you ask what it was when your superiors ordered you out here? Did you ask what it was when they asked you to kill the girl for no reason? They act on assumptions based on Mr. Locke’s reactions, which they misread entirely. Would it comfort you to know that Division 5 has no idea what it is either?” He scoffed. “Its only real importance is what people assign to it. Perhaps its real value has been inflated by speculation and assumption. Nobody alive knows what Keraunos is, and it needs to stay that way.”
“You do know, however,” Clay said defiantly. “How do I know I’m not setting you up to be the next heartless dictator of Notosia or worse?”
“With a datarod?” Halferne smiled and considered his answer. “A scientist and philosopher from centuries ago, Joseph Needham, suggested that every great invention, every major advancement that humanity makes, is done for one of three reasons: First, in tribute to a deity, which gave us art, music, architecture … even early science was merely an attempt to find and understand God. Second, to defeat a foe and ensure survival. Well, you know what we got from that. The third is purely for greed, profit, and comfort. This was the motivation behind the creation of the Phrame on your world, the formation of the Sol Directorate, and the expansion of humans into the galaxy.” He laughed to himself at a private joke. “I suppose, in a way, Keraunos could be all three, or it could be none of the three, depending on who possesses it. The point is that even as an idea, it’s too dangerous for an individual to possess for a hundred reasons and a hundred more you haven’t thought of yet. How many people have already died for what they believe it might be?”
“I’m starting to think you had a hand in many of those deaths, Mr. Halferne. I think you and your Chancellor wanted Keraunos here but couldn’t risk a foreign government catching one of your precious Tokusha operating off-world, so you hired a pair of freelancers.”
Halferne frowned. “I am simply trying to control a situation. To that end, I merely advise. Sometimes that advice is … misinterpreted.”
“Fine, forget Keraunos.” Clay scoffed. “Who is the girl? Why is she so important to you? Did you have a change of heart when you saw the girl was a Shard addict? Is saving her now your redemption for all that murder?”
Halferne rolled his eyes impatiently. “You’re stubbornly resistant to my attempts to protect you from dangerous knowledge. Let some mysteries remain in your universe. Do we have a deal, Mr. Clay?”
Clay thought fast for a moment. He was sure he was right about Prevo hiring Hēi Gēzi to murder the competition for Keraunos. If he was right, he had no idea who he could and could not trust anymore. Everyone had picked a side, but he had stubbornly refused to. Ursza was right when she said the planet was insane, that it took anything with honor or purity and stripped it away. She had said it had to be stopped, and there was still work to do. What was her plan then? Where did her loyalties lie? Certainly not Talbot. Probably not Hēi Gēzi, except as a tool to keep herself alive. Cerberus wanted her dead. The government was about to do that for them. Jade Shield didn’t have to be geniuses to recognize Hēi Gēzi was at the scene when Klein was killed. Should he join up with them to help complete his mission? Or should he end all of this for sanity’s sake?
He decided there was no point in any further self-doubt. He was a Division 5 agent and had a mission to complete. There should be no conflict. Let this insane planet rip itself to shreds. His honor be damned.
Clay looked Halferne square in the eyes and lied. “Yes. We have a deal.” Halferne smiled and extended his hand, but Clay ignored it. “However, we make the trade in a public location. Maybe you took the heat off, and I’m no longer on your boss’ ten most-wanted list, but if I see any sign of government agents or local police, then the deal is off, and I gun you down right there.”
“I can’t guarantee anything,” Halferne said calmly. “The authorities on this planet are ruthless and efficient when they want to be. However, I assure you, if any agents are present, it was not me who tipped them off. Being in Prevo’s inner circle, you can imagine I have more to lose than you do.” He handed Clay a small black box. Clay opened it, revealing a private comm and earpiece. “That is set to a scrambled frequency their equipment doesn’t read. When you are ready, contact me with the time and place of your choosing. I will need at least two hours to gather everything.”
“Fine,” Clay snarled. “You’ll be hearing from me.”
“Excellent,” Halferne said. There was no joy in his voice. “Now, it’s time I got back. You see those drones, I assume?” He nodded towards two glowing spheres hovering about three meters off the ground in opposite corners of the room. “They’re sentries. When I leave the room, they will activate. They’re programmed to shoot anything that moves. They will deactivate in fifteen minutes. Please do not take it as any belligerent intent. It’s just that, being who I am, I can’t have anyone see you following me. I know you are simply a curious man and a very efficient agent, but people might draw conclusions.” Halferne walked to the gallery entrance and activated a holo display indicating the gallery was closed. “Can’t have innocent bystanders walking in now, can we?” He winked. “Enjoy your painting, Mr. Clay.”
Clay sneered and scoffed under his breath, being careful not to move. While he knew enough about paintings to carry on a basic conversation as part of a cover, he never understood people who took joy from staring at them for hours. After ten minutes, he was sick of this one and took to watching the drones as they slowly circled the room’s perimeter.
He heard footsteps in the concourse outside the gallery, and his blood ran cold when he heard a woman’s voice approaching. “There now. Who closed this gallery? That’s not right.”
“Stay back, ma’am. Get away from the entrance!” he yelled.
A middle-aged woman appeared in the doorway. Clay winced, half expecting to see her cut down by one of the sentries. “What? Who are you then? You don’t work here.” She hit a button on the wall, deactivating the warning holo in front of the entryway.
“No, stay back. Those are security sentries programmed to kill anyone who enters or tries to leave.”
“Sir, those are the cleaning drones. They’re degaussing the paintings to remove static and blowing dust off of them.” She gestured with her left hand, and both drones instantly settled to the floor and powered down. “I’m truly sorry if they frightened you.”
Clay looked from the woman to the two inert hunks of metal on the floor. He wasn’t sure he liked Halferne before; he was more certain now.
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