The Machine Awakes (10 page)

He dropped his hands. “So why did you bring me out of there?”

Braben looked at him. Kodiak shrugged. “What?”

“You really don't know?”

“Know what? I've been locked in that casino for hours.”

Braben gave a low whistle and buttoned his jacket. “Okay,” he said slowly. “The Fleet Admiral has been assassinated. It's a red ball, all hands on deck. The chief will give you a full briefing.” He headed toward the door.

“Assassinated?” Kodiak's head cleared immediately, a surge of adrenaline giving his tired body new life. He pushed away from the slab and walked over to Braben, waiting by the door. Kodiak stared at his partner, but Braben's expression was set.

Kodiak parsed Braben's statement through his mind again. Assassination of the Fleet Admiral. A thousand other thoughts suddenly fought for attention—was it terrorism? Some kind of attack? Was it a precursor to … what?
Another
assassination?
Another
attack? Was this just the first move in a new kind of conflict? Like they didn't have enough, fighting a war with the Spiders. But there were a lot of organizations who didn't like the way the Fleet was running things, who had threatened just this kind of action.

Braben cocked his head. “Von?”

Kodiak rolled his neck, trying to clear his mind. “Holy
shit,
” he whispered, shaking his head.

Braben nodded. “My thoughts exactly.”

Kodiak stepped past his partner, pushing open the doors and striding into the corridor. Then he stopped and turned, holding the door open. “You coming or what?” he asked. He was impatient to talk to the chief, get the full picture of what had happened.

Braben adjusted his tie and followed.

 

10

By the time the
two agents reached the corridors of the Bureau proper, Braben was back in the lead, Kodiak at his heels.

Nothing had changed, as far as Kodiak could see. Then he wondered why he thought anything would have considering he'd hardly been gone a year. Same building. Same corridors. Same carpet and same lights and same coffee machines and water coolers. The walk from the morgue was a long one, a walk he remembered too. So far the only thing that was new was Braben's fancy gun.

That, and the mood, the atmosphere. Braben had said it himself: this was a red ball, an emergency so bad they'd called everyone in—including him, pulling him out from a long undercover mission, throwing away months of planning and preparation.

Red ball.

They walked on, Kodiak's expression grim. The Bureau was busy, filled with agents, some of whom Kodiak recognized and some of whom he didn't. The Bureau was buzzing with energy, none of it positive. It felt cold, fearful. Like something dangerous just below the waterline. Like something else was about to happen, like the Fleet Admiral's assassination was just the start of something new and terrible.

As if to underline that point, Kodiak and Braben stopped in the corridor and moved to either side as a line of marines in full combat armor marched past. When they were gone, Kodiak turned to watch their plated backs.

“This is going to take some getting used to,” he said.

“That it is.”

Kodiak tried to remember the last time he'd seen the heart of the Fleet at real battle stations. There was a war on, but here in New Orem that was almost an abstract concept, something happening somewhere else. The front lines were light-years across, but they were a very long way from the Earth.

Thankfully.

They walked on. Kodiak nodded at those agents he knew as he passed them. Some returned the gesture; most looked the other way. Kodiak started to wonder how many people actually knew what had happened to him. He was an agent gone rogue, one who had broken into an evidence server and lifted a whole heap of money before disappearing. He was a wanted man.

So the official story went, anyway. He just hoped that the Bureau staff would at least be briefed on his status by the chief. The last thing anybody needed was that hanging over his head, distracting not just himself but those he would need to give orders to. They'd brought him back to work, after all.

Soon enough, they reached the Bureau bullpen, the command center of the whole operation. It was a large circular chamber, the main floor sunk down to separate it from the six glass-walled planning rooms that ringed it. From the outer ring, eight short flights of steps were spaced out evenly, leading down to the operation floor.

The bullpen proper was a chaos of desks and tables and agents, the air thick with so many spinning holodisplays that Kodiak could hardly see to the other side of the room. He paused at the top step, getting his bearings. Braben, walking ahead, stopped and turned around.

“You coming, Von?”

The bullpen went quiet as every agent stopped what they were doing and turned to watch Kodiak. Kodiak cleared his throat, feeling his face turn the same shade of red as his crumpled suit. Then he gave a little nod with a tight smile he hoped looked more like grim determination than the nervousness it felt like, and jogged down the steps to join his partner.

Braben licked his lips and then turned back around and kept walking, heading across the center of the room and toward one of the planning rooms on the opposite side of the bullpen, the glass walls of this one opaque gray, the room set to private. Kodiak followed Braben, very aware that everyone was staring at him as he walked.

Braben stopped at the planning room door. He nodded over Kodiak's shoulder at the bullpen behind them. “Don't worry, there's a briefing set for later today, once the chief has filled you in.”

Kodiak frowned, nodded. “Glad to hear it.”

Braben pushed the door open and gestured for Kodiak to enter.

The planning room was filled with a long table, lined with chairs. As Braben closed the door, Kodiak felt a slight pressure on his eardrums as the sound-canceling surfaces clicked on. Whatever was said or done in this room was now completely secret.

“Welcome back, Von.”

Bureau Chief Laurel Avalon sat on the other side of the table. She tilted her head, watching him.

Kodiak glanced at Braben, then walked around the table and pulled a chair out in front of Avalon.

“Chief,” he said, sitting down. Given the circumstances of his return he tried not to smile, but it was surprisingly difficult. Avalon, like everyone else, was the same as before. Exactly the same. Red hair the same scarlet as his suit. Piercing green eyes. Immaculate uniform. She exuded authority, thanks in no small part to her being part of a great Fleet dynasty. She carried the Avalon name, and everyone knew it.

Suddenly self-conscious, Kodiak shifted in his chair. He looked and felt like a wreck. He glanced at Braben, who was still by the door. “Sit down, for crying out loud. You make me nervous, loitering around where I can't see you.”

As Braben pulled up a chair next to him, Kodiak turned back to the chief. “I must admit I didn't expect to be back here so soon,” he said.

Avalon nodded. “I'm sorry we had to cut the mission.”

“That's a lot of planning out the window.”

“We'll get Helprin sometime,” said the chief. “Trust me. But we need you here now.”

Kodiak sighed and caught sight of his reflection in the glass of the table—he'd been right, he looked terrible. Messy, greasy hair, his face dark with stubble, bags under his eyes. His suit looked like he'd been sleeping in it, which, actually, he had been. He nodded at Braben. “Your agent here shot me with his stun gun.”

The corner of Avalon's mouth curled up. “I'm sure he didn't enjoy it, Von.”

Braben brushed a finger along his chinstrap beard. “No, ma'am, I did not.” A pause. “Actually, maybe a little bit.”

Kodiak pointed at the agent. “See? This is abuse of authority. Revoke his badge before he hurts somebody.”

“We had to get you out of there somehow,” said Avalon. “For the moment, Von Kodiak is going to have to stay dead.”

Kodiak raised an eyebrow. Braben leaned forward over the table. “Helprin has people in the Fleet. Word gets out that we faked your execution and brought you back—that you were an undercover agent from the Bureau, working in his little empire—he'll send someone after you.”

As Braben spoke, Avalon's fingers moved over the table in front of her, which lit up at her commands. On the surface in front of Kodiak appeared his own face—not a reflection, but his official ID photo. It was the same warrant Braben had shown him before stunning him with the staser, only now it was amended to indicate that the sentence had been carried out.

“Even that crazy old man won't go chasing a corpse for revenge,” said Braben.

Kodiak rubbed his chin and sighed. He gestured to his image on the table. “How long do I stay dead for?”

Braben and Avalon exchanged a look. Kodiak saw it. He didn't like it.

“Awhile,” said Avalon.

Kodiak screwed his eyes tight. He knew his mission had a price, but it still stung. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

“How am I supposed to work when I'm dead?”

“Bureau staff will be briefed. You'll have security clearance within the Fleet capital, but you won't be able to leave.”

“Didn't you just say Helprin had people in the Fleet?”

“In the Fleet, yes,” said Avalon, “but not the Bureau, as far as we've been able to screen.” She sighed. “Look, it's not perfect, but it's going to have to work. Things are bad, Von.”

Kodiak frowned. He glanced at Braben, but his partner's expression had darkened too. “Okay,” he said, turning back to the chief. “Tell me what happened.”

Avalon nodded at Braben. Braben adjusted his tie, then took control of the table display. As he typed, Kodiak's official picture was replaced with new data: the portrait of the Fleet Admiral, Leo Sebela; maps of New Orem; a schematic of the Fleet Capitol Complex itself, and one of the Fleet Memorial.

Kodiak furrowed his brow as he studied the images.

“Sebela”—Braben tapped the late Admiral's picture—“was assassinated at the Fleet Memorial, as he gave his official Fleet Day speech, in front of thousands of people. As soon as he dropped, emergency protocols kicked in and the city went into lockdown.”

Kodiak looked up. “He's killed in public, surrounded by marines, and the shooter gets away? No surveillance?”

Braben and Avalon looked at each other. “All footage cuts out just before the Admiral is shot,” said Braben. “Likewise all public media streams.”

Kodiak rubbed his chin again. “How is that possible?”

Avalon shrugged. “It's like everything was jammed, scrambled.”

“Deliberate, then.”

“Has to be.”

Then Avalon reached forward, moving the images around on the table. She brought up a new picture, one of an officer in a black uniform, his eyes narrowed at the camera like he was angry.

“It's not public knowledge,” said the chief, “but Sebela was deposed by Admiral Zworykin the day before his assassination.”

Kodiak stared at the new picture. He thought he recognized the officer. “Zworykin? Isn't he in charge of the Psi-Marine Corps?”

“Yes.”

“And now he's the Fleet Admiral?”

Avalon gave a single nod. “He is.”

Kodiak pursed his lips. “And then the guy he kicked out is murdered. Seems pretty convenient.” He leaned over the table, examining the images. “New guy stages a coup and takes over. Keeps it a secret while he moves his own people in. Then old guy is eliminated, and new guy suddenly appears to step in as the legitimate successor. Uses the situation to his advantage, strengthening his own position. Shows himself as a responsible, courageous leader in a time of turmoil.”

“Yes,” said Avalon.

“Which means,” said Kodiak, tapping the table, “new guy is behind it.”

“Seems most likely,” said Braben. “But that's what we want you to find out.”

Kodiak shook his head, trying to piece things together. “But he knows the Bureau will investigate and rat him out, right?”

“If he's responsible, then yes,” said Avalon. “Which is why I want you to lead the investigation.”

Kodiak shrugged. “Because?”

“Because you're dead. I'm going to grant you personal security clearance inside this building, but even that won't lead back to you directly. If there is a cover-up, a conspiracy, if Zworykin is responsible and is working to hide his tracks, then you're the one to find out. Your investigation won't leave a trace.”

Kodiak shook his head. “But he'll be
waiting
for an investigation. He'll be following it, making sure he stays ahead of us. We can't run a covert op. If we're not seen to do something, he'll realize we're onto him from the start.”

“There will be an official investigation,” said Avalon. “Braben will be the lead. You'll have a cover ID—to Zworykin you're a Bureau analyst assigned to the case, nothing more.”

At this, Braben reached under the conference table and extracted a black case. He placed it on the table and turned it toward Kodiak.

Kodiak glanced at Braben. “What's this?”

Braben just nodded at it. “Open it.”

Kodiak pulled the case toward him. It was featureless, the surface matte save for the shiny Bureau logo on the top. He felt along the edges until he found the catches. The case beeped as it recognized Kodiak's DNA and unlocked.

Inside, nestled in shaped foam packing, were two items. The first was a Bureau ID badge, a mirrored square of metal on a clip backing, the Bureau emblem etched into the front in gold.

Next to the badge was a pistol. It was small, thin, the upper half translucent, the rest brushed silver.

Now Kodiak allowed himself a smile as he slid his hand around the grip of the staser and lifted it from the case. It was very light. By his thumb were a series of simple switches.