On The Imperium’s Secret Service (Imperium Cicernus) (31 page)

“I’m sure they know already,” Mariko said.

“In the Core Worlds, people don’t realise that the Imperium is actually
contracting
,” he said, shaking his head in negation.  “Why should they?  Even the poorest of humans there has a life that the humans out here would envy, built upon an alien underclass.  They have more than enough to eat or drink, they have their VR simulations, they have an attitude towards sex that would shock anyone from Edo...”

Mariko snorted, remembering how many times she’d been shocked since she’d joined Fitz’s team. 

“So why
should
they worry about the future?  But the lights are going out, one by one, and every time it grows a little harder to mend them.  One of Homeworld’s major fusion plants failed last year – it took months of investigation before they realised that the contractors hadn’t been performing basic maintenance.  The techs who should be able to repair it are not coming out of the schools.  Instead, we get kids in adult bodies who feel that the Imperium owes them something – and they will riot if their demands are not met.  And, every year, the burden on the alien underclass grows stronger.  Something is going to blow.”

He stood up and walked around the room. 

“The Secessionists are building a fleet,” he said after a minute, possibly listing the points in his mind.  “Why?  Presumably, they want to deter the Imperial Navy from moving against rebellious worlds.  If so, they would have some room to negotiate with the Imperium, perhaps to request limited autonomy like the Core Worlds.  But that won’t please the corporations who own those worlds and their indentured populations.  The Grand Senate would probably be pushed into a costly naval operation anyway.”

“Perhaps they don’t know that,” Mariko said, softly.

“They would
have
to know it, unless they are complete idiots,” Fitz said.  “We could defuse a hell of a lot of ticking time bombs if we agreed to give those worlds some independence, but the corporations keep blocking it before it ever gets in front of the Senate.  So we'd end up with a major space battle, which the Imperial Navy wins...the corporations take a big hit, but the Secessionists get smashed.  It hardly seems worthwhile.”

Mariko considered this, remembering what her father had grumbled about the big interstellar corporations. 

“What if the corporations are having a financial crisis and cannot
afford
a delay in production?” she asked after a long pause.

“They’d have a worse crisis if those worlds became independent by force,” Fitz pointed out.  He considered, briefly.  “The problem is that the records we need to check are sealed, even to Imperial Intelligence, without a court order.  And getting one of them would be very difficult.”

Mariko blinked. 

“Even for the dreaded Imperial Intelligence?”

“Makes you wonder what they have to hide,” Fitz said, sardonically.  “I have a feeling that when we discover precisely what has been going on inside the Imperium’s economy, we will be looking at a major economic collapse.  Countless fortunes will be wiped out overnight; families like mine might lose everything they have...the result would be absolute disaster.  We might not even be able to
pay
the Imperial Navy and the Marines, let alone the Civil Guards.  And what will happen then?”

“Perhaps that’s the point,” Mariko offered.  “What happens to the Secessionists if this looming disaster suddenly breaks out into the open?”

“Seems goddamned risky,” Fitz countered.  “They might be ruthless, but they’ve never shown a direct willingness to sacrifice entire planetary populations for their cause.  And they are not idiots.  What are we missing?”  He paced around the room, repeating the question out loud.  “What are we missing?”

“Perhaps we should ask Lady Mary,” Mariko said.  “Couldn't we go back to Tuff and get some answers from her?”

“We might have to,” Fitz said, sourly.  “But I’d prefer to avoid an environment where everyone will recognise me.”  He shook his head as he sat back down on the bed. 

“You and Mai get a wash and some sleep,” he ordered.  “I’ll keep an eye on our friend as I read through the rest of his documents.”

***

The next two days passed slowly.  Fitz continued to mumble aloud as he worked through the documents, occasionally pointing out something that had caught his attention, but drawing no closer to the Secessionist plan.  Mariko slept, watched Richardson in his apartment when he returned home after work, and took Mai on a handful of sight-seeing trips that were really reconnaissance missions.  Sumter’s dome was giant, large enough to hide a few spectacular buildings as well as the reinforced concrete apartment blocks; her suspicion that Fitz had ordered them out because he couldn't stand sharing the same set of rooms with them any longer didn't hide her admiration
for them.  Halfway through the tour, she realised that she could send a message back home...

...But what could she say?

“Tell them as little as possible,” Fitz advised that evening.  He’d gone out as soon as they’d returned, warning them to keep an eye on Richardson and inform him at once if the traitor received a message.  “The last thing they need is to know the truth.”

She was still mulling it over the following day, when the tap Fitz had inserted into the apartment’s communications network pinged.  Richardson lived a lonely life, she’d come to realise; the only messages he received that were not work-related were from people intent on inviting him to sample new brothels.  He didn't seem willing to go these days, probably because he knew that he was being watched.  His search of the apartment had been incompetent, according to Fitz, and he’d broken off midway through, as if he’d been scared to find anything.  Mariko didn't have much experience in reading faces, but he looked like a man who was on the verge of breaking.

“He’s got mail,” she called over, to Fitz.  He’d brought them tunics that would be worn by class-three humans on Sumter, fashion nightmares in Mariko’s opinion, but too common to arouse much interest.  Besides, she could hide a surprising number of tools below the shapeless outfit.  “It’s the one calling him to a meet.”

“Good,” Fitz said.  He picked up his coat and pulled it on over the tunic.  “You can get to Point Alpha and wait there; I’ll go shadow Richardson and meet up with you at Point Alpha.”

“Assuming he goes there,” Mai pointed out.  “Are you sure you don’t want me to come?”

“Not this time,” Fitz said, firmly.  Someone as...unspoiled as Mai would attract a great deal of attention, even in a shapeless tunic.  “I need you to keep working on the starship schedules; let me know if you see a pattern there.”

Mai didn't look happy – Richardson had created false records for Secessionists, but they didn't all go to the same place – but she accepted it.

“Grab your coat,” Fitz ordered.  “And remember, keep the weapons out of sight unless you have no other choice.  The last thing we need is official attention.”

Point Alpha lay on the vague boundary between the poorest parts of the city and Undercity, where the aliens resided.  It was an area bleak with despair,
as thousands of humans had been crammed into a handful of buildings and makeshift slums, all of them knowing that there was no way out of the poverty trap.  If Sumter had been habitable, they could have spread out over the countryside, but instead they were all confined to the domed city.  Mariko saw a dozen prostitutes, both male and female, and a handful of pimps watching them to ensure that they didn't keep their ill-gotten gains.  They all wore shapeless garments that made them look identical, just like her.  The scene would just not have happened on Edo.

She looked up from under her hat as Richardson moved through the streets, walking in a manner that suggested depression.  No one tried to mug him. Mariko couldn't decide if that was because they recognised that he didn't have anything worth taking, or if it was a form of protection extended by his contact. 

Or perhaps it was something simpler than that.  He’d been going to brothels whose owners would want him to
keep
going to brothels.  They might have warned the local thugs that mugging him would have dire consequences. 

Behind him, there was no sign of Fitz – but then, he’d warned her that she might not see him.

Turning slightly, she started to follow Richardson, keeping her distance as he walked down into Undercity.  On Edo, there were relatively few aliens; here, it looked like there were more aliens crammed into Undercity than there were on her entire homeworld.  A dozen different alien races were represented within the first few metres, from the elfin Pixies to the brutish Trolls, a race known for their limited intelligence and considerable talent for violence.  The Imperial Navy might have been banned from recruiting aliens for front-line combat forces, but thousands of crime lords were much more equal opportunity.  Most of the Trolls who left their homeworld did so as part of a mercenary operation of one kind or another.

The stink got stronger as she walked further into Undercity.  A floating, dank mist seemed to reach out towards her, only to recoil before it pressed against her skin. 

Undercity was hotter than the rest of the city, perhaps because it was close to the geothermal struts that powered Sumter City.  A long trickle of warm water ran down the middle of the street, heading towards a pond that had been filled with alien life forms.  Not all of the aliens in the Imperium were humanoid.

Richardson paid no attention to the aliens, which watched him with sullen expressions, or the handful of salesmen who attempted to convince him to buy handmade souvenirs from Undercity.  Mariko ignored them as best as she could, too, although it was hard to turn down a Pixie when he looked at her with wide, innocent eyes.  The child-like aliens were surprisingly popular on Homeworld, at least among younger humans.  But they’d never managed to translate it into political power, and they never would. 

Richardson stopped outside what looked like another diner, set inside a surprisingly clean set of buildings, and knocked once on the door.  It took Mariko a moment to realise that money talked, even in Undercity.  Those who ran the brothel would have enough money to ensure that they lived like kings, while the rest of the alien population suffered.

Mariko hesitated as the door opened and Richardson stepped inside.  Before she could react, she sensed movement behind her and tensed, one hand dropping to the pistol she’d concealed inside her overalls.  A hand caught hers and she looked up to see a stranger looking back at her.  Only the eyes clearly identified him as Fitz.

“He went inside,” she muttered, grimly aware that there might be eyes watching everywhere.  There were aliens who enjoyed living in the sewers, assuming that Undercity
had
sewers.  The stench suggested otherwise.  “What do we do now?”

“I managed to get him to take a wire,” Fitz muttered back.  He was listening to the chatter inside through an earpiece.  “His contact is busy complimenting him on his last great success.”

Mariko scowled.  Richardson’s last success had involved rewriting computer files so that various people who boarded shuttles and starships for interstellar trips had no longer officially taken those trips.  The Imperium was a vast producer and consumer of data, with a bureaucracy that insisted on having all forms filled out in triplicate, but what could even the most sophisticated data analysis program do with garbage data?  They would never be able to discover the missing naval personnel until it was too late. 

“Go check to make sure that there’s no other door out onto the surface,” Fitz ordered.  “I’ll keep listening to our friend.”

Mariko nodded and walked around the building, hoping that they weren't watching for watchers themselves.  There seemed to be no other way in or out, not even any windows.  It was possible that one of the walls concealed a hidden escape route, but she couldn't see any sign of it.  She walked back to Fitz, only to hear him muttering to himself.  He looked up at her and smiled, wanly.

“And now he wants a list of shipping schedules,” Fitz said.  He sounded rather perturbed.  “That’s interesting.”

“What?”  Mariko asked.

“He mentioned the
Wally West
, by name,” Fitz said.  They shared a long glance as Mariko’s blood ran cold.  Interstellar Couriers would be an odd target for the Secessionists, if only because they did have the clout to convince the Grand Senate to dispatch reinforcements to the Sumter Sector.  Or had the Secessionists managed to crack their cover story?  “I think we need to ask them why.”