Rath's Deception: The Janus Group, #1

1

You’re still withholding information, the drone observed. Last time the pain lasted for thirty seconds. This is what two minutes feels like.

The drone watched Rath writhe in silent agony. When the shocks ended, Rath found himself on his stomach, his face in the sand.

… no more, Rath moaned.

Then answer the question. Why are you determined to be in this program, Candidate 621?

My brother, Rath admitted, sobbing. Vonn ….

What about your brother?

* * *

Rath rode a city bus home from school as usual, along with several other students. He hopped off at his stop, and walked past the front entrance to his tenement building, hooking into the side alley and making for the fire escape past the overflowing dumpsters. A short climb up a ladder brought him to the first balcony, then he took the stairs two at a time to the fifth floor, stopping to catch his breath before sidling up to his bedroom window. He pushed a lank of black hair out of his eyes, then peeked around the frame, scanning the room within. When he was satisfied that the room was empty, he pulled up the sash and tossed his school bags through, before stepping through the window himself.

Nice try, Rath.

Rath spun around: Vonn was standing with his back to the outer wall, out of view of the window.

I taught you that trick, remember?

I’m just avoiding Mom and Dad, Rath suggested. Been a long day, I just didn’t want to deal with their shit.

Vonn held up his holophone: I hacked Mom’s account to forward all school notifications to me. She might not care about you, but I do.

Rath sighed. I didn’t cheat, Vonn.

I know you didn’t. So you either got lazy, or you wanted to show off.

He practically dared me to do it. First of all, he’s been docking me points for the most trivial things on all the quizzes, because he can’t stand giving out an ‘A.’ Then he spent all semester talking about this historian, and how none of us could ever hope to live up to that level of insight into the Early Colonization Period. So I just copied that guy’s work as my essay.

Yeah, you wanted to show off, just like I thought, Vonn said, sitting on Rath’s bed. He sighed. Look, Rath – your memory, this ability to recall everything perfectly – that’s your key to getting out of here. We’ve talked about this. Good grades ….

… a scholarship, college, a job …, Rath recited, I know.

Don’t roll your eyes; this is serious, Rath. In fifteen years you could be living on the middle levels, and ten years after that, you might even be able to save up enough to bring me with you. But you’ve got to play by their rules, and sometimes that means hiding your ability, or letting an asshole teacher think he’s smarter than you.

But if I quit school and worked with you, we might be able to move up even faster, Rath protested.

Vonn shook his head. What is Nicholai going to do with a fourteen-year-old enforcer, huh, Rath? You get one thing – just one – on your record, and it’s over, the whole plan is shot. What I do is not cool, or fun. You know what I did yesterday, for Nicholai?

Rath looked at the floor.

It wasn’t a car chase, or a bank heist. It’s not like TV, Rath. I hacked my way into an old man’s apartment, and when he came home later that night, I broke his arm with a crow-bar. Because Nicholai wants everyone to know what happens when you try to cross him.

What’d he do? Rath asked.

To piss Nicholai off? Vonn shrugged. He called the cops when their street party got too noisy last Thursday. He couldn’t sleep, and now he has a broken arm. And I’ve gotta live with that on my conscience.

The brothers were silent for a minute, then Vonn sighed again.

Listen, here on Tarkis, kids like us … there’s no future. If you’re ruthless enough, you might lead a gang, like Nicholai. With all the drugs his gang pushes, he can afford the middle levels … barely. But we’re not going to get out of here by working for a guy like that. We’re going to get killed, or go to jail. We gotta be smarter than that, Rath. Vonn stood, walking over to Rath and taking his head in his hands. And you – with this million-dollar head of yours – you’re going to make us smarter than all of them.

Rath smiled up at his brother: I’m sorry.

I know, Vonn told him, touching his forehead to Rath’s. Want a snack?

Yeah.

They found their mother in the kitchen, sipping water out of a dirty coffee mug. It took her several seconds to notice them.

Hey, look who’s home. Not even a ‘hello,’ Rath? she chided, her eyes distant and glassy.

Hello, he said, Where’s Dad?

Where he always is, Vonn answered, leaning against the fridge. Sleeping it off.

Do you have any money, Rath? she asked, ignoring Vonn.

No, he doesn’t – how would he make money while he’s in school? Vonn asked her.

She changed the subject: What’s this I see about cheating on a test?

Rath found the remains of a ration pack in a cupboard and sat down at the table.

Hmm, Rath? She brushed her fingers along his face, smiling.

He shrugged her off. What do you care?

I just thought with my little ‘gift’ you wouldn’t need to cheat.

I hate it when you call it that. Vonn told her. Don’t try to take credit for it. You couldn’t get clean when you were pregnant – he’s lucky he even lived.

She stuck her tongue out at Vonn, and was about to reply, when the door abruptly splintered off its hinges. A tall man walked into the apartment, pointing a pistol at Vonn.

Hey, Vonn, he said. Doorbell was broken, sorry about that. His smile was cold.

Vonn held his hands out to his side, palms open. I’ve been meaning to get that fixed. He forced a smile. Despino, if you needed me for a job, you could have just called.

Despino sighed. Vonn … I thought you were smarter than this. You know as well as anyone what kind of temper Nicholai has. Did you think he wouldn’t figure it out?

Figure what out? Vonn asked, easing away from the kitchen table. Rath could hear the fear in his voice.

You wanna play dumb? Okay. Let me spell it out for you. You. Are. A. Fucking. Rat. Answer me this, smart boy: what good is a snitch’s ‘get out of jail free’ card if you’re not alive to use it?

Vonn shook his head, I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Yeah? Then what’s this? Despino held out a small data drive. A flicker of fear crossed Vonn’s face. Oh, yeah. We followed you, and took this out of the wall where you hid it. ‘Dear Mr. Policeman: on this encrypted drive, allow me to provide you with some more details of Nicholai’s operation.’

Vonn’s shoulders sagged. Okay, just … not here, alright? Not in front of my brother.

Vonn? Rath asked, standing. Vonn, what’s going to happen?

Sit down now, Rath! Vonn’s voice was suddenly commanding in the small room. Rath sat.

Despino chuckled. Don’t worry; I’m not going to do it here. Nicholai wants to be there in person for this. Kneel, hands behind your back.

Vonn complied, kneeling. He looked up at his brother. I’m sorry, Rath. You’re gonna be on your own from now on. You’re gonna be okay, though.

No, Vonn, I can’t …, Rath protested, tears welling in his eyes.

Listen: you can. You’re going to make it out of here, promise me you will.

I promise, Rath managed.

Touching, Despino grunted, as he finished binding Vonn’s wrists behind his back. Let’s go.

Despino pushed Vonn toward the door of the apartment. As he stepped over the remains of the door, Vonn looked back over his shoulder at Rath and smiled. Rath opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. Then Vonn was gone.

Rath sat crying in silence for a long time. Finally, his mother spoke.

Rath, you’re home? Oh. Hi, honey. Do you have any money?

No.

Oh. Well can you see if maybe your brother has some? I need to go get some things.

Vonn’s dead. Rath told her, standing. And I’m leaving.

2

Breathing hurt, which meant that Rath had at most two more blocks that he could run at this pace. As he rounded a corner, Rath risked a quick glance over his shoulder. The two cops were still on his tail. He had lost his sense of direction after ducking down an unfamiliar alley, and his initial plan of heading for the electronics market was now out of the question.

I haven’t been back to the electronics market since that time with Vonn, Rath realized, panting. Almost three years ago. And he was gone just a few months later.

In the market, he might have been able to lose the cops in the dense press of shoppers; this area of the city was nothing but boarded-up warehouses, which offered no chance of easy escape. He picked another alley at random and tore down it, dodging past a dumpster, and ignoring the bile that rose in his throat as his body protested at the ongoing punishment. As he burst out onto the next street, something solid smashed into his shins, the world seemed to spin, and Rath suddenly found himself flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him completely. He rolled onto his side, gasping, and saw a man standing beside the alley’s exit. The man casually tossed aside a rusted length of pipe that he had used to trip Rath. The two policemen arrived seconds later, breathing hard.

They took the stolen pistol from him first, then stood Rath up, one cop immobilizing him with his arms pinned cruelly behind his back. Rath didn’t bother struggling. Instead he took a shuddering breath and braced himself, his blue-grey eyes staring defiantly up at the man towering over him. The cop drew back his fist.

No, the man who had tripped Rath said, simply. Rath noticed that he was wearing a rather expensive-looking suit.

But, sir ….

"I said, No, Corporal. Either you can let me handle this kid and get back to your patrol sector, or you can rough him up, and I can file a report with your precinct stating that you let a scrawny little teenager lift your service weapon off of you in broad daylight. And that you nearly let him get away."

We were catching up—

Not from where I was standing, Corporal. Now: either beat his ass, or get going – I don’t have all day.

The cop looked back at Rath, the frustration and anger plain on his face. But he let his fist drop, and instead poked Rath hard in the chest. I’ll see you around, you little prick.

Okay, Rath panted, grinning.

Fucking detectives, the cop grumbled, as he and his partner headed back down the alley.

Rath glanced over at the detective in the suit. If he had heard the comment, he didn’t care enough to acknowledge it. Instead he walked over to a matte-grey air car and opened the driver-side door before looking back at Rath.

You getting in?

What? Rath asked.

Christ, is everyone going fucking deaf today? Get. In.

Rath eyed him dubiously. The detective sighed.

If I wanted to book you, I’d be cuffing you. I got better things to do. I’m hungry, now let’s go.

Screw it, Rath thought, opening the door. I’m hungry, too.

Though the car’s exterior was dented and scuffed, the interior was surprisingly plush, with deep leather seats, and mottled wood panel accents. The detective keyed a button on the console.

Auto-pilot. The steakhouse on level one-twenty-five, Mercantile Ave and Amsterdam.

The car rose smoothly, swiftly angling up over the roofs of the warehouses and heading for the upper levels of the multi-tiered city. Rath had never been above the tenth level, so he stared out his window as the air car merged into the traffic flow and headed downtown. Everything was clean – the city’s top half practically sparkled to Rath’s street-weary eye.

Every police gun has a tracking chip built into it, the detective said, breaking the silence. The second someone – either a cop or anyone else – draws it from its holster, it reports that into Headquarters and activates the tracking feature. That’s how I got the jump on you, kid.

Rath held his tongue, staying silent until he could determine the man’s intent.

… so you basically stole the equivalent of a giant neon arrow, saying ‘Here I am!’ That tracking chip means you would have had a hell of a time selling it, too. Any gunrunner you took it to would probably have killed you on the spot, thinking you were working a sting operation for us. Just saying. Next time do your research, huh?

Still silent, Rath turned back to the window. Their route took them past a meticulously landscaped floating park that was shaped like a soaring bird, with wings made of rolling green lawns extending from a crystal blue lake that made up the bird’s body. Rath saw children swimming in the lake. He wondered what swimming felt like. He could not remember the last time he had seen a living plant.

Still, it was the nicest pull I’ve seen in years.

Rath turned away from the window. You saw me take it? Why were you following me?

The detective snorted. Don’t flatter yourself. I was just in the area, and happened to be watching those cops when you made your move. That was a slick idea, by the way – using the bus to split the two of them up. How did you know the bus would be there at the right time?

I knew the schedule, Rath said, simply.

The man gave him a curious look. Yeah, but you couldn’t have known when the cops would be on patrol. You expect me to believe you memorized all of the different bus schedules for that stop? There have to be several hundred scheduled stops each day.

Rath did not reply. The detective tried a different tack.

What crew are you working for?

No crew, Rath said, before he could stop himself.

No? A loner, huh? That bodes well. The detective pulled a datascroll out of his jacket. He unrolled it and locked the screen flat with a flick of his wrist, before flipping through several pages of data. Let’s see, he mused. Rath Kaldirim. One year of public high school, straight ‘A’ student except for an ‘F’ in Galactic History. What happened there?

Rath set his lips in a line and stared out the window. The man tapped the screen. Your teacher claims you plagiarized whole paragraphs of a textbook on an in-class exam, though he wasn’t able to prove how you did it. After that, no more school. Got a few petty theft bookings, but overall not much of a criminal record for a seventeen-year-old dropout … most kids in the lower levels at your age are already on parole. Parents … known drug addicts, deceased, three years ago, in an apartment fire. Who took you in when they died?

I wasn’t living with them when they died, Rath said. I moved out when I was fourteen.

Okay, so who took you in when you ran away?

No one, Rath told him, looking away suddenly.

The man eyed Rath closely. No one? Not one gang-banger looking for a new recruit, no old pervert looking for companionship, not even a single Good Samaritan feeling sorry for you?

Rath returned his gaze, defiant. The man rolled the datascroll back up and tucked it into his coat.

Well, that is … very interesting. How does a fourteen-year-old kid survive three years on his own on the lower levels?

How does a cop afford a tailored suit and a souped-up air car? Rath shot back.

The man was startled, but managed to hide his reaction quickly. We impound cars from criminals – like you – and then auction them off cheap.

That still doesn’t explain the suit, Rath pointed out.

The console pinged a proximity alert, and the air car slowed, easing into a hover over a landing pad in front of a large building with white columns flanking a set of wooden doors.

Come on, the man growled, opening his door. Before I change my mind and drop your ass off at central booking.

Inside, Rath immediately felt inadequate in his tattered utility pants and t-shirt. He ran a hand through his sweat-dampened black hair, doing his best to clean himself up. A tuxedoed maître d’ whisked them to a private booth, where, Rath realized, the rest of the patrons wouldn’t be able to see him. Or his clothing. A waiter arrived soon afterwards.

Order what you want: I’m paying, the detective told him.

Rath was overwhelmed by the menu, until he remembered seeing a movie where the character ordered filet mignon in a restaurant.

The detective sighed. No – you’re not having filet mignon, that’s what women order at a steakhouse. He turned to the waiter. We’ll have two rib-eyes, medium rare, and bring out a couple different sides. I’ll have a vodka tonic with a twist of lime, and he’ll have soda.

The waiter bowed and left.

Filet mignon is expensive, but cost doesn’t always equal quality, kid. Rib-eye’s not as tender, but it’s better marbled – means it has little streaks of fat in it, which add to the taste.

You haven’t told me your name, Rath said, ignoring the lecture on cuts of meat.

Nor will I.

Then what are we doing here?

For now, enjoying a good meal. We’ll talk business later.

Food on the lower levels of Tarkis came from two sources: Rath’s normal routine was visiting vending machines that spat out processed food packets when you inserted your ration card. The food was optimized to be cheap to produce in mass quantities, have a long shelf life, and be largely tasteless, so that any potential thieves would have little luck trying to sell it or the ration cards themselves. It was subsistence only in the most basic sense – rumor had it that it was heavily-recycled organic waste from the upper levels.

Alternately, Rath occasionally scraped together enough money for a meal from one of the mobile kitchens that roamed the streets, where a chef would cook meals to order. The ingredients were never fresh, but at least the food was hot and had some taste. The kitchens rarely visited Rath’s neighborhood, though – too many had been hijacked and stripped for parts. When his steak arrived, sizzling next to a pile of steaming mashed potatoes and French-cut green beans, Rath put aside his misgivings and dug in.

Afterwards, the detective wiped his hands and mouth with a steaming towel brought by the waiter, and then motioned the man away.

Okay, on to business. What do you know about the Guild?

Rath grunted. The Guild, like, ‘Fifty for Fifty’? It’s an urban legend. Just some fairy tale they made up to make people think there’s a way out of the lower levels.

Humor me, the man said.

Rath crossed his arms. You sign a contract, and the Guild trains you to be a hitman. You get to keep fifty percent of the profits, but only if you make it to fifty kills.

Fifty for fifty, the man agreed. You gotta make it all the way to fifty without being killed or caught.

Sure. So you kill people and get rich while doing it. Rich enough to eat here every day, Rath said.

"Rich enough to own this place, the man corrected. And a hundred more like it, across the inhabited worlds. If that’s what you decided to do with all that cash. Some go into legitimate business, others stick with crime, and run high-class whorehouses out in the Pleasure Districts. Most just buy their own luxury spaceliner and cruise around deep space, stopping in at the tourist spots when they feel like touching down for a while."

Rath narrowed his blue-grey eyes. This is the part where you try to convince me it’s real?

No, the man shook his head. This is the part where I show you it’s real.

* * *

The air car descended back to the lower levels, eventually parking behind a battered mobile kitchen truck near a deserted factory. The detective exited the car, motioning for Rath to follow, and walked up to the kitchen’s entrance hatch, whose steel shutters were locked down tight. The door rose when the man approached, however, and Rath stepped in behind him.

Inside, the space was brightly lit – in place of the usual kitchen and dining area, electronic equipment lined the walls. A technician in a lab coat stood next to a padded chair in the center of the room. She nodded to the detective as they entered, and then addressed Rath.

The truck has a fully-automated security system. She pointed to a sphere hanging from center of the ceiling. It will use lethal force if your behavior warrants it. Please have a seat on the chair.

Why? Rath said.

She frowned at the detective. How much did you tell him?

The man smiled and shrugged apologetically. Some. Enough to get him interested.

Disclosure is not my responsibility. Tell him, she said, shaking her head.

The man turned to Rath. The Guild is real. This is your entrance exam.

Who says I want in? Rath asked.

You say so – you came here, I just showed you the way. You want to stay stuck in the lower levels, scraping by until your luck runs out?

No. But I don’t want to get killed, either, Rath replied.

You don’t think you can cut it? the man asked. No problem. You can walk out that door and pretend this never happened.

Don’t try to manipulate me, Rath told him. What’s in it for you, anyway? Are you in the Guild, too?

No. As a contracted talent scout, he gets the standard referral bonus, plus one percent of your future earnings, the technician stated.

The man shot her an aggravated look, but faced Rath again. Yes, I get my cut. That’s how these things work. Look, kid, you’re not deciding now. She’s going to run some tests, to see if you qualify. If you don’t, you can take your free steak dinner and go, this never happened. If you do qualify, you take a little trip, when you land they tell you more about the program, and then you decide. Tell him, he finished, addressing the technician.

You’re under no contractual obligation at this phase, she agreed. I’m merely testing your baseline health, including physical and mental abilities – coordination, reaction time, cognitive ability, and the like.

Rath suppressed a shiver, and eyed the technician for a moment. Then he shook his head, and sat down in the chair.

3

Ashish, darling … to what do I owe this honor? the Madame asked, looking up from her desk. Might I interest you in sampling some of our latest acquisitions?

Hello, Marie, the man said. I appreciate the offer, but I’m still not interested in any samples, free or otherwise.

Still repressed. Marie clucked her tongue in mock disappointment.

Still married, Ashish corrected. And my wife is mad enough as it is about my visits last year.

She doesn’t trust you? Marie asked.

I think she knows how easily men can be tempted, especially when presented with such … arresting eye-candy, Ashish gestured toward the receptionist who had shown him into the older woman’s office, a tall blonde whose blue silk skirt was cut impressively short, even by Juntland’s latest fashion standards, revealing the lace tops of her pantyhose.

The blonde girl smiled coquettishly. Why, Mr. Mehta – how forward of you! she joked, tracing a finger over her ample cleavage.

Yes, that’s exactly the kind of thing my wife was worried about, he laughed, shaking his curly black hair. He declined the receptionist’s offer of a drink, and sat down in a leather easy chair as the receptionist closed the door behind him.

Marie pushed her computer keyboard aside and steepled her fingers over her desk, arching her grey eyebrows at the young man in front of her. When paired with the high-necked wool jacket she wore, the expression made Ashish think of a stern Victorian governess.

I must say, Ashish: business has been simply booming since your article came out.

Glad to hear it, he replied.

Mmm, she said. I’m sure you already knew that, however.

I might have heard a rumor or two. He smiled.

Which leads me to believe that you must be here to call in a favor, she continued.

Has the world become such a cynical place that old friends can’t meet without there being an agenda? he asked.

Yes, it has, she replied.

Ashish smiled. Perhaps so. I need another story, he told her.

The older woman leaned back in her chair and pursed her lips.

I’ve done a couple fluff pieces since then, but nothing of any substance, the journalist continued. I need a meaty topic, something that will really sell.

You want another story about the surprising sexual appetites of supposedly conservative political leaders, she said. "But those … gentlemen … are no longer my clients, by mutual agreement."

Those gentlemen are no longer in office, Ashish grinned. But I’m guessing you don’t have any clients left whose hypocrisy you would like to see exposed.

No, I do not, she agreed.

So … I was thinking human trafficking.

My dear, I hope you’re not implying I deal in that despicable trade. My employees are here of their own volition, I assure you.

No, of course, Ashish said, holding his hands up. And I hear there’s stiff competition to get hired, no pun intended. I just thought you might have contacts who could put me in touch with that part of the black market.

I don’t, actually. I’ve made it a point to distance myself from those kinds of people. Why the continued fascination with the sex trade? she asked.

Sex sells, Ashish shrugged. I could get a million blogs to run an article about tax returns as long as it had a photo of your receptionist attached.

Sex does sell, even now that it has been legalized, Marie agreed. But it does not sell headlines as well as death.

Death? Ashish asked. Who died?

Everyone dies, that’s why we are all so obsessed with it as a topic. She drummed her fingers on her desk for a few seconds, considering. Yes, I think you might like this one. Answer me this: why is it that people who can afford cutting-edge biotechnology still die?

Old age – the natural process. Cells stop getting repaired, the hemobots can’t keep up. Scientists still haven’t figured out how to disable the mortality switch.

That is true, but I’m not talking about decrepit people dying in their sleep when they reach their hundred-thirties. I’m talking about young people, with the best cyber-medicine money can buy, and no sign of illness.

Accidents happen, Ashish said.

They do, but I’m not talking about accidental deaths, Marie said.

I don’t think I’m following you ….

Think, Mr. Mehta. Young, healthy, rich, powerful people … people whose death might greatly benefit others.

Murder? he essayed.

Aha, she said, smiling.

Sure, Ashish shrugged. Happens all the time, despite the vaunted prowess of our Interstellar Police, they can only investigate crimes, not prevent them. Lovers quarrel, friends bicker over money … shit happens, and the murderer goes to jail.

No, she said. Often they do not. I’m not talking about amateur homicides. I’m talking about the deaths that never even get investigated, because no one knows they happened. Precise, calculated, professional murder.

Ashish frowned at her for a moment. Marie, if the next words out of your mouth are ‘the Guild,’ I’m leaving.

A broad smile spread across her face.

The Guild? he sighed. Really?

She nodded.

It’s a bugaboo, he protested. A rumor run wild. It’s not real.

Marie shook her head. It is very real.

Come on, he protested. The Interstellar Police all but eliminated organized crime centuries ago. Do you seriously believe an entity like the Guild could remain viable in today’s galaxy? That’s exactly the kind of threat they were formed to combat, back in the old days.

Marie crossed her arms across her chest. Have you ever asked them?

Who, the police?

Yes, of course, she answered.

I guess I could, he admitted.

And if the Interstellar Police had repeatedly failed to dismantle a crime ring specializing in assassinations, do you think they would publicize that fact?

Well, no ….

"They won’t deny it, either. The Interstellar Police are too savvy to