Scott Cleveland - Pale Boundaries

“Arrange for transportation and accommodations at Saint Anatone,” Hal told McKeon and Tamara. “Get a couple of men and meet me at the shuttle in an hour. We’ll pay Sorenson a visit.”

“You think he’ll cooperate?” McKeon asked.

Hal smiled grimly. “I’ll see to it that he does.”

Neil Sorenson arrived home expecting to discover another of his son’s drunken parties when he saw a light on in the pool house. It came as a mild surprise that there were no strange vehicles in the driveway, and Philip’s car was parked safely in the garage. He heard the rattle of ice in a glass as he entered the house and spied light coming from beneath his study door. He stormed in angrily, this time expecting to find his son guzzling a bottle of centuries-old whisky from his collection.

But the man drinking his whisky was a stranger.

It took the exporter a moment to recognize Halsor Tennison and lower his hackles. One of McKeon’s men closed the door behind him. Sorenson approached, unfazed by the goons.

Hal finished pouring a second drink, which the exporter accepted with an unpleasant frown. “That whisky is three hundred years old, Tennison.”

“Really? Good stuff. Smooth.”

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” The exporter sauntered to his desk and opened a drawer.

“You’ll want this,” Hal said, tossing the empty pistol magazine onto the desk. “Sorry for snooping; I was concerned that you might mistake me for a common thief.”

Sorenson put the magazine in the drawer and closed it. “Why are you here?”

“I understand what Den Tun stands to gain by betraying us,” Hal replied, “but what’s in it for you?”

“Your question implies that I have betrayed you,” Sorenson said.

“We know you’re using more blocking transponders than we gave you,” Hal said. “My conclusion is that you built your own to facilitate poaching. I hope I’m wrong.”

“You’re not,” Sorenson replied matter-of-factly.

Hal’s anger welled up. “Use of that equipment other than as specified in our agreement was expressly forbidden!” he snapped. “You’ll expose my operation if you get caught!”

“Your operation would have been exposed years ago if I hadn’t,” Sorenson snapped back. “The Belter habitats in this system can’t produce enough food to feed themselves. The need exceeds the quantities we can move legally, thanks to the environmental laws you people influenced. Without poaching, the rest of the system will starve! How long do you think your parasitic little sub-culture will stay hidden if that happens?”

Hal bristled at the exporter’s characterization. A parasite wasn’t an organism one cooperated with or protected—it was something to be eliminated . “How exactly does helping Den Tun penetrate our network help feed the hungry masses?” Hal demanded.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t have time to quibble,” Hal said coldly. “Den Tun confessed; the only thing keeping you alive right now is my curiosity.”

“Then I certainly don’t have anything to gain by satisfying it,” Sorenson said.

“Let me show you why you’re wrong.” Hal motioned for McKeon’s men to follow and they fell in behind him and Sorenson. The exporter sauntered along beside Hal without apparent concern, more interested in his drink.

Sorenson stopped suddenly as they entered the pool house; one of McKeon’s men nudged him forward with the barrel of his gun. Philip Sorenson sat in a chair at the water’s edge flanked by Tamara and McKeon, his face puffy and bruised; Dayuki stood behind him with her hands resting on his shoulders. He looked beseechingly to his father, but kept his mouth shut.

“You have a tendency to save your son from himself,” Hal said. “Now you have the opportunity to save him from me. Would you like me to repeat the question?”

Sorenson’s eyes flicked from his son to Dayuki, then McKeon’s men and back to his son. He swallowed hard and licked his lips, his bravado gone. “None of what’s happened is irreversible,” he said.

“Answer the question.”

“The Minzoku penetrated your network without any help from me,” he claimed. “I discovered it when they tripped an intrusion alarm in my own network four years ago.”

“God- damn it!” Hal exploded. “Why didn’t you inform us then?”

“I could provide Den Tun with things that you wouldn’t,” Sorenson told him, “and he was willing to give me access to your network in return. I already knew what Nivia’s association with you had cost us; I was looking for a chance to do something about it. Den Tun offered me the opportunity.”

Hal’s bowels turned liquid with dread. Not one, but two outside entities had access to the Fort’s network for four years? The Fort’s system was isolated from the rest of the Family’s network but still stored sensitive information about their broader operations.

“So you helped Den Tun interfere with our research into monoisotopic optical semiconductors to thwart us?”

“You underestimate Minzoku resourcefulness,” Sorenson said with an ironic chuckle. “They pulled that off on their own, too, though I provided them with some of the equipment. Den Tun was determined to offer the Nivian government something worth more than Onjin payouts in exchange for recognition of the Minzoku’s right to exist.

“I was after information that would expose the sellouts in the Nivian government who make it possible for you to function here.”

“What a relief,” Hal exclaimed with feigned gratitude. “For a minute there I thought you might be after us.”

“It would have been easier,” Sorenson admitted, “but it was never my intent to cause harm to your Family—nor was it Den Tun’s, though he had every reason to do so. We simply want your influence over our world to cease.”

Hal clenched his teeth. Both Sorenson and Den Tun would have had their way eventually through the natural course of events—not that either of them would have lived to learn of it—but their impatient scheming had damaged Hal’s credibility within the Family and jeopardized the Old Lady’s ability to maintain her office. It was even possible that compromising the Fort’s network had played a role in his father’s assassination, assuming that certain elements within the Family might have discovered Sorenson’s role in the Onjin’s operation and penetrated his security.

“Where,” Hal asked carefully, doing his best to hold his temper, “is Den Tun’s courier?”

“I really haven’t the slightest idea,” Sorenson replied with a shrug.

“I’m not playing games, Sorenson.” Dayuki applied the maki suru at Hal’s signal; McKeon and Tamara tipped the chair forward. Philip Sorenson splashed into the pool and bobbed to the surface face-down.

“Philip!” Sorenson’s snifter of three-century-old whisky shattered on the floor as he bolted toward his son. McKeon’s men seized his arms just short of the edge. “You’ve killed him!”

“Not if he holds his breath,” Hal said. “He’s got thirty seconds or so if he stays calm.”

The man’s face twisted in anguish. “Somewhere along the coast in the Great Preserve!” he cried. “I have people waiting, but until they hear from the Minzoku I don’t know exactly when or where!”

“The submarine carrying Den Tun’s courier will put him ashore in the Great Preserve?” Hal clarified.

“Yes, yes! I’ll inform you the moment I know, just get him out!”

“I think that’s all I need,” Hal growled as he raised his arm and put a needle beam through the back of Sorenson’s head. The man’s skull vented its contents through his eye sockets, spraying chum across the surface of the pool. His body fell into the pool next to his son. Bubbles exploded from around Philip Sorenson’s head. Spasms shook his body as he sucked in water, lost buoyancy, and sank.