Ardent Red Read online

  "Unless, of course, the offer in question were to put his family in danger," Winchester turned to face her at last. "A lot of time has passed since his heyday, when violence used to be cheap. You do realise that particular caveat, do you not?"

  "Which is why I intend to approach this particular acquisition with a degree of caution," said Sparrow. "Nevertheless, once he knows what I know, I like to think we'll find it almost impossible to keep his hands away from Sokolova's throat."

  "But this isn't about Sokolova, is it?" queried Winchester. "Both of us know that she is the centrepiece for a much bigger game that is being played by men far above her league. Among whom is, of course, Maximilian Strasser. And of course, being the woman that you are, you must surely have accounted for the omnipresent possibility that Mister Frost is on his radar as well. Along with his younger child."

  "I am perfectly aware of that," Sparrow stated. "There is a reason I asked my contacts on Ceres to make sure he didn't learn of the vault break-in that happened just a moment ago. Do you think that Frost wouldn't see the immediate threat that the Hound and his thugs might pose after they have sprung the trap, and go chasing after it? That is when Sokolova will make her move, on Strasser's command I might add."

  "And as a result you believe that by keeping him in the dark about it all, Frost might be more convinced to help you beat him at your game," said Winchester in a sceptical tone. "Let us entertain the possibility that he accepts your offer. You will have a grand total of one more determined man by your side. You will need many more if you plan to challenge Sokolova and her Iron Knights, let alone the Martian government that tacitly backs her crusade of righteousness."

  "Perhaps this is where the United States and its considerable counter-terror apparatus can enter into it," Tureau entered the conversation. "Sokolova and the Hound are just terrorists. I've been assured that they're just Martian pawns. Nothing more. You yourself stated just a moment ago that Sokolova's just a toy in a bigger game."

  "If you sincerely believe that Sokolova is a pawn, Mister Tureau, then you have clearly never played chess before," Sparrow turned to face him. "Do you know how I got to my present position?"

  "I'm guessing your name didn't have anything to do with it," Tureau reasoned.

  "The name 'Sparrow' is a ladder thanks only to my great father," Sparrow answered. "But one cannot climb a mountain with just a ladder. You need spare oxygen, an icepick, a tent, ropes. A way back down should the journey become untenable. One of those tools is patience."

  "Patience," Tureau repeated, considering Sparrow's words for but a brief moment.

  "As the President of the United States, you are a tactician by default," she continued. "Tacticians operate for short-term gain, directing the soldiers to battle from their command tent. I am a strategist. I direct the flow of the entire war from far away. Soldiers may choose their battlefield commanders, but ultimately they answer to the strategists.

  "Sokolova, Mister President, is no pawn of the High Generals or even Strasser. No, she is Strasser's queen, his most powerful piece on the board. Compare her role in the game to the Hound, who is simply a pawn of Sokolova – easily disposable for whatever purpose it is she has in mind for him exactly. Despite current events surrounding the Asteroid Belt, it may please you to know that Strasser has yet to put her into play. It would be a foolish gambit to assume he won't – so we must be ready for when she leaves the king's side."

  "Maximilian Strasser doesn't make dangerous gambles, and you out of all people here should know that," Tureau queried. "Why are you?"

  "Like Miss Sparrow said – this Frost fellow carries a rare breed of determination about him," Winchester addressed the president. "And rest assured that Diana Sparrow never, ever makes a gamble unless she is positively certain that she will win it. To that end, I have no reason to doubt her judgement, at least for the time being."

  As he spoke, Sparrow's attention remained focused on an as of yet unmentioned continuity of the FIA-stamped dossier on Frost.

  Eldest son Ryan (2115-) was incarcerated at Occator Conglomerate Correction Facility 13 on 4 Vesta for attempted burglary. Escaped during the breakout in 2136 along with 304 additional prisoners. Current whereabouts are unknown.

  "You seem to hold a lot of faith in ghosts, Mister Winchester," Tureau commented.

  "You need a healthy dosage of faith in ghosts if the first and foremost part of your job involves chasing after them, Mister President," Winchester spoke with a slight smile. "Neither myself nor Sparrow would be very good at what we do if we weren't paranoid about them."

  The heavy whinging of the hovercar's engine denoted that the craft was gliding to a halt.

  "It would appear that this is our stop," Sparrow announced. "I trust that you'll be preparing a press statement to decry the imminent terrorist attack on Port Royal, Mister President."

  "Indeed I shall. A pleasure speaking with you as always, Miss Sparrow."

  ~

  SPARROW CORPORATION

  THE FUTURE TODAY

  So proclaimed the spectacular hologram, the announcement lying beneath a black sparrow bird emblem, its wings spread like a Roman Aquila. The sigil of the first great megacorporation to have graced the Earth and the solar system around it, now proudly beamed from the balloon of a huge cargo airship hanging over Washington's skyline, en route northbound to Baltimore. Such was the present focus of attention for Diana as she and Winchester stood in the cabin of a glass elevator rising far above the cityscape.

  "Your father is a great visionary," Winchester commented, having noticed where she was looking.

  "It takes a great visionary to build a company to be as rich as a superpower. What is it Sokolova always says to her followers? Ah – beati visionarii ipsi possidebunt terram, or some ostentatious phrase like that."

  "Beati visionarii quoniam ipsi possidebunt terram," Winchester corrected her. "Blessed are the visionaries, for they will inherit the world."

  "And yet for reasons even I can't understand, she just wants to see it all burn," Sparrow stated in a grim tone.

  "A broken angel doesn't need reason why, Miss Sparrow," said Winchester. "Theirs is simply to do or die, more often than not at the whim of someone more powerful."

  Sparrow turned her head to face her companion. "You're talking about Strasser."

  Winchester nodded. "If I were you, Strasser would be the one I'd be worrying about more. Until he puts Sokolova into play, like you said, she's nothing more than an annoyance."

  "Strasser is dangerous precisely because we don't know what he's up to," said Sparrow. "I know that much. Sokolova's at least somewhat predictable, but Strasser is a consummate master of keeping his head down, pulling the strings from afar. The Martians always say that the Commonwealth was built with Chinese smarts, German minds and Russian guns."

  "It's your own mastery of the subtle that has brought you to head the Federation's entire security apparatus," Winchester stated. "All of it on your own merit, despite what your panoply of detractors have to say about nepotism. Your gamble is to wait for Sokolova to make the move that'll cement her as a danger to civilisation, and then send in Frost to turn the knife."

  "Until we can determine for certain just what Strasser is up to, all we can do is gamble," Sparrow reasoned.

  "Sad to say you'll be gambling for a long time," Winchester enunciated. "My career was built entirely around trying to figure out what in God's name he's up to. And if it takes the director-general of the Secret Intelligence Service to even try to comprehend his motives, you can only begin to imagine how the rank and file of my organisation might fare against such a dangerous and enigmatic individual. And unlike you, Miss Sparrow, they haven't had the benefit of regular gene repair therapy."

  "And that, Mister Winchester," Sparrow announced, "is why I keep you close by my side. I chose you for this because you know how to bring Strasser into the open – and Captain Edward Frost was the best man you could send in to fight dangerous people."

  "I
do feel compelled to warn you that, even assuming you do manage to bring Frost into your fold, he is something of a maverick," Winchester stated.

  "I can often count on a maverick to get the job done," Sparrow rebuffed his warning. "A maverick knows how to think outside the box, because that is what he does for a living. Perhaps that's why the full might of our intelligence apparatus cannot subdue Strasser – it takes madness to defy reason, in all senses of the statement. Tureau is right, I am a gambler, and I do take heavy risks. But without risks tempered by experience and knowledge, we would not be where we are now."

  ~

  CHAPTER TWO

  VERACITY – THE SOLAR SYSTEM'S MOST RELIABLE NEWS NETWORK

  Tureau "too soft" on Iron Knight aggression, says Locke

  American presidential candidate Anthony Locke has launched a blistering tirade against incumbent president Michael Tureau's foreign policy this morning.

  "By just letting dangerous women like Annaroza Sokolova run wild across the solar system, we show the Martians that we're weak, that Earth is completely open to attack.

  "If I were in charge, I'd send warships to hunt her down, I'd send men to bring her to justice for the thousands of lives she's taken for her sick crusade.

  "Tureau's too soft on this matter, and he has been for all four years of his term. The only thing that can bring the Red Menace to heel is a strong and stable Locke government."

  Got a few more years left in you? Try REVITALITE!

  Are you concerned about the detrimental effects of ageing on your health, your well-being and the time you have to yourself? Maybe you just don't feel like dying quite yet. Or maybe you're afraid of the side effects of stem cell and retroviral therapies? Your friends at Sparrow Corp understand perfectly.

  Revitalite is a revolutionary new pharmaceutical programme designed to prevent telomere shortening, based upon knowledge acquired from studies of simple organisms. After immersing you in a concoction of nanites, nutrients, minerals and antioxidants, our skilled doctors can detoxify your cells and repair them to the pristine condition of a newborn baby's. For just two months of your time every five years and US$150,000 per session, you too can retain your youth forever more.

  Revitalite – when your sunset years just have to wait!

  DISCLAIMER: Revitalite therapy does not and cannot reverse the ageing process. Patients will retain their appearance from the moment they start taking therapy. Terms and conditions apply. Enquiries are to be directed to your nearest gene clinic.

  Grün: Ark Project "will not go unchallenged"

  The Martian Foreign Minister, General Natalie Grün, has renewed her outspoken opposition to the International Treaty Organisation's Ark Project in a statement to the Voice of Mars broadcasting service.

  "This obvious violation of the sovereignty of the Commonwealth of Mars will not go unchallenged. It is clear that INTO intends to establish an interstellar monopoly and deprive the rest of humanity of a future amongst the stars."

  Her statement was backed by representatives from the Eurasian Strategic Alliance Treaty and the Independent Systems League, who jointly stated that the Ark Project "sets a dangerous precedent for international stability".

  The multi-trillion dollar Ark Project, a joint project initiated by INTO and the Sparrow Corporation in January after years of backlog regarding funds, is destined to transport 5,000 colonists to Alpha Centauri and establish the first permanent extrasolar settlement by 2160.

  It follows the arrival of the first unmanned probe, the Endeavour, at Alpha Centauri in 2134 – 25 years after it was launched.

  However, the Ark Project has been hugely controversial, with Mars, ESAT and the ISL all accusing INTO of threatening their national sovereignty.

  INTO has dismissed their concerns as "petty scaremongering".

  "Oh for fuck's sake, there's nothing about earlier in here," White grumbled, slamming her finger on the tablet's power button before pocketing it. "Just the same politicians bickering amongst themselves and all that shite."

  "Why'd you think that is? The coreworlders don't give a shit about us Belters. Just their stupid vanity projects back on their own planets."

  Three hours had passed since the assault on the city hall by the Iron Knights. It would take an hour at most for radio communications to reach Earth from Ceres. If the sharp Germanic voice of Magdalena Morgenstern was wrong about her assessment of Core Space, the newspapers of Earth, Mars and Venus alike would position the previous slaughter at the height of their front page, so White reasoned.

  Frost had given the two of them the evening off after their debriefing; as a result, they were now walking the dingy streets of Port Royal's neon-illuminated Fourth District, far from the centre, seeking something to do. There remained something odd in the bright lights wrapping around the decrepit buildings, a great glimmering bloom of neon dressing up a corpse. Some of the lights glowed the same shade of teal as Morgenstern's short-cut hair. Others would be lit in a blaze of dark red, brothels being most typically coloured this way.

  Morgenstern, donning her bomber jacket and jeans, had suggested a visit to her favourite drinking establishment, the Oceanic – once a popular casino for tourists, now a dive bar equally popular with a different, far less reputable crowd. For want of better suggestions, White exchanged her fatigues and exoskeleton for her casualwear, comprising a simple green hoodie, camouflage trousers, and a red shemagh scarf around her neck.

  "What do you think, Mags?" White turned to ask. "Would you pay a hundred and fifty thousand dollars every five years to live forever?"

  "Not if I have to spend that forever getting puked on by drunks!" Magda wrinkled her brow, her bottle green eyes almost closing at the thought.

  "So what would you spend three hundred grand every decade on?"

  "Booze," Magda's answer came with no hesitation. "A crate of Bushido Nigori and a few whores to keep me warm at night sounds like the perfect way to end a tough week."

  "Rice wine? Really?" White queried with a raised eyebrow. "I always thought you were more partial to fermented grain."

  "I am," Magda stated. "I just happen to enjoy a good wine every now and again."

  "Every week?" White questioned once again.

  "Alright, if you had three hundred thousand to last you a decade, what would you spend it all on?" Magda grumbled.

  "I've heard Eros is a pretty good place to visit in the summer, or whatever the fuck applies in space," Elena announced.

  "Eros..." Magda scoffed. "You think too small, Elena. Eros is just a glorified gambling house floating over a giant five hundred degree ball of toxic gas. Hygiea's where it's at."

  "Hygiea's bloody vile..." Elena wrenched her nose. "Wayland can't even balance its own books, let alone run a tourist resort. They splash out all their money on hired guns to send gallivanting around the Belt for the League!"

  "You think they could do a worse job than Occator's done for this dump?" Magda rolled her eyes as she surveyed her surroundings.

  "And besides anything else, if Wayland's jackboots caught me there, they'd hang me for the things I've done," Elena stated in a grim tone.

  "Oh yeah..." Magda came to a realisation. "You blew heads off for the Ghoul, didn't you? Before he ran off to Pluto, of course."

  "That's putting it in the lightest of terms..." said Elena.

  Amidst all the neon-lit, dusty grey buildings lining the streets, one stood out amongst them all. A tower block marked with a huge illuminated sign, proclaiming CASI-O OC-ANIC, stood before the two women, reaching some five storeys high. It had been a long time before the Oceanic's last renovation; the figure that White had heard was three years. Several wheeled cars were already parked outside of it, to mark its occupation – wheeled, for only the wealthiest individuals could afford a hovercar, especially in Port Royal and the wider Merchant Republic that encompassed the entire planetoid.

  "Maybe if it's worth jumping over my own ass in this job, I'll go for a cushy placement somewhere else," Magda sta
ted after the lengthy silence. "Mercury, perhaps. Maybe then I'll consider not boozing myself into an early grave. The thing about growing old is that it's no damn fun. Unless you've got far too much money on you."

  "Is that why you enjoy killing so much?" Elena asked as she grabbed the door handle. "Because you don't want to get old?"

  "No – I enjoy killing because it helps clear my head," Magda's entire face was as straight as a laser beam. "It's almost as convenient a distraction as alcohol. The only downfall is you don't get a hangover to preoccupy yourself with after you blow some fucktard's brains out."

  The two women entered the building and were at once blasted with a voluminous miasma of cheap beer, sweat, synthetic cigarette smoke and that indescribable smell that Elena always noticed as an accomplice to everywhere wretched. The scene within the partially named Casino Oceanic was as it always was. The joint's ultramodern architecture was marred somewhat by dilapidation, with pieces of drywall crumbling away like bread on the ceilings. Alcoholics would be found lined up along the barstools at the centre to bore the resident staff to madness. Those drunks who were long gone and seeking a brawl were tossed into a wire cage to battle each other for the amusement of more sober patrons. Several women could be found sparsely dressed and wearing make-up to exaggerate their beauty, soliciting within the dive on pain of being beaten by corporate security if they hassled the tourists on the streets.

  "Predatory capitalism at its finest, eh Mags?" Elena nudged Magda with a smirk, directing her attention to another reality of the Oceanic.

  Having once been a casino, it stood to reason that more than a handful of slot machines were available for reuse. Most of them were positioned in a corner of the establishment and lined up against the walls; the seats were occupied by faceless gambling addicts, some of whom could remember when the casino was still operational. If and when these veritable zombies could be goaded into diverting their attention away from the non-existent jackpot.