Tuesday 6 May 2014

Planetside: AXIS

So for a while I had been looking to rewrite my original Planetside stories, basically take everything I added to that world and make it my own. I wanted to explore the workings of the Republic and what life was like on Earth and the Colonies, particularly the world of Axis that would eventually be the catalyst of the civil war. I wanted to explore a Republic were the military authority is not absolute, drugs and human trafficking are a major problem, organised crime is rampant, and underneath it all is the growing conspiracy for a military coup d'etat. I'm also using the new universe to re-explore the position of the Executors and their civil authority counterparts the Legislators (who I never got introducing into the original Planetside series). Also, some of you who are reading this may spot the reference to the Staceh backstory that laid the context for the original TBB stories.
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Chapter 1

Political assassinations are not the done thing in polite society, certainly not if the politician is particularly inept and therefore perfect for the job. That kind of thing clears the way for all kinds of tyrants and idealists, neither of whom are good for maintaining the status quo in a system were little gets done and everyone gets rich.
Still, everyone has enemies, and politicians tend to accumulate them quicker than most and political enemies tend to have a bite.
Not everyone it can be said is afforded the opportunity to expire in such a beautiful setting as the Hotel Duc de Saint Sebastian overlooking the bay in Dubrovnik, a little bit of the French Riviera in Croatia. Anyone dying in such luxury probably died happy.
Or in this case with two bullet wounds to the chest and slumped across the corpse of a thirteen year old prostitute.
Legislator Sandford had been assigned the case, the first reason being that politicians were civilians and a murdered Congressman from Scotland definitely fell under Legislative authority. The second and more pressing reason was the child. Sex trafficking was a growing concern within the Republic and the Senate was threatening to shift authority away from the civil oversight to the Executive branch, military investigators, and the Legislature were damned if they were going to let the Executors take over.
Sandford had a good investigative track record so they pulled him off a relatively straight forward fraud case in Stockholm and put him on the first flight down to the Adriatic.
In better circumstances he liked this part of the world, and with his dark hair and swarthy skin he was much better suited to this climate than the cold north, and his family had roots in Montenegro just down the road.
His mere presence intimidated the local police authorities and he very much liked that, the black uniform of a Parliamentary officer carried a lot of weight and on the occasion when there wasn’t enough time to earn respect he was happy to settle for fear. The officers hung back as he surveyed the room, once all pristine whites and gold leaf now stained with reds turning rust brown. Bloody footprints crisscrossed the room to wardrobes and drawers tossed asunder, evidently the killer had been seeking something.
“Have your men inventoried the room?”
The lead detective, a man with the look of a former soldier who had seen conflict spoke with a clear voice with only the slightest hint of a Balkan accent.
“Standard fare for a traveller, passport and toiletries, plus his Congressional ID, Congress lapel pin, datapad, wallet with some money and some cash cards, personal keys, and a paperback novel.”
“What was the book?”
“Some Scottish murder mystery,” the detective, Kasun replied, “fitting really.”
“Except Scottish murder mysteries usually involve bodies in fields of heather,” the other officer, Horvat said, his accent much more pronounced, “and the killer being English.”
“Or Glaswegian,” Sandford crouched to look across the scene to the corpse, “the body collapsed on the child, suffocating him?”
“That’s what we believe,” Kasun said, “we were told not to touch the bodies until you got here. Our forensics team is standing by.”
“You’re sure none of your men have been in here?”
Sandford stood to full height and moved across the room, stepping carefully around the bloody footprints and indicating the detectives follow him.
“Certain,” Kasun frowned, “the cleaner found the body this afternoon, when we realised it was a member of Congress we contacted Parliament, the room was sealed until your arrival.”
Reaching down Sandford grabbed the wrist of the dead boy and turned the hand up for the detectives to see the black smudges on the tips of his fingers.
“Then I’d like to find whoever it was fingerprinted this boy.”
***
“Executor Villeford would have us turn the Republic into a police state!”
There were roars of disapproval from those gathered in congress on the side of the accuser, the assembled representatives of the Legislative branch.
“The Republic already is a police state, Legislator, we just choose not to call it that,” Executor Villeford stood in opposition, the Parliamentary assembly in the House of Commons becoming heated, “what I propose is not a crackdown or an infringement on basic civil liberties but simply a redistribution of resources.
“No one can deny that the Colonial Marshal Service is anything other than an abject failure, militia authority is not enough to maintain security on the colonies, that much is fact. Only last year an uprising had to be put down by military force on Larzoss.”
“Yes, Executor,” Legislator Carnegie said over the clapping from the Executive branch, “and what appellation has been bestowed upon the lieutenant in command of that force? The Butcher, was it not?”
That statement brought a stream of boos and shouts against the Executive authority, Carnegie continued, “The military are not prepared to handle the dynamics of a civilian working system, soldiers only think in terms of them and us, they think only in conflict. Being leaders of people, of the public, it is not what they are trained for.”
“Larzoss was an unfortunate result of a loss of control by your civilian Marshal Service and a failure by the Legislative branch to provide clear and proper intelligence for our troops,” Villeford’s accusation was almost drowned out by the roar of disapproval from the opposition, “however… however, we still regained control of the colony, and in our lessons from that we propose the establishment of a Colonial Guard, a company of men, real soldiers attached to every colony to protect the people and the interests of the Republic.”
There were cheers from the Executive branch from all except Villeford who stood with a knowing smile of victory, and from Executor Monaghan who sat at the back of the Commons watching with quiet reserve. He made a couple of notes on a pad in his hand and attached it to a message to the central Executive database labelled for the attentions of Executors Cooke and Gainsborough.
“And what of the Colonial Administration,” Legislator Carnegie was back on his feet, “will that too fall under the care of the military, drill a bit of boot camp efficiency into them?”
“No, no,” Villeford said with a grin, “I believe the Legislative branch is more than capable of keeping the plumbing functional without our help.”
This brought boos from the Legislators and laughter from the Executors, Carnegie seethed in silence whilst Monaghan stood and slipped quietly out of the room.
***
Kasun sipped a strong espresso as he leafed through the case file of the formerly Congressman Macmillan, the forensics team had spent the better part of two days going over every inch of the room under the instruction of the Legislator. They found a couple of different hairs, which would be enough to get DNA traces on suspects whom more likely than not would turn out to be former residents of the room.
On the body they found traces of black powder gunpowder which would suggest that the killer had used an old muzzle loading weapon, most likely an old revolver, .357 calibre according to the size of the ball bearings removed from his chest. Kasun sighed, those weapons were beyond antiquated and long gone were the days when you needed any kind of permit to own one, in the borderless European heartland of the Republic it could have come from anywhere.
He called a waiter over and ordered a fresh coffee. The café was quite busy, but then it sat along the Placa-Stradum in the heart of the old city looking toward the museum on Pred Dvorom. There were plenty of tourists.
Sitting across from him was a handsome man in a sandy shirt and brown waistcoat, he had the look of a writer or artist with brown hair hanging past high cheekbones and a pair of spectacles with fine square frames. Kasun had recently separated from his boyfriend and allowed his mind to briefly wander to a romantic dalliance with a stranger he met in the café. Deep blue eyes, definitely not a local, maybe French or Scandinavian, he was thin and delicate in his movements but Kasun could see the definition of the muscles beneath his shirt.
Keep your mind on the job he told himself, and then it occurred to him that he had been sitting here for almost half an hour. Legislator Sandford was supposed to meet him here twenty minutes ago, where the hell was he? Somehow he didn’t believe the brutally efficient man in black to have problems with punctuality.
He was going to get up to use the phone when the waiter arrived back with his coffee, as he paid he saw the handsome man get up and leave. Kasun sighed and dropped a few coins tip onto the waiter’s tray, at the same time noticing a man and woman entering from the other side of the veranda and wearing a little too much clothing for the Croatian summer.
She was from the north, maybe Poland or Latvia from the look of her, and he was without doubt Russian, and ex-military at that. Square head, square shoulders, frost blue eyes that could be weapons in themselves, and he was built like a tank.
Russian Mafia.
Kasun flicked the file to a shot of the suffocated child then looked up at the new arrivals, the woman was looking over at him. That answered the question of who was running the prostitute, the mob were turning human trafficking into a sick joke in the Republic. They probably didn’t take kindly to losing an asset.
She turned her eyes back to her companion who at that time was slowly perusing the menu, she flicked her coat off over the back of her seat revealing a skin tight belly top and too much jewellery. They could have been there to intimidate him or otherwise interfere with the investigation, or Kasun conceded it could be pure coincidence.
He went back to the case file but kept one wary eye on the new arrivals.
“Sorry I’m late,” Horvat arrived at Kasun’s shoulder, nearly making the detective jump, “I was held up at the Sebastian. Would you believe that their entire camera system failed on the day of the murder?”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Kasun closed the folder, “was it sabotaged or turned off?”
Horvat sat as the waiter arrived with a menu, the detective pointed at the espresso and indicated he should bring two then returned to his partner.
“We’ve got the killers coming in from the emergency stairwell, two men in balaclavas, ski masks-“
“Hold on, I thought you said the camera failed?”
“That’s where it gets interesting,” Horvat removed his notepad and flicked several pages in, a camera still of two hooded men in black leather jackets appeared on the paper, “we have these two guys arriving around 11am, they come from the south side stairwell and proceed directly to Macmillan’s room, half an hour later they leave. Then there is no more activity in the corridor until the cleaner arrives two hours later.”
The image on the paper changed to show the cleaning cart stop outside the room and the Filipino maid knock on the door. The image changed again, now running a sequence of stills of the maid opening the door, then entering the room, the door almost closed, then her running out the door and up the corridor to the emergency telephone.
“The crime was reported, and in the twenty minutes it took our men to arrive on scene the cameras recorded this.”
The image on the notepad changed to static.
“We have twenty minutes of this,” Horvat said, “it stopped literally seconds before we got to the room.”
“That’s analog static,” Kasun said, “something interfered with the signal before it was recorded.”
“Right, because if the equipment had been interfered with it would have recorded blackness, or not at all. Somebody didn’t want to be seen.”
“Our mystery fingerprinter,” Kasun couldn’t take his eyes off the static, “he must have been on the scene at the time it was reported, and knew our response time. A second contractor?”
“Macmillan must have been a popular guy.”
“Have you shown this to the Legislator yet?”
“No, he hasn’t been near us all day.”
“What?”
Kasun nearly knocked the tray of coffee from the hands of the waiter who had arrived back at their table just five seconds too soon, the Russian couple looked over.
“We’ve had no contact with him since last night,” Horvat paid for the coffee, “and Parliament aren’t answerable to us so we figured he was off following up his own leads. I thought that I’d be able to fill him in with you now.”
“He never showed up,” a chill ran up Kasun’s spine despite the heat of the afternoon sun, the last conversation that he had with Sandford was the Legislator organising this meeting, “any word on the mail?”
“No, I sent him a note this morning about the ball bearings but it hasn’t been opened yet.”
“Right, head to the precinct and see what you can find out,” Kasun rose from the table and gathered his files, “I’m going to his hotel.”
Horvat downed his espresso, “Will do.”
He was about to walk off as Kasun paused mid turn, “What was the note on the ball bearings?”
“Just metallurgy, the steel was Irish, came from a plant in Killarney.”
The detective nodded and strode off into the crowd on the Placa-Stradum, Horvat dithered a moment checking his notes, he paid no heed to the Russian couple as they left.
***
Executor Monaghan strode along the marble corridors of Buckingham Palace on his way for a meeting with the President, a position that was more symbolic than functional but in many cases appearances were enough to keep the population satisfied.
The current President was different from the usual sacrificial lamb however, he had served in an aerotech unit offworld and had a healthy distrust for the triumvirate system that governed the Republic. Mostly he feared that the Judicators had failed in their duty to reign in the Parliamentary houses and that Congress was now subject to the whim of the Executive and Legislative houses. This was entirely true and had been the case for a long time, however it had only been of late that Parliament had become more obvious about this control.
Monaghan didn’t care much whether the public knew how things really worked or not, even if it were not the case there would always be conspiracy nuts who would say it was. He did however care for the institution, the idea of democracy rather than democracy itself had served the Republic well, the people liked having a public office as the highest level of state, even if it was a powerless figurehead. It was the very idea that any man or woman could be the leader of the vast entity that was the Republic that kept the populace in line, the illusion bound them together better than fear of the armed forces ever would.
When the President approached him with his suspicions about the erosion of power it had been a subtle testing of the water, but he knew as well that things had been changing for the worse in Parliament. For Monaghan it stemmed from the fact that he simply did not trust Villeford.
He quietly recruited a few other trusted Executors to keep watch on the Parliamentary actions, to watch on the foundations of the Republic, to avert any movement that could lead to what was maybe at this point an inevitable civil war.
***
Things went momentarily black as Kasun’s head slammed against the coarse brickwork, he tasted blood in his mouth from a burst lip, a sharp blow to the kidney collapsed him to the ground.
Tears came to his eyes as he spat a mouthful of blood onto the alley floor, as he tried to rise a hand grabbed the back of his neck and another around his belt and he was thrown again into the wall.
The big Russian loomed over him whilst the woman waiting until she was sure they had the detective’s full attention.
Kasun was no small man himself but the Russian rained blows that left him with little to do but try to shield himself with his now tenderised arms.
There was a thunderous bang and a spray of hot liquid covered Kasun’s face, he scrambled back in shock as suddenly the Russian collapsed, a gaping hole in his head.
The woman was backing away from a man silhouetted by daylight at the end of the alleyway, he had a long barrelled revolver aimed squarely at her chest and she was repeating something in Latvian, probably something along the lines of ‘don’t shoot’.
“I’m not that kind of policeman,” the man said in English but in a voice devoid of accent, then he shot her once through the heart and she fell onto her back, her eyes watching him as the life drained slowly from her body. The last thing that she ever saw was the puff of fire from the barrel of the gun aimed at her head, her execution.
“Drop the gun,” Kasun struggled to draw and level his own gun on the man, blood ran into one eye and the other was half blinded by involuntary tears from the beating.
“Terrible business having to deal with the Russian mob,” the man said as he holstered his pistol, “we’re trying to bring stability to the stars and we can’t even wipe out organised crime back home.”
The man hunkered next to the woman and went through the pockets of her coat then through her purse.
“I appreciate your assistance, but I said drop your gun, not holster it.”
The man looked back at Kasun who balked with sudden recognition, it was the handsome man from the café.
“Lower your weapon, detective,” he said, rising and walking over to the injured officer, he extended his hand, “Executor Constantine Gainsborough.”