Zachary Rawlins - The Academy

The Terrie Cartel was a relative newcomer to the Hegemony, with a reputation for unsavory human experimentation, though all of their previous misbehaviors had been deemed minor. They were small-time, localized primarily in Geneva for the last thirty years, with affiliated commercial firms in Paris, Macau, Jakarta and San Francisco. In recent years, they had made significant inroads into Southeast Asia, working primarily in transportation, mostly of the extralegal variety. Mitsuru wondered what Terrie could have possibly been offered that would have made conflict with Central seem worthwhile, and couldn’t come up with anything. Everyone had heard stories about the Al-Hajra, the last cartel to be proscribed by Central, and how Rebecca and Alice Gallow had Audited them into extinction. What could have made the Terrie Cartel think it would go any differently for them?

By the time they reached the corner, the target had made it most of the way down the block, and was in the process of jaywalking to the other side of the street. Observation on previous days made his most probable destination the little park a few blocks up — he often had his lunches there, according to the workup she’d gotten from Analytics. Mitsuru slid her arm through Alistair’s, their disguises morphing to become complementary — suddenly, they looked like a college-age couple, casually dressed, strolling in the sun. She acted like it was an operational necessity. They stayed as close to the target as was possible on the lightly crowded street.

Mitsuru got a bit nervous, all of a sudden. She thought for a moment, and then nudged Alistair.

This is wrong.

Alistair looked over at her and raised his eyebrow inquisitively.

Why isn’t he worried, Alistair? Why aren’t they preparing for some kind of retribution — the cartel has to know its coming.

Alistair shrugged half-heartedly.

Are you suggesting we abort?

Mitsuru shook her head. She wasn’t about to take the chance that this job would be reassigned to someone else.

Mitsuru had a number of talents. She was a skilled field tactician, a living node on the Etheric network, capable of making strategic decisions on the fly. She was a trained intelligence operative, skilled in counterintelligence and espionage, and a competent field medic. Also, when the mood struck her, she could make an acceptable curry.

But her strength, her heart, had always been here — in the field, with a combat team. She hadn’t felt this good in years, and she hadn’t even had a chance to kill anyone yet. She wasn’t just giving up on the operation, not when her chances at becoming an Auditor could well ride on a positive outcome.

No. I still say we engage at the park. But we should be careful.

Alistair chuckled and hurried her along, around another corner, in time to watch the target walk into a Thai takeout place across the street from the park. A quick check with the network confirmed that this restaurant was one that he normally frequented. She and Alistair paused to admire the dresses on display at a nearby boutique, discreetly altering their appearance again to avoid suspicion. In the shop window, Mitsuru and Alistair now appeared to be an elderly Asian couple, grey-haired and dressed like tourists.

Mitsuru still felt a bit edgy, but the adrenal rush of a combat operation about to execute had hit her, and washed away most of her nervousness. While they waited for the target to finish buying his lunch, Mitsuru activated her uplink to the network, and accessed the latest probability projections from Analytics, as well as the target’s dossier. She’d read it before the operation, of course, but a quick refresh before things got heavy couldn’t hurt.

His name was Luke Estelle, age unknown, naturalized U.S. citizen, originally from France. An orphan, he’d been activated at puberty and trained at the Academy in operations and intelligence, specializing in an energy manipulation protocol. He’d affiliated with the Hegemony before graduation, and had been recruited by the Terrie cartel as an Operator almost immediately after. He’d acted first as an enforcer, gradually working his way up the ranks to become the Chief Security Officer for the cartel, as well as becoming their top field agent. With his experience, Mitsuru knew it would be a mistake to underestimate him. Still, given that the kill team had three Operators and one Auditor, she didn’t see many probable outcomes that left him alive.

Wait, Mitsuru thought, the last part catching up with her. Not many outcomes?

There hadn’t been any, just hours ago, during operation prep. She accessed her uplink again, and took a good look at the analytical projections and the tangle of probabilities surrounding the event.

Alistair?

Alistair looked at her reflection in the window, obviously irritated by her pestering.

Yes, Mitzi?

According to the projections, there is a now almost a six-percent chance that the target survives this encounter and escapes capture.

Alistair looked at her for a moment, and then his eyes went distant. Mitsuru knew that he was in telepathic contact with Central, demanding answers. While she was waiting, Mitsuru noticed the target leaving the restaurant, a plastic bag in one hand, headed for the park.

She felt the Isolation Protocol cut them off from the city around them, heavy and definitive, a chill running down her spine. She looked over at Alistair, but his face told her that he had not invoked the field. It was a powerful, suffocating in its intensity. Anyone outside the field suddenly found compelling reasons to walk around it, or to skip their business inside it. Those trapped inside the field simply fell into a sort of trance, eyes open but unseeing.

It was clear that the target hadn’t been expecting the Isolation Protocol, either — he was scanning the streets around him cautiously, his lunch thrown to the sidewalk, a puddle of chili sauce and rice noodles in the gutter next to him. One hand hovered near his coat pocket, which Mitsuru’s observation protocol advised her indicated a firearm, as if she didn’t know from experience that it was unlikely that he kept a bastard sword in his coat pocket.

Mitzi!

Alistair was already moving, away from the target, back toward Market Street. He was excited, or nervous; his mental communication was shouted, and it startled her a bit. Alistair was usually unshakable during field ops. Something, Mitsuru knew, had gone very wrong.

Take him, Mitzi! Forget about questions — I’ll interrogate the corpse, if I have to.

Mitsuru quelled her impulse to ask why. She did not need to know. Nor did she bother to respond — Alistair knew she’d understood, or he wouldn’t have gone running off in the direction they came.

For a moment, she wondered what had happened to the rest of team, what was happening behind them that had Alistair so worried. And then, before she took her first step toward the target, she put it all out of her mind.

It took no effort. There was no difficulty. The world became smaller — there was only the environment around her, her target, and her own capabilities, outlined in the luminescent rose lettering of a ballistics protocol. Her hands drifted back of their own accord, and found what they were looking for, nestled in the small of her back.

She moved for the target, who appeared to not yet be able see her. She was running by the third step, trying to close the distance between them. She didn’t bother with two Sig 9mm pistols that were strapped to the small of her back. Her hands closed around the handle of the knife that was sheathed beside them instead.

She’d intended to shoot him originally, of course. But, now that he knew that something was wrong, that plan had gone out the window. Her uplink was active, and through it Analytics relayed information, warning her that subtle atmospheric distortions around the target indicated the presence of a barrier protocol, one more than capable of stopping her handgun rounds long enough for the target to escape.